'Twas the Night before Christmas, when all through the sea,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a flea
A cutlass was hung by the galley with care,
In hopes that old Blackbeard would soon be there
In the Captain's quarters of his ship, Captain Tater awoke with a start. "What's going on?" He could swear he heard something. Was it a dream?
The sailors were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of treasure chests danced in their heads
He definitely heard it this time. "Who's rhyming on my ship?! I hate poems!"
And First Mate with his cutless, and I with my gun,
Had just finished looting for our fine sailor's rum,
When out on the waves there arose such a racket,
I sprang from my bed to see if I could whack it
Away to the helm I made my mad dash,
To see what I could spy with my trusty spyglass.
Captain Tater crashed through the door of his captain's quarters and surveyed the decks. No one was there. "Who's reading poems?!" he roared, but nobody was there to hear him.
The moon on the crest of the cold winter waves,
Gave a glimmer of gold, what all pirates crave,
When what in my spyglass did suddenly show,
A ratty old boat that had 8 men to row,
With a menacing captain who looked and smelled weird,
I knew in a moment that he be Blackbeard!
More rapid than seagulls his corsairs did board,
All at his command, strict orders Blackbeard roared
Row faster! Row harder! Keep an eye on the waves!
To the bow of the ship! Up the gangplank, ye knaves!
Now board them! Board them! Board with our haul!
Captain Tater stormed around the deck. He felt like he was losing his mind, but was not yet ready to consider the possibility. "They must be below decks," he grumbled as he climbed down the ladder.
Finally, Captain Tater found the source of the rhyming he so despised. Deep in the belly of the ship, the crew was gathered in the galley. He took a good look around. There was a palm tree in the corner of the galley, decorated with tinsel and doubloons. The members of the crew wore red stocking caps with white trim. The quartermaster stood before them, reading from a book he purchased on Rum Island called Christmas on the High Seas. Big Jim, dressed as Blackbeard, was distributing mead, grog, and ale to the crew while the cook prepared a feast of Christmas ham.
"Captain!" the First Mate called out. "It's so good of you to join us. I was going to invite you to come join us, but I wanted to let the Quartermaster finish reading first. I know how you feel about poetry."
Tater looked around and took it all in. This was actually kind of nice. And the crew put it all together in secret, to surprise him? "Alright, good job lads. You've got this old salty sea dog feeling the Christmas spirit for the first time since I was a boy."
Big Jim approached and handed the Captain a mug of mead. They had a toast and took a long draught from their drinks. "Merry Christmas, Captain."
"Merry Christmas, Jim, and to the rest of the crew too." All the present sailors cheered.
"Since you're here, Captain," the quartermaster began, "How about I finish reading this poem?
"Nah, fuck off."