Captain Doolin mopped his brow,
And gazed around the clipper,
Reflecting wryly, dryly, how
He’d come to be its skipper.
Upon the rocks they had been snared,
Beset by foul disasters,
The punctured bow had been repaired
With tons of sticking plasters.
The crew jumped ship at every chance,
To seek for better quarters,
While those who stayed did look askance
At calmer, deeper waters.
And as the waves did lash the stern,
The fo’c’sle started creaking.
The Captain looked with great concern
To where the hull was leaking.
The mast had snapped one summer past,
When tempests were abounding,
The broken rudder would not last
Another vicious pounding.
Upon the deck, the cabin boy
Abruptly raised his spy-glass
And shouted shrilly, “Ship Ahoy!”
As Doolo fixed his eyeglass.
Another ship came into view,
Although the storm was raging,
Its decking painted red and blue,
Though limpet-strewn and aging.
The other ship at last hove to,
Beside the College Clipper,
And Captain Doolin then strove to
Speak with the other skipper.
“No skipper on this vessel, Cap’n,”
The First Mate answered quickly.
“His death did very sudden happen,
He didn’t look that sickly.”
“No skipper, eh?” the Captain cried,
And stroked his chin quite slowly.
“It isn’t right,” the mate replied,
“Then catch my bag,” the Captain roared
“And catch my trusty parrot.
And catch me when I jump aboard,
And take me to the garret.”
“Captain Doolin, won’t you linger?”
His old crew wailed, confounded.
The Captain raised his middle finger,
Which left them all dumbfounded.
And as the Captain jumped, his crew
Were left to muse and wonder
How long their ship could sail the blue,
Before being dragged down under.