Twas
the night before Christmas, when all through the boat
Not a
creature was stirring, not even a stoat.
The stockings were hung by
the nav station with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be
there.
The children were nestled all snug in their
berths,
With visions of hardtack, all dancing with mirth.
And
mama in her hairnet, and I in my cap,
Had just settled ourselves for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the deck there
arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bunk to see what was the
matter,
Away to the port hole I flew like a flash,
Tore open
the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of
the calm winter ocean,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the boat's
soft motion,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But
a miniature trawler, and eight tiny key deer.
With a tipsy old
driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St
Nick.
More rapid than sea gulls his coursers they came,
And he
whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now
Aquaholic! now, Luna Sea! now, Stocks and Blondes!
On, Chum
Bucket! On, Ship Face!, and Crossing the Ponds!
To the top of the
fo’c’sle! to the top of the gaff!
Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash with a laugh"
As canvas sheets that before the wild
hurricane flies,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the
skies.
So up past the mast top the coursers they flew,
With the
sleigh full of gear, and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a
twinkling, I heard up on my deck,
Prancing and pawing making my topsides a wreck,
As I drew in my head, and was turning
around,
Down the dorade box St Nick came with a bound.
He
was dressed in foul weather gear, from head to foot,
And
his oilskins were salty, wet, worn out and kaput.
A bundle of
LORAN's he had flung on his back,
And he looked like an installer,
just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled, his dimples
how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
His
bourbon breathed mouth was drawn like a bow,
And the beard of his
chin was as pale as fresh snow.
The stump of a pipe he held
tight in his teeth,
And the ganga smoke circled his head like a
wreath.
He had a broad face and a huge round belly,
That shook
as he slurred, and he was so smelly.
He was chubby and plump,
a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of
myself!
A wink of his eye and a belch from his head,
Soon gave
me to know I had something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but
went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then
turned with a jerk.
And laying his third finger aside of his
nose,
And giving a nod, up the dorade box he rose!
He
sprang to his trawler, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they
all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him mumble, ‘ere
he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a
good-night!
Exhausted
from St. Nick, and concerned instead,
To
my berth I stagger for a few hours abed.
Awaking
in the morn, I find all of my rum gone,
And
a pile of manure on the deck from a fawn.
I hope you were good, l seemed to have gotten nothing but anthracite.
Merry Christmas, and boat safely from the Installer and family.