Klaus Störtebeker sailed the sea,
A pirate bold as bold can be.
Hanseatic League, he made turn grey,
Their goods and gold would slip away.
Yet scholars argue, doubtful tone,
If Klaus was real, or legend grown.
No proof is left, no signed report,
Just tales of plunder and of court.
On April’s day, fourteen-o-one,
His ship, "Toller Hund," was overrun.
With seventy-two rogues at his side,
To Hamburg’s chains they all were tied.
By autumn’s chill, the axe was raised,
October twenty-first was blazed.
The sentence: death! So harsh, so grim,
But Klaus had bargained fate with him.
He begged, "Let comrades live, I pray,
Free those I reach along the way.
Head severed clean, I’ll walk and prove,
The breath of mercy yet can move."
The blade came down, his head was gone,
Yet still he staggered bravely on.
Passed eleven - marched in line,
Till trickery unstitched the twine.
The headsman tripped him with deceit,
(Klaus couldn't see down to his feet.)
Is the tale true? None can decide,
But still it drifts on history’s tide.
So myth or truth, no man can say,
A legend born of sea’s cruel play,
The tale survives both doubt and time,
Whispers told in seafarers’ rhyme.
A pirate’s march without a head,
Passing friends - though long dead.
Störtebeker was his name
His headless stroll a walk of fame!
This tale’s been drifting about forever like a drunk pirate who missed his dock. My grandpa spun it for me, and growing up where Klaus was (or wasn’t) losing his head only fanned the flames. That little legend shanghaied me into a lifelong obsession with urban myths, and it still refuses to let me go.
So, what’s your verdict on this pirate - pure myth, or a gruesome slice of truth?
