A couple of updates- Probably the best current authority on Dixie Bull is the author James Nelson who does a first person portrayal of him annually at Pemaquid.

Also, I came across a wonderful novel called "Clothes Make the Pirate" by Holman Day which is a hilarious fanciful story of mistaken identity that was made into silent movie. There's even a short trailer on youtube.

And lastly,this, from my cousin's daughter

WHEN DIXIE BILL WENT BROKE
From Leonard Osier, New Harbor Maine August 2006
He does not remember the source, but thinks it might be Holman Day, a Maine poet who died in the 1930’s, as he wrote in this style.

He’d skinned the coast from Agawam as fur as Grand Manan
Old Dixey Bull, the pirate’s chief, a regular pest of a man
And all the folks who lived them times, in case they was fairly rich,
Sartinly figgered old Dixey Bull as wusser’n a run of itch (worse than a son-of-a-bitch)
This was (many) years ago-
Times of the pioneers, you know
He just sailed up and down
And Taxed ‘em heavy in every town
Until it came ‘round that most o’ the ports were willing to pull and pay
At regular intervals, cash or goods, if Bull would keep away
So at last he had it nicely fixed, like a thrifty buccaneer
To visit the coast and collect his torrs (?) about three times a year
.And he used to brag to Cap’n Kidd, when they met to swig champagne
He’d the snuggest bus’ness as pirut chief there was on the coast of Maine.
Simply sailed from town to town
Then as notice to “come down”
He’d unlimber old Long Tom
(And ) fire once or twice- Bom Bom!
Then Dixey Bull, quite gentleman like, at the rail would take his stand
Say, “Good Day”, and check the goods that the people brought from the land.
When all the tribute was duly paid, he’d ask ‘em all on deck
And out of a scuttlebut o’ rum would fill the crowd to the neck
(Till) at last from the flats of Saccarap to the shore of Grand Manan
He was quite well liked as a buccaneer and as perfect gentleman.
(The) most perfect knitter along the coast was Aunt Mehitabel Tidd
Her double mittens and socks and things were the pride of Pemaquid.
The men of the colony looked to her for all their winter gear
And she knitted and counted and narrowed and toed through all the livelong year
Now Dixey Bull had learned her fame and he sailed up one fall
And demanded the whole of her knitted store; insisted on having it all
But at that the settlers of Pemaquid got up on their ear, did they
They loaded their skiffs with the stuff he asked and rowed across the bay
And each wore, tucked in his trouser leg, a sabre, sword or gun
They clambered aboard with the mitts and socks and then the fun begun
For they dropped their mittens and pulled their arms, cutlass, fusse(?) and dirk
And allowed they were ready to fight and bleed for the sake of that knittin’work!
Said they’d rather fight than freeze!
Said no Pirut on the seas,
With winter near to give ‘em fits
Could lug away their socks and mitts!
Now what do you reckon happened then, right there on that Pirut’s deck?
That crowd o’ Bull’s had never a sword nor a gun to save their necks
They’d sailed so long and felt so strong in a strickly business way
They figgured no feller could call their bluff nor folks refuse to pay
They’d lost their guns and mislaid their swords; they run and howled, so then
The settlers tied ‘em an’ took ‘em ashore and used them as hired men.
Dixey Bull as he plowed and sowed
An’ dome(And roamed) the shores and harrowed and hoed
And picked up stones on Pemaquid
Remembered the warning of old Captain Kidd
Passed him over a brimming mug
“Don’t let your business get too snug”
It is today as it was of old
When you grab for more than you’ve a right to hold
Someone will rise to fight for his socks
And you’ll find yourself in a blamed tight box.