Captain Pigheart and the Wenchly Lad

Gaargh, ‘tis well to be seein’ ye once again, though ye be swayin’ somewhat and I were not foretold that ye’d found ye long lost twin – a drink to celebrate ye findin’ness! Aaar, me crew be abroad this night. ‘Tis sometime since we were last a-port and they be keen to spatter the town wi’ a broad palette o’ colour. Some will like as not be stayin’, possibly in pieces. But they be a fine bunch. Yarrr! Allow me to regale ye with a short tale regardin’ one o’ me more eccentric mates, o’ whom I be most fond.

Now, Barry’s be a tale most poignant, ‘is life a rival to me own for adventure and dancin’ wi’ Lady Luck. ‘E were born (as we mostly be, though I be uncertainty regardin’ Billy’s provenance), to a dotin’ mother and a drunken father. Aaarr, ‘e were a bonny child wi’ big blue eyes an’ fair wavy hair. Twere apparent from early on that ‘e ‘ad but little likeness to his father, a burly brute hairy enough to need no clothin’. The man’s suspicions finally outgrew the drink when ‘e found ‘is cuckoldery were a common jest. Gaargh, ‘e were prone to jealous rages an’ put Barry’s mother in fear o’ the lad’s life.

In what were perhaps an; ill-judged over-reaction, she stuffed the lad into a broad-brimmed bonnet an’ hurled ‘im into the river. I knows not what her precise thinkin’ were, but young Barry were swept out to sea wi’ not a soul to spot the spinnin’ tot. The luckless brat were then spotted an’ swallered by a passin’ ‘umpback whale on its yearly migratin’. The poor brute must’ve found the snack as irritatin’ to ‘is tum as findin’ one o’ Monty McBuboe’s scabs garnishin’ ye gruel, for ‘e beached ‘isself and tossed ‘is guts upon a shingled shore.

Gaargh, the babe must’ve lived ‘pon the stinkin’ gut-waters o’ the whale, till he were found by the infamous nuns o’ the Isle of Letch. Aarr, they took ‘im in as one o’ their own an’ he brought ‘im up with a deep fondness for stockin’s and showtunes. The nuns’d re-Christened ‘im a girlie in accordance wi’ their confusin’ creed. ‘Tis not clear if they ever noted ‘is masculine qualities but they certainly taught ‘im the joys of curlin’ tongs, a full wax, an’ the breeze ‘twixt ‘is knees. Sh-he left the nunnery at the age o’ sixteen to seek ‘er fortune an’ th’excitement o’ the wider world.

We’d docked the Lollipop for a fresh aft-mast in Santa de Puta, followin’ a nasty encounter with a school o’ zombified flounders; gaargh, me curse were reachin’ its horrid peak. We sought distraction of a bawdy nature while me hull were scraped clean for no extra charge. No Hands Mick an’ me wound up at the notorious Chateau d’Amour where me eye’d once been caught on a sharp hook, an’ now were captivatered by a comely young wench sashayin’ about the stage. Sharon she were called, an’ we bellowed ‘er name to show our likin’ for ‘er dancin’. We stood to cheer an’ draw her fair eye upon us, but we were drowned out by the navy braggarts what got the pleasure o’ manhandlin’ the lass instead.

Ah well, I resigned meself to the company o’ me bottle an’ set about gettin’ better acquainted. Mick strapped on ‘is patented tavern-stump-adaptin’-gauntlets for some serious drinkin’. We were nearin’ the needin’ o’ straws for further grog when there were a sudden uproar from the sailors’ table and the hasty drawin’ of pistols, ‘stead o’ pizzles, which were the usual custom.

Gaargh, ever eager t’ defend some maiden’s honour we leaped to ‘er aid, sword an’ jug-pourin’ tackle a-flailin’. We swiftly despatched the attackers an’ whisked the damsel off to me ship. ‘Twere a romantic gesture to be sure, but not without pragmaticality. I’d slayed a number o’ the Admiral’s finest dullards an’ Mick’d done batterin’ to much o’ the bar’s woodwork.

Safely aboard the Lollipop, Sharon were keen t’ thank ‘er valiant rescuers. Aarr, I bade her re-robe when I discovered ‘midst ‘er disrobin’ that ‘er corset were strappin’ down more’n expected. Mick’d no such qualms however an’ they shared a most pleasant night together. Gaargh, ‘twas just as well as I’d ‘ad sufficient rum t’inhibit me lustin’ action.

I thought upon me next course and concluded I ought to protect the young man-girll from a cruel an’ unfeelin’ world. Me only condition were a certain learnin’ o’ the nature to which he’d previously been quite ignorant. I instructed ‘im in the wearin’ o’ such manly attire as britches an’ boots. ‘E were not pleased an’ I ‘ad to agree to swap our clothin’ to persuade ‘im further. I must confess some surprise an’ agreed wi’ the lad that a skirt an’ girdle were somethin’ of a comfort, though we squabbled about the heels.

Next we sought a trade for ‘im to undertake since we’d no use for freeloaders on board. Aarrr, young Barry (‘twas the name on the brim o’ that hat) soon demonstrated such utter tyranny o’ the vittles an’ rum that twere either makin’ ‘im quartermaster or starvin’ at sea. By night, Barry be free to do as ‘e pleases an’ the sultry Sharon, Mistress with a Beard (if we be long at sea) will strut forth upon deck an’ cast a touch o’ glamour upon all our souls.

Gaargh, we’ve been fightin’ off Admiral Kneehorn ever since. An’ now, me gentles, I must totter towards the docks. I fear me liquor be seekin’ an exit. I bids ye good mornin’.