Captain Pigheart Lost at Sea

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

 

Gaaargh. Twas a dark stormy night, two men sat upon the waves. Not lit’rally like, we did but sit in a boat.

Little Bo Pete and meself had been cast adrift by that treacherous swine, whose name be like a stinking tobacco-soaked hairball I cannot bring meself to retch forth afore ye good folks. The mere though of ‘is name brings me ter convulse with rage. Aye, last time I thought it I near tore meself a new orifice. Gaargh. I begins to rant – ‘tis a tale for another time.

For now ye must know that me loyal crew an’ I, that is meself an’ Little Bo Pete, we’d been cut loose in the spare dinghy at the mercy of Madame Mer. I ne’er saw me good ship Lollipop again. Gaaargh. But I did see that traitor scum one final time – yahar!

We drifted lonesome upon the open sea. ‘Twas gentle with us at first and we passed the time with ye game of ‘Eye Spy’, ‘til Pete grew maddened and violent.

Y’see, ye no bein’ sailors ye prob’ly think that bein’ ‘pon the seas there be no shortage o’ water. And ye be not wrong, but ye may not have heard ye ancient sailor’s plaint, ‘water water everywhere, but gaaargh, there be not a drop to drink’. Young Pete’d no more knowin’ of the sea than a sheep tossed off a cliff.

We got frightful thirsty, an’ for a laugh, I bet Pete that he’d die within a day if he drank of the sea. Being’ a gamblin’ man (which had led ‘im to me crew from ‘is promisin’ Oxford schoolin’), he upped the stakes, reckonin’ on two days o’ sanity before ‘im. An inveterate gambler, I could not dissuade him from his course, the fool. I meself drank only at night, while Pete slept, from the pigskin I always have strapped to me good leg in case of suchlike occurrences.

By the fourth day we was blistered red, or rather Pete were lobstered since ‘e’d left ‘is bonnet upon the Lollipop. I had me fine captain’s crown with its broad, shady brim, which I’d borrowed from the noble Admiral Kneehorn some months before.

By noon that day I adjudged that Pete had won the bet indeed, for he lived still, though he were reduced to the level of the beasts. Gaargh, for the brine’d made ‘im frothy ‘bout the lips as he hollered his nonsense at the gulls. ‘Is ‘igh education came through ‘is madness as ’e explained ter me the jommetry of Euclid and waxed lunatic Shakespearean speeches at the fishies. Gaargh. He was becomin’ a pain to me ears so I clubbed ‘im with me peg leg and got a few hours o’ peace.

As ‘e slept a’twitchin’ the sea began to seethe about us, an’ I caught glimpses of a vast beast flashin’ round and round the boat. Its scaly humps pierced the waves and sank out o’ sight again and again. I must confess ter bein’ somewhat afeard, for the Baltic Straits into which we’d veered have many tales o’ terror about ‘em.

Arrrr! A great tail rose up out o’ the water, studded wi’ spikes like the great pointy spikes of a Caribbean Sea-Mongoose. It dripped salt water upon us for a mo’, and then fell and smashed the dinghy in ‘twain. Bo Pete an’ I was tossed into the sea, naked to the beast circlin’ below. I clung to a plank like a desperate limpet, Pete danglin’ from me shoulder as I slapped him to wake.

The creature reared up before us, revealin’ its brilliant green an’ crimson crest an’ blazin’ eyes with evil feline pupils. Its nostrils were agape wi’ rage and ‘is jaws open to show two dozen rows o’ teeth the size of cutlasses wielded by a Prussian giant. Gaargh! ‘Twere terrible! Me guts turned to dribblin’ jelly and me face were numb with fear.

Not so poor brave, brine-berserk Little Bo Pete. ‘E lashed out at the brute, splashin’ water int’ its demon eyes. The beastie struck at ‘im, engulfin’ Pete with ‘is fearsome maw. Poor Pete – the monster vanished undersea with ‘im, leavin’ me floating cold and alone.

Stunned I was but a moment later (though it felt a lifetime), the beast’s head appeared again, gazin’ at me, its mouth a-bubblin’ wrathful-like. Its jaws slowly opened – prised apart by Pete, who stood upright, a-bracin’ its gob as ‘e stood proud on the brute’s gums. For a moment I though ‘im victorious, and made as if to cheer… an’ then there were a sickenin’ crack, the likes of which I never wish to hear from me own bones, as the beast bit down. Gaaargh.

Now, through some quirk or other – per’aps it were great Neptune ‘imself, seekin’ to lay blessin’ upon an honest pirate – it seemed Pete’s floppin’ corpse ‘ad somehow become lodged an’ the creature could no more close its mouth than I can snap the fingers o’ me left hand. I wasted no time and courageously plunged me plank into its gills and hauled meself astride the beast. Gaaargh. With the wood on me right and me hook in ‘is eye, I turned the beast toward land and urged it onwards.

Whenever I’m adrift on the open sea, followin’ some mutiny or other I often wish I ‘ad Little Bo Pete fer comp’ny. No doubt he be somewhere ‘pon the ocean-wide, a grisly portcullis to the Baltic Beast’s belly. A scholar and a gentleman – I drinks to ye.

Captain Pigheart’s Mermaid Adventure

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Gaargh, me britches’re stained with the love juice of an impudent mermaid. ‘Twas but four moons ago. We were sailin’ North beyond the dire straits, escapin’ from the British and their monkey-long reach. Aargh. ‘Twas night and the waves were murky, slappin’ the ship like an idle seaman.

There was but me an’ No-Hands Mick ‘pon the deck, swiggin’ the last of Admiral Kneehorn’s finest malt whiskey. I were about to toss the bottle overboard when we heard a sound. A chillin’ sound, of the sort you never wants to hear, the sort so terrifying it makes yer blood freeze and yer eyes pop out on icicles. Gaargh. Old Mick knew it right away – ‘twas the call of a young, and fertile mermaid.

We peered over the side and there, stranded on a tiny reef were a buxom merwench, wailing for gentlemanly assistance. Bein’ gentles what we are, we leaped to her aid. I jumped off the bows and missed the blessed reef. ‘Tis good that I did, for Mick did not and he broke both his legs, for the deck was high up, and the rocks down low. Gaargh, ‘twas my lucky night. The young merlass seemed surprised by Mick’s wailin’, so I swam to her and began a soft croonin’ to soothe ‘er, like so. Now this she liked, I tells ya, and she turned ‘er beauty upon me.

Me black heart nearly broke through me ribs ter reach ‘er first. Glad I was of the padlock on me ribcage, firmly affixed there not nine years before by the king of Tarsus, a fine, but somewhat jealous fellow with his wives – but that’s a tale for another time.

Ah, she were radiant fair, her long hair silver by the moonlight, her arms draped shyly over her bounteous bosoms. Aye, and the most splendidly scaled tail I ever did lay eyes upon, my own or another’s. ‘Er tail swished seductive-like, splashing poor Mick with salty water. ‘Twas love at first sight. She flopped towards me, ‘er fishy nethers draggin’ ‘cross the reef, and I to her, my arms in welcome, and me britches at half-mast. Aye, an’ she was an enthusiast for the old sea-dogs I tell ye, she were fine, an’ fishy.

We lay together in the pale moonlight till ‘twas nearly dawn and old Mick had finally passed out from the pain. I saw she meant to leave me, and I knew I could not but let her go. For that’s the way of the ocean. Me heart sank as she dived beneath the waves, ‘er saucy tail flapping away.

I followed her with me eyes, well- me eye, and at the very edge of me sight she turned and tossed ‘erself out the water an’ the rising sun caught her all up the scales an’ she glowed like a big golden fish – and then she were gone. I dragged No Hands Mick back onto the ship and we went on our way.

On a quiet, moony night I fancy I can catch a whiff of that fine mackerel scent in me nostrils and can almost feel her cold, slippery fins about me thighs. Gaarrgh, ‘tis hard to bring meself to wash these britches – ‘tis all I have left. She was half fish, but all woman.

Captain Pigheart’s Chelonian Adventure

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Gaargh, an’ welcome back me hearties, tis kind of ye parson to invite such a roguish fellow as I to be speakin to ye fine young mites all done up in yer Sunday bests. It be many moons since last I came to an ‘ouse of the lord on ‘is ‘Oly day. tis not that I have no faith young laddie, tis more the exclusion order slapped upon yon pirate pal before ye, by a fine magistrate named ‘Bedfellow’ upon whom I have since been revenged. Yaaargh, the fellow’ll be spendin’ time a-bed no more. Apologies father, I’ll get to ye point.

Me lads an’ I’d been sailin’ through a miserable and brutish fog for many days. There were little wind so we had naught to do but play hangman with ye prisoners seized durin’ our last exploit on the mysterious isle of Ibiza. Yarr, as’t turned out they spoke mainly Spanish and could no more spell ‘yard-arm’ than they could wriggle from out their nooses. After that time dragged slower than me tortoise mascot, Neville.

‘An yet, one day the foggy thinned and me lookout cried ‘Land! Land ho!’ Gaaargh, ‘twas well to see a shoreline once more, even one so alien to us as this ‘un. We’d travelled many days a-fogged and so we ‘ad not the foggiest as to our present location. We drew in close enough to land for anchor and I led the beach party made up of my best crew. I took Mick o’ course, Barry (called Sharon by night), Kanagawa – an exotic fellow from the far East, an’ me first mate, Billy No Mates.

The lads rowed us to shore. On the way we saw the curious symmertry o’ th’ island, but ‘twas fresh water and provisions we sought, and perchance treasure, so we noted it not.

Kanagawa led us in some devilish Eastern exercise which stretched parts I’d never wanted to know I ‘ad. Barry an’ Mick trapped some o’ the birds what nested upon the island. Billy went a-wanderin’ in search o’ some vegetables, for that’s ‘is nature. I detached me spare parts and gave ‘em a rinse in the freshwater pools from which we filled our barrels.

Afore we headed back to ye ship Cack-Handed Mick started up a fire for the roastin’ o’ some dinghy-snack. An’ that were what proved our undoin’. Where sometimes we’ve ‘ad whole herds o’ native loons come spear-ready at us, we had none o’ it, bar the sudden shaking o’ the ground at our feet.

Mightily afeard we leaped into the dinghy and rowed like madmen for the ship. Once upon deck we leaned out to see the queer isle as it rolled over in the ocean to be replaced in our sight by a pair o’ huge flippers and a giant, fearsomely gaping physog. Ye could feel the varmint lookin’ at ye, much as ye’d regard a bacon butty after a month at sea eatin’ Mick’s weevil stew. With but a few mighty strokes the kraken-like fiend did embrace the Lollipop with ‘is beaky jaws. There were much screamin’, and then ‘twas all dark.

The first clue that we were not yet dead was the remarkable stench violatin’ our nostrils. Second were the screamin’ issuin’ forth from me wretched crew. Once Billy’d the torches lit and the lamps a-burnin’, we realised what had truly befallen us, and I think Kanagawa spoke for us all when he said “we’re all going to die”. The crew put forth that we’d been swallered by a whale or somesuch hogwash. But it seemed to me that the beast was neither whale nor fish but rather some gigantic relation to my dear tortoise Neville, perched atop me shoulder, where I’d nailed ‘im fer safety.

Its turtlin’ qualities accounted for the island’s roundness and o’ course the Large Pan-Atlantic Terrapin swallows its prey whole with a hunger rivalled only by Billy’s piteous need for a friend. I owes me knowin’ o’ turtles to one drunk afternoon on the poop-deck with Neville, a spyglass and curious state o’ mind. And so I laid out me fishy knowledge to me quailin’ crew and of our likely fate – bein’ slowly digested over several years, lest we starve or be drowned by a thirsty turtle. ‘Twas not promisin’.

Gaaargh. To be honest I think Kanagawa just snapped… he commandeered me dinghy and rowed vigorously o’er the beast’s bumpy tongue – sadly towards the belly not the beak. We thought him doomed till an eddy twisted the dinghy, jammin’ Kanagawa sidelong into the turtle’s gullet. Then the tongue began to buck beneath us, tossin’ the Lollipop to an’ fro like a pickled walnut in a preservin’ jar rollin’ about ye table. Gaargh, then ‘twere messy as the turtle choked further on the dinghy and its spasms rammed the mast o’ the Lollipop into the roof of its vast mouth.

We dangled there for a moment like a child’s mobile. It throat spasmed again, then, with a veritable geyser of regurgitation we were spewed out onto the sea. We fairly skipped across the waves till we came to a stop, turtle-puke drippin’ from the sails and every man jack of us. ‘Twas a moment afore the dinghy, Kanagawa heroic at the helm, followed us in a vomitous arc, right into a feedin’ frenzy o’ sharks. I’d see him feed such fishies as these afore, as curator o’ the Japanese Fish Palace, though normally with a stick. The giant Trans-Atlantic Terrapin sank out o’ sight as queasy as a sober man seein’ Barry in’s womanly guise.

Gaargh, we scrubbed the decks an’ the riggin’ till we hit upon land once more. After so close an escape as this I found meself turnin’ to God. I thought to find meself a priest and confess me sins, lest a greater tragedy befall us sooner. I’d but lightly touched upon me incarceration and transport in the belly of a giant sea creature (an’ the epiphany I’d suffered upon me escape) when I were struck an’ hounded out the church by a horde o’ crazed Catholics denouncin’ me blasphemy. ‘T think I once thought of takin’ the cloth… which we did later, there bein’ quite a market in the colonies.

I were chased to the Lollipop where we were assailed wi’ torches and the flame o’ their passion. Turned out that the turtle’s chunder had proofed me whole vessel ‘gainst their fiery outrage. Though not me first mate, Billy who was afire until some kindly comrade shoved him overboard; I’d’ve helped him meself, but he’s not me mate. Somewhat put out by this, the locals bade us come ashore for a more personal burnin’ at ye stake. We politely declined and pounded their church wi’ cannon as we took our leave.

Yaargh, ‘twas in the very next port that ye legal papers came through. Though by then we’d earned it, what with our brief stay at the nunnery on the Isle of Letch; arr, they were lonely souls, even Billy almost found a friend upon that bleak rock.

Still, it has been a pleasure to join ye Sunday school today. Would there be any questions for ye Cap’n children?

Captain Pigheart’s Birthday Party

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Yarr, ‘twas the maiden voyage of me new ship, ‘The Grim Bastard’. I were right proud of ‘er, she bein’ an upright sea-farin’ wench wi’ extra cannon and sail fer when we hunts down that treacherous filth-spattered barnacle-suckin’ knave whose name be spat upon even by the Isle of Letch’s most elderly nuns, and they coughs up a good ‘un.

We were half-crossed th’ Atlantic, transportin’ legitimate cargo from the heart o’ India. Ye see we be not always brutishly piratical. When there’s greater profit to be had in commerce, why, we just switches flags on ‘em. Now that works a treat if ye’re wantin’ to sucker the navy, p’raps Admiral Kneehorn – he always falls for a white flag.

Gaargh, as ‘twas we’d bartered with the savages, an entire rubber crop in return for not puttin’ fire to their village. ‘Twas a most favourable deal, and we’d the foresight to take out some insurance lest the heathens be thinkin’ it be not such a fine deal. We kept ‘em in the hold on water and biscuits. Clearly ‘twas better food than their native fare, for they were often sickenin’.

One mornin’ I awoke late, which I ascribes havin’ somewhat hammered ye rum whilst discoursin’ at length with Stone Cold Steve in ‘is Crow’s Nest. Havin’ demonstrated a perilous fondness for the bottle, we’d chained ‘im to the mast. Our plan were to cure ‘im with sobriety. ‘Twas not a mutual agreement mind, but I does need a clear pair o’ eyes on ship.

I came onto deck to a chorus of ‘For He’s A Dastardly Rascal’ from me beloved crew – from the buntin’ I realised it were me birthday once more. Arr, it fair brought a tear t’ me eye. Billy No Mates an’ No Hands Mick’d planned a day o’ drinkin’, feastin’ and diverse entertainments. We began wi’ a few tots o’ rum to see us through till noon, an’ brought the heathens on deck to join ye festivities. Their high spirits at the sight o’ the sun after so many weeks brought joy to our hearts and their caperin’ were a marvel, considerin’ the manacles ‘bout their ankles. ‘Twas only later, after the third barrel that our minds turned to darker pleasures.

I were provided with birthday treasures by the lads. Billy gave me a varnished squid containin’ some liqueur tastin’ o’ rancid seaweed. ‘Tis no wonder he has no friends, had we been on land I’d ‘ave sent ‘im home wi’ no cake. ‘Twas all rubbish, but since there be no gift shop aboard ‘tis the thought that counts.

An’ then I were startled somewhat by a loud thunk and the familiar rasp of a body dragged ‘cross the caulking, but ‘twas only Barry the Man-Girl haulin’ a wrapped thing from ‘is cabin. Mentally I prepared meself for smilin’ politely, like when ‘e procured for me the services of his night-time self, Sharon. I leaves that t’ the crew, though Mick were grateful for the voucher. I need not’ve worried – the lads’d been industrious, carvin’ me a rubber woman to while away the long hours in me hammock.

It shames me to say it, but I were delighted. ‘Twas wondrous, right down to the toes (four on one foot, seven on t’other), an’ she were a snug fit in me arms. An’ pliable, like a body left too long in salt water. She were a fine consort for a civilised pirate like meself – there were even a holder for me mug and pipe. I named ‘er India an’ proceeded to try ‘er out, to the audible horror of the heathens.

I’m no fan o’ screamin’ savages and proposed a party game. In no time at all we ‘ad ‘em bobbin’ ‘mongst the waves, temptin’ ye sharks with their flailin’ limbs. My, how we chuckled.

There were a sudden cheer as one o’ the savages vanished underwater. But when the others swiftly disappeared too, the chains left a-danglin’, we knew not what to think. Lookin’ back now, it seems likely that we brought it all upon ourselves, with all the birthday excitement.

With the fishin’ finished we quaffed away, and then Stone Cold Steve were heard to bellow unintelligibly from the Crow’s Nest. We merely drank some more an’ mocked ‘is teetotal lunacy. Next we knew there were a monstrous tentacle lashin’ the deck, its suckers all puckered up for some fatal kiss. An’ that were only the first – afore we could hack it wi’ our cutlass and dagger there were seven more assailin’ the Grim Bastard an’ her noble crew.

The monster octopus took hold of the vessel and hauled its body half-out the water. Its horrible beak snapped hungrily as it tossed seamen from the ship and squashed me lads in its slimy coils. tugged me men free from their refuges. Gaargh, those of us still aboard an’ not unconscious with drink were tucked down to avoid them terrible suckers – I saw a man have ‘is face sucked clean off.

Its hideous bulbous noggin hung off the bow with a saucery eye ‘pon ye brave captain. Mick’n me were back to back, me slashin’ at a tentacle while he beat ‘is stumps upon it. ‘Twas not an effective stratagem. The thing’d wrapped half its arms round the main mast, inchin’ closer to poor tethered Steve an’ pullin’ us over and all. ‘Twas then I felt the first drop of rain an’ heard thunder rumble towards us.

As the sky darkened, signifyin’ doom for us all, the octobrute waggled the mast back an’ forth, jerkin’ Steve lasso-like at the length of ‘is chain. Then ‘twas miraculous: the clouds farted and struck ‘im with a vast bolt of lightnin’. The power of the heavens passed through ‘im, the mast, and into that psychotic cephalopod.

The lightnin’ lit up the big bugger like a Chinese lantern an’ it collapsed in a stinkin’, steamin’ heap on the deck, pissin’ ink over me ship. Poor Steve were crispy too o’course, it seems he’d finally dried out. I kept expectin’ to be shocked meself, but the lightnin’ were done an’ the storm withdrew.

Standin’ on our rubbery cargo’d saved us all from the storm’s spark, well, them as ‘ad not been eaten, crushed or otherwise passed on. Sadly the rubber’d melted and with it our fortune.

There seemed but two courses of action before us: either return to India an’ re-negotiate via the medium o’ cannon fire, or chop and preserve the manky mollusc for the expandin’ New World tapas market. Before makin’ a decision we ‘ad a few more drinks an’ took turns on me now slightly deformed India. Gaargh, ‘twas a fine birthday.

Now me lad, are ye ready to blow out ye candles? Be not forgettin’ to make a wish.

Captain Pigheart’s Romantical Adventure

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Gaaargh, an’ welcome sir and madam. Cap’n Ignatius Pigheart at ye service. Perhaps I might while away this moment of tedium for ye with me tales o’ derrin’-do and bedevilment ‘pon the high seas?

Me father passed on ‘is astro-navigational skills (the art o’ knowin’ where ye be goin’ by the guidance o’ the starry night) which’d been faithfully passed down me forefathers. It seems me grandfather’s father were taught by an idiot who could no more read an astrolabe than juggle ‘is own balls.

Twas no wonder therefore that we were lost once more, the Lollipop bumpin’ ‘gainst the rickety jetty o’ some nameless island. Yarr. We’d been voyagin’ to me treasure cache for the much needed payment o’ me crew. Sadly what with me map-readin’ all askew an’ all we’d been forced to circle whilst I awaited the conception o’ some excuse in me noggin.

I summoned the crew an’ explained to ‘em all that through some act or other o’ God’s will, the island ‘ad tragically sunk beneath the waves as penance for our wicked ways. There were dark mutterin’ but after I made promise o’ future riches an’ more rum per crewman than their livers’d stand all was well once more. I’d never been more grateful for stockin’ the bulk o’ me crew from the educational shallows o’ the port-side slums.

Gaargh, I must confess that night I were at me lowest ebb, the Lollipop an me wallowin’ in self-pity. The town were deserted an’ yet I heard the slappin’ o’ bare feet and the rattlin’ o’ the timbers. Down I looked an’ saw a vision o’ beauty. Arr, she were a proper English rose, starin’ up at me all beseechin’ like, ‘er clothes in rags and hair a-straggled.

I bellowed for me sawbones, Herr Doktor Gunther Garment, an’ together we hauled her aboard. The good doctor declared “she ist helsy but I could be plonking ze xylophone of her ribcage”, prescribin’ ‘er “fur effery day ein Zitronelle und zwei rumtotten” in ‘is thick Teutonic tongue. Monty’d been makin’ lemonade so twas not long afore she could stomach any number o’ such medicinals.

Gentleman what I be, I beat back the crew an’ escorted ‘er ter me cabin for a scrub and brush up. I sought out Barry in search of claddin’ more befittin’ a lady than me second-best britches. I found ‘im struttin’ an’ displayin’ ‘is womanly assets; I distracted ‘im with a pinch on the rear and borrowed a frock.

Aarr, we discoursed on small matters through a screen which near protected ‘er modesty till she pronounced ‘erself clean. That be a relative matter on a pirate ship. Compared t’ Monty McBuboe the galley-master, she were a paragon o’ purity. I can count ‘pon me fingers the times I’ve fished a digit o’Buboe’s from me stew, which is more than he can do himself, the poor leprous wretch. An’ then she gave me ‘er name, Roberta-Clementine. As she spoke I felt the words etch ‘emselves into the flesh o’ me black, yet tender heart.

Later I brought her up on deck to meet the lads an’ tell how she’d come to be stranded on that bleak and lonely isle. Gaargh, I had to contend with Barry glarin’ daggers at me throughout, though I made clear she’d not be crampin’ his style. They later spent many happy hours braidin’ one another’s hair. Roberta’s sad tale made our hearts bleed and rile our tempers.

She’d been kidnapped by Admiral Kneehorn’s tax-collectin’ scum on pretence o’ some quiddity or other. The knave’d taken her to his flagship, the Flamboyant and allowed her to be put to caulking the deck an’ filin’ their bunions ‘mongst other distasteful labours. At last they stopped off at this same island, and seein’ ‘er chance she’d leaped o’erboard in hopes of rescue.

Though her heart had sunk at sight o’ our pirate colours and me boisterous crew she’d wagered on the likelihood o’ so fine a ship as the Lollipop havin’ an ‘andsome captain blessed with kindness and honour. Aarr, ‘tis an easy thing t’ stoke a bachelor’s pride. Twas not for nothin’ that I were known throughout the port-side taverns as Captain Loveheart, what with me strong three limbs and the sight of slightly more than one eye. Aye, it surprised me only a mite when she sought out me gentle embrace, once I’d propped me hook on its stand.

Gaargh, there were a passionate bloomin’ o’ the love betwixt us. Twas like a summer storm, hot and wet. Whippin’ away me doubts she made me a stronger, merrier fellow than I’d thought possible. An’ when she asked me to help avenge herself ‘pon her tormentors, I leapt at the chance to prove me feelin’s true. Naturally the opportunity to strike back at the despicable Kneehorn were a treat for any pirate. The crew’d grown to love her also and bristled at remembrance o’ the injustices wrought upon her and soon were bristlin’ with cutlass and pistol.

We snuck upon ‘em in dawn’s early light. The Lollipop slid ‘tween the flagship an’ its sole companion, the Endurance, as they rocked at anchor. Gaargh, th’Endurance proved poorly named as we sank ‘er with but one brutal volley o’ cannonballs, sendin’ the admiral’s men to the ocean floor still in their bedsocks.

Our attack were as pronged as Poseidon’s trident. That be three for ye non-mariners. As the Endurance endured her last we were swingin’ aboard Admiral Kneehorn’s mighty Flamboyant. Aaar, we were a-drool with bloodlust as we leapt into massacrin’ the likes of which only seal cubs’ve ever seen. I’d a cutlass in me teeth an’ pistol in me mitt. By me side were me beloved Roberta-Clementine, decked out in ‘er piratical wench-wear, powder blowin’ an’ sword slashin’. We fought back to back, snatchin’ kisses between the guttin’ and blackenin’ of our foes.

The battle won we stuffed the Lollipop t’the gills with the Flamboyant’s gildin’ an’ ‘er booty. The brave Admiral were found hiding in a barrel o’ salted and pickled herring. Not wantin’ to incur the full wrath of the British navy we ‘ad some fun, but held back from outright killin’. We stripped the man and keelhauled ‘im thrice afore nailin’ im’ back into the pickle barrel. Gaaargh, he squealed like a man blistered and salted might. I took his hat as me right, and cursed him for a pustulent carbuncle on the face o’common decency and pitied ‘is mother for gobbin’ up such ignoble spawn.

We cut a merry caper on the loaded decks of the Lollipop that night. We divvied our takin’s between the crew and when we’d done, I asked Roberta if she’d take me hand in marriage. Me heart thundered in me chest an’ I near fainted away when she cried ‘aye’ with teary eyes. The last I recall o’ the night were the good Doktor performin’ some obscene Germanic jig with Sharon after splashin’ out his moonshine. I believe we all shone bright indeed and none more so than me beautiful Roberta-Clementine.

The next I knew was the sun bright on me face and timber at me back. Gaargh, the sky tossed about me when I tried standin’. Before me were the Lollipop and surmountin’ it the unwelcome sight o’ Admiral Kneehorn, his arm about me betrothed, lookin’ like the cat what caught the parrot, only somewhat more sore. Me ship were crawlin’ with the Admiral’s men, though not from his best ships, their guns to the heads o’ me hungover crew. Yarrr, the smug deceit were ‘scribed ‘pon their faces. I could scarce ask why, but that pus-filled canker could not hold back. I’d been tricked from the start – Roberta were the fiend’s own sister, the strandin’ a devious ploy.

I swore vengeance and wished me crew well for none of ‘em deserved to swing for this treachery. And yet, as I were cast adrift I caught the eye of me bride-to-be an’ saw the glint of tears rollin’ down her sweet cheeks. Me heart were torn asunder and I had to turn away to hide the tears dribblin’ in me beard. I fell back in me dinghy, floatin’ helpless on the seas.

Twas days of blisterin’ and bakin’ later when I surrendered to me hallucinations. I were tea-partyin’ with me marine pals when I glimpsed me Lollipop’s sails once more. I giggled an’ near split me tea on Mr JellyMcFish before they drew alongside and hauled me aboard.

Roberta-Clementine had rebelled ‘gainst her tyrant brother, led mutiny on the soldiers and returned to her husband-to-be. With me crew and our well-earned plunder we sailed off into the sunset together. Well, twas more like the dawn but I likes to paint ye a pretty picture.

Aaarr! Thankin ye’ sir ye be a-right in ye sharp rebuke. Twas perhaps an overlong gazin’ at ye lady-wife’s fine plumage.

Might there still be a tip perchance? Ah well, where would ye like ye luggage?