Jacky Tar

"Hold him off! I'm not goin' t' run from him." I swung about, an set my gaze on the other brig. "Sniff us... Wot kind o' mongrel are we dealin' wit?" The deck hands were securin' the divin' barrel, Jonesy an the lads were aloft prepared t' unfurl the main sail, an finally the anchor was hoisted.

I heard Ransom's warnin', an shouted back, "Wot aren't ye tellin' me 'bout the captain o' that ship? Any reason ye believe he might attack my ship?" I turned t' Stones, "Unless I'm mistaken, the captain o' that brig got in t' a long boat t' chase after those Spaniards. But if he's daft enough t' chase them on foot, wot is t' stop him from comin' after us next?" I shouted again t' Ransom, "Noted, ye won't hav me back against that brig!" "Stones, take us in closer fer a chat wit' the crew o' that Brig... Wot did Ransom call it? Aye, the Flodden." "Dillard, hav the lads man the guns. If the crew o' the Flodden so much as sneezes in our direction, I'll sink her 'fore her captain can return."

We watched the fate o' the Spanish vessel through the smoke. The attackin' brig was putting boats in the water, an looked poised t' chase the Spaniards on land, if need be. "They appear t' be ready t' give chase on foot!" I shook my head, "The Spaniard's ship is sinkin' an the few survivors will die, if left on that rock. Someone doesn't want t' wait fer time an the elements t' finish them off." Lowering' the spyglass, I made a final remark, "Let's hope the captain o' that brig is only after Spanish ships!"

A belated Happy Natal Day, an best wishes always, Merrydeath! Glad t' hear that those close t' ye made yer day special, luv.

"Mister Dillard, send someone t' the galley t' fetch somethin' for us t' eat," I said, after dressin' on deck. "Oi, an Dillard! See, that ye steer clear o' Rosie yer self, as I may want ye t' join us on the next dive." Stones snorted, after that last remark. Everyone knew Rosie might try t' cut Dillard's throat, fer she'd almost flayed the man outside the galley, recently. I looked at Stones, "I need some way t' kill that shark." Stones nodded, but he offered no suggestions.

Baja battered shrimp tacos and a Corona (Why did I eat so many chips... ugh!). A grown man in a baseball uniform (Some things are only meant t' be worn at the ball park). My son's basketball coach. Ah... the CAt!

musk deer (Musk we dear? Aye, we musk!)

Aye, Ransom we all know ye prefer younger men, luv. Watch out lads, cougar in the lounge!

Ransom, I think the ol' older men an younger women discussion, is a manly-men conversation starter. Lookin' around the pub I see younger women who've directed movies, flown vintage aircraft, started their own businesses, an crewed on tall ships. No boring dinner companions in this bunch. Why wouldn't an older gentleman o' fortune, whom wasn't otherwise engaged, want t' spend a little time wit' them? I don't believe it's all folly, or just a chance fer a roll in the sheets, either. Well, I'll raise me tankard t' the younger women, an to the lucky gents which get any o' these ladies t' commit t' a long term dinner engagement!

Traverse boards, Sir William? Does the encampment move about? Or will we witness the launchin' o' the Mercury, at PIP '09? Aye, pictures please. Wot marks will ye be silk screenin' on the bags an bales?

Another pirate under the knife? Prayers fer yer speedy recovery, Black Syren.

Best o' luck wit' the back surgery, Rumba Rue. I'm sure we'll see ye in the spring, runnin' around the pirate encampments, good as new... Well would ye settle fer ridin' around the encampments, an good as slightly used? Either way, get yer self better, an come collect yer hugs.

Captain Synn, ye are a pirate artist. Very impressive sir!

After being unceremoniously dropped into the bottom of the jolly boat, I sat up an addressed the men, "Thank you, gentlemen. I'm grateful ye decided not t' let me become that shark's next meal." I glanced over at the Rakehell, an commented how pale her captain looked. Grabbing the jolly boat's only mast, I stood t' address Ransom, "Aye, the water is quite nice. After I catch my breath, an get a bite t' eat, I intend t' go fer another swim. Care t' join me?" I taunted her.

Mr. B, we must be period correct, so call me Mister T. Cap'n Sterling, a very happy birthday t' yer self, also. Thank ye, both.

Oi, Eyes yer a gentleman... er, no... a scholar... nay, hardly... but ye brought rum! Good lad! Thank ye. Iron Bess, the little balloon maker keeps makin' little balloon pirates, givin' them names, an stickin' needles in 'em... we're savin' yers fer last! Muhaha! Lady B, aye it is insane, an a sane man would just lay down an die (not much chance o' that happenin'!). Thank ye all!

The bar we sent t' the surface was recovered from the bilge o' the wreck. We believed we find the remainin' treasure, in the bilge. Jonesy, an I, came up fer air inside the divin' barrel. I gestured t' Jonesy that it was time t' return t' the surface. Fer the air inside the barrel had gotten hot, an was gettin' more unbearable by the minute. We each took a deep breath, an exited the barrel. We'd been mostly unmolested by the reef sharks, when a larger white tip decided t' try his luck. He swam in close fer a look, an startled one o' the Dutch sailors, 'fore we could surface. I gestured t' the sailor t' go back t' the barrel. But when the shark made a second pass, between us an the barrel, the sailor lost his nerve. 'Fore we could get closer t' the lad, he'd shed his haversacks, an was strugglin' t' reach the surface. The white tip turned sharply, an followed the fleein' sailor t' the surface. The shark struck the man, an bit down on his leg. Sadly, the white tip didn't release the man's leg; it quickly dragged the frightened sailor, by the almost severed limb, away from us. Soon the scent o' blood in the water, brought the remainin' reef sharks after the white tip an his prey.

Smithe had dispensed the kit the lads would need fer this dive. Dillard, an company, had lowered the barrel back t' the bottom. They were all waitin' on my command, t' begin the recovery. "Down there, I'll be directin' ye wit' hand signals," I said, as I demonstrated the basics. "We work in pairs, an make sure ye know where yers' is at all times." "As Smithe told ye, don't let these sharks bump an bite. Bump 'em first wit' those gaffs," I said. "Ye both will keep the divin' barrel, supplied wit' air," I said, an pointed at the two Dutch sailors. "The two of you will move the contents we bring back from the ship, an place them in the buckets," I said, as I pointed t' the last two crewmen in our party. "Jonesy, an I will visit the ship first, an map out her remains," I said, as I acknowledged the deaf crewman. "Gentlemen Godspeed," I remarked, as I climbed back down into the dingy.

Hester, it's never too late t' join the party! I've been blamed fer lots o' things... but fish tacos is a first. Thank ye, luv.

"Aye, I see the ship," I bellowed back t' the captain o' the Rakehell. "But we're a little busy, tryin' t' appropriate the plunder the Spanish hav left behind." "If ye'd like t' help us, an yer self, how 'bout danglin' that first mate o' yers in the water. He might be better at distractin' the sharks from my men an me, then he is at tackin' yer ship!" I shouted. The Rakehell was close enough, that I could read Africa's expression. I turned t' Stones, an said, "He doesn't look that eager t' help us."

Thank ye ladies, an gent! Makes fer the better part o' the day, t' receive yer well wishes. Ransom, Champagne kisses... not wit' out orange juice, luv. Black Syren, Red-Handed Jill, an Rumba Rue ye make an ol' sea dog feel younger (even if he's not). Red CAt, I don't believe it's even a cast of a dozen. Joe Pyrat, I'll need more than luck mate, but thanks just the same. Fer the offered kisses, hugs, happiness, luck, and the treasure map, many thanks.

We were set t' lower the barrel again, an the sharks were showin' renewed interest in our endeavors. "Mister Dillard, I don't want a man in the water who has so much as a scratch, on them!" I said. He nodded, an went t' inspect the lads that would be takin' the plunge. The barrel would be closer t' the wreck, an the recovery buckets were t' be lowered. Jonesy was spreadin' more o' the only shark repellant we had left. "I hope that's enough," I muttered. "Smithe, make sure every man has a knife, an bring up some o' those gaffs from below," I shouted. "Do ye hav anymore o' those Spanish lances?" I asked. He smiled, knuckled his brow, an descended in t' the hold.

An insult t' sober ones as well... and just when I had learned the lyrics t' that one!

The barrel had two viewin' port holes, as I looked out one, I remarked, "There ye be. So we hav hooked a ship!" The ship was 'bout fifty feet from the barrel. The masts were missin', an the hull had had seen better days, but she was a ship. "We need t' get this barrel closer. Time t' go topside," I said. A couple deep breaths, an it was time t' leave the barrel. I walked back t' the line, an gazed up at the bottom o' the Relentless. No sharks in sight, so I dropped the lance, an left the haversacks on the bottom. Then I started my ascent, hand ov'r hand, up the line.

Looks like the CAt hasn't stumbled on t' her birthday thread, yet (probably, because no one left a trail o' cinnamon toast t' this thread). A very Happy Bouncin' Birthday, dearest Red CAt Jenny!