Smithe

"Goose, 'fore the lass cooks ye, stand down mate." The lass the Cat called Jane, seemed t' hav the cook well in hand. I stick me thick stubby fingers in t' the skillet, an grab a sizzlin' piece o' bacon, "Jane this bacon is perfect, lass." I turned t' the Cat, "Trouble ye fer a mug o' that brew, lass?" The company in the galley is grand, but I mumble, "I should be gettin' back t' the boat, an see t' Mister Tar."

Looked like a greetin' party would be waitin' fer Mister Roberts, we sailed toward the branch dock in shallow water. We'd tie off not far from the Rakehell, an wait fer Mister Roberts return. Jonesy dropped the lug sail an as we coasted close t' the dock, an Jonesy deftly jumped on t' the dock, an tied the moorin' lines t' the dock. "Mister Roberts, Jonesy an I will be a waitin' here fer ye, sire. Course we might wet our whistles, if ye think ye may be a while."

"Beggin' yer pardon sire, 'board the Relentless, Mister is reserved fer wot ye call the ship's officers. Like Mister Dilliard an Mister Tar, an yer self bein' liason. Jus call me Smithe, sire." Mister Roberts nodded, an I had the lads on deck release the bow line. We cast off, an set sail fer the shore line, an the docks o' the Rakehell. Mister Roberts had a twinkle in his eye, an seemed at ease wit' his duties.

"Ye must be that Roberts fella, Mister Dillard says t' take ye ashore. The other mate in the boat is Jonesy, he won't say much, fer his tongue has been cut out! But he ain't deaf, so don't yell at 'em, hates that he does." "Shall we cast off than Mister Roberts?"