*stuffs a pipe, strikes a match, swallers a tankard of ale whole, dreggs ant'all.*
*cough, sneezes, spits an scratches me beard. Lights me pipe*
My First Mate, the one who slapped me, ye see, speaks ne're a word, which hath been tha'way abaft our escape. She speaks with her eyes, fists, powder an ball. Takes pride in her accuracy, she does. Me thinks she loves augerin holes, I does. So, I learnt her the gentle hobby of cannonade fire. That'a'way she can take her pleasure augerin big holes in big ships. Our little Ketch t'were only an eight gunner, six twelve pounders, one eight pounder and one thirty two pounder. We practiced and practiced with all manner of shot. We gave Oceanus hell that week, blowing holes through the swells. She learnt her timing on the ship's rolls, learnt her aim by the feel of the ship's pitch. She got good, an I knew I was done schoolin, when I'd laid eyes on somthin I'd ne'er seen till -- she smile'd. She done got her pride back, I suspect. Me thinks she found her purpose in this cruel life. I dunno, but she's been hell to live with ever since. Not in a bad way, mind you, but her love of blowing things up has put a dent in our stores of powder. Do you know how long it takes to sift ye powder, to keep it from the clump? Huh? Correct, a long boring dangerous time, and no sooner do I or my Constable gits the job done and she takes the cask, makes several charges, and blows half of em gone before four bells a'noon.
*shakes me head, fills me tankard, swills her down, cough, spits, an drags a hit from me pipe*
Whar was I? hmm?
Oh, yeah, yeah, way down sou seventy leagues from the Horn. Me plan was so complex it was simple. His friggin Magisties ships are ordered to protect dem fat whalin vessels over in the Mare de Pacifica. A task given to most experience Captains of His friggin Royal Fleet, are mostly chosen for this task. *scratches beard, not knowing if I want to spill certain beans .. decides to kick the pail over* Every lucky Sam's now an then, comes along a Captain who has more brass cannon shot, then chimes in his bell rack. He attempts the Horn, the Horn dont love'em nor his crew no more, and the Horn spits him out, like a barrister spits out his poor wife's cookin. His ship is a'battered an a'torn, his riggin is a'fray, his tackle is a'jumble, his Midshipmen are a'cryin, his crew is a'rollin cannon balls, those that are left, that is, and those that still have their fingers, bein that their fingers are still a'frozen to the Mizzen's Yard Stays, his supper be a'lyin on d'deck, his brandy a'spillin on his charts, and his bowels a'be incontinent, he be havin to sat a'stride his cover'd jake hole, till his innards be empty.
"Aaaaand that is when we will take the Cap'n an crew, albiet with their pants down, my first mate," I says to her.
Another first a'happen'd. She roared with laughter. first time I had actually heard her voice. I think me ears touched from the smile I did give in reciprocity.
She took off ina giddy dance, inspecting every piece of cannon on the ship. She paid special attention to the thirty two pounder. I think she adopted it, to tell ye the truth of the matter. She seemed to be pettin it, more as much as inspect it. Me thinks she named it, but I can not tell thee his nom d' plume. Sometimes I still catch her sleeping on the confounded artillery piece. Women'folk! Has it in her cabin, an you will not believe what I went through to install it there. Makes a dandy aft gun, though. would take a brave idiot to try to sneak up a'stern of our rudder, mind you.
So, she set off to ready our cannons, and I set to the task of readying our arms, pistoles, block an tackle. Within half a fortnight, we'd be ready to spring our trap.
*fills me tankard, puffs on me pipe, scratches, belches, coughs an spits*
Shall I continue?



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