There be two sides to this story.......
T’was a lovely sunny morn’ in Port Tony with the not-so-gentlefolk being busy about their business.
Pondering the hard day ahead, Luscious Lucy and Well-endowed Meg were trading titbits while Alaine Murraine, the Frenchie tavern keeper, put a little too much effort into polishing his jug. But those boats in the distance….ye gods, there be pirates!
But pirates are a rum lot, there be no honour amongst ‘em. Sharp-eyed Steve spied Cap’n Dandy Nathaniel reach a jetty first and, having been without female companionship for nearly two whole days, was determined to have first dibs. Orders were barked. Flagpole Phil (try saying “I like yee Flagpole Phil” with a piratical accent) and his gun crew of cripples stood-to (well, not so much stood as balanced somewhat precariously on their peg legs) then opened fire on Cap’n Dandy’s vessel. But Sharp-eyed Steve, being new to this malarkey, didn’t know his ball from his chain and so the round shot whistled overhead. Ho hum. Dandy took his revenge and as chain swept their deck, Sharp-eyed Steve’s gun crew was stumped as to what to do next.
Attempting to regain the initiative, Madman McTaggert and his fellow musketeers jumped down to the jetty and raced toward the quay.
Meanwhile, their ally Red-haired Roger had slipped into the harbour and docked. With their blood up – and, frankly, good sense having been discarded the moment that their mate Sharp-eyed Steve opened up on Dandy – his men started lobbing grenades onto the quayside, wiping out Lucy and Meg. T’was a mighty explosion and it be shameful that two such ‘andsome and generous womenfolk be finished off in such a way.
Being determined seamen, they wasted no time with regret and burst upon the quay. Within moments, Red-haired Roger was taking his men up the alley.
It is the truth that on this day the harbour saw a lot of action. There were three bands of pirates that came ashore. Two, being less adventurous sorts minded to exploit the exuberances of others, contented themselves with mere looting and fisticuffs at jetty and quayside. But Red-haired Roger and his men, they set the pace they did. Of all the bands of pirates ashore that day, Red-haired Roger’s made the deepest thrust.
Back on the jetty, Madman McTaggert and his musketeers exerted a toll on Cap’n Dandy’s men but were now down to a few versus many. Unable to make progress to the quay and with the cowering gun crew offering no support, he was true to his name: Mad’ wasn’t happy. But he fought on. And on. And on. Then died.
With Camp Freddie flouncing ahead of them, Dandy’s men stormed aboard Sharp-eyed Steve’s flagship. The crew didn’t have a leg to stand on (a half-truth as they actually had one each) and were cut down, with Flagpole Phil being the last to fall.
Having thrust forward to the town square, Red-haired Roger and his men had seized themselves a couple of wenches. The loss of a ship? Bah! It was wenches they wanted. But being the only souls with the vigour, the courage, the enthusiasm, the downright stupidity to enter into the town, they had received unwelcome attention from its defenders. Withdrawing back down the alley, Roger was somewhat surprised to see that Fat Pete’s men were aboard his sloop.
Why the surprise? Well, Red-haired Roger and Fat Pete had a history and it wasn’t such a bad one. Back in the day, when the taverns of Olde Londone Towne were their haunt, they’d met in business (Pete would sit perched on a barrel polishing shoes while Roger was his occasional client and accountant). They’d become good friends and shared many a “pie and a pint”, as was the habit in Londone. Trouble was Pete liked his pies. He liked them a lot. Roger had remarked that a single barrel no longer accommodated Pete’s bottom and he was a bit sensitive about it, considering the nickname “Two Barrels” to be unnecessarily offensive.
To a man, Sharp-eyed Steve’s crew were positive thinkers. Yes, they’d lost their boats and most of their shipmates but they were at the tavern with a brace of wenches: happy days! Then the wenches escaped. Bugger. Trapped on the quay, redcoats to the left of them, gunner and sailors to the right, they refused an opportunity to surrender and re-entered the fray. With cutlass and axe blade flashing in the sunlight they fought almost to the end.
The last crewman standing was one Oirish Pete, an earthy sort, fond of wearing his emerald coloured shirt. Pete lived to tell this tale. Well, for a bit, ‘cos shortly after they ‘ung ‘im.
30 September 2011, 09:07:22 PM
