Sunday, September 28, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
PART TH' SIXTH
Steppin' int' th' tunnel I immediately sensed somethin' dank an' foul an' soulless…..but then I come t' realize that were jus' me.
I though then how it were jus' a few short strides from bein' a carefree cheese- eatin' pirate t' a captured freebooter doin' a Hempen Jig fer th' amusement o' th' British.
Life be funny that way.
So whence th' Captain give orders fer "Halt!" I executed th' pirate version….I turned an' hauled arse out o' there!
I made it as far as our blanket where I found a deficit o' both cheese an' husband.
Screamin' Lily Rose were still screamin' (no surprise) an' De'd Aim were keeping back at 45 paces, not trustin' herself at th' faultless 44 nor th' 43 or less -her bein' only a true aim at precisely four an' fourty. The Lady Shawna in her pure and honest way allowed as how I looked pretty but could she have more cheese, please. Mad Peg were jus' lickin' th' face o' a Scot an' tryin' t' get him t' eat her potatoes.
Clearly I hadn't been missed.
I managed a cup o' rum then (fine, several) afore two red faced, heavily breathin' (and I be thinkin' severely chastised!) British lads come back t' fetch me. A great deal wiser t' me antics this time they hauled me back through th' tunnel and presented me t' th' court.
Now, I figured upon me arrival there'd be all manner o' chaos ensuin' but that were naught t' be so. Fer there were me bes' mate Merlyn standin' huddled next t' Lord Talon, meek and subdued and sayin' aye, sir and nay, sir and if ye please, sir like one o' them fancy women at one o' th' Lady Cameron's doin's.
Now this did confuse me greatly as I weren't accustomed t' such from th' Mighty Merlyn. I met her gaze then and she did relieve me a wee bit by givin' me a wink and tellin' me in silent pirate speak t' play along.
Aye well, and good luck wit' that.
I knew not what happened afore me arrival but I weren't goin' t' swing wit'out causin' a great deal o' uproar.
Well, after that there were a lot o' girlish screamin' an' cryin', and that jus' from th' guards, and a good deal o' bayonet pokin' an' madam shut yer gob and th' like but the down slide o' th' upthrust were that I were t' hang fer th' crimes o' Anne Bonny.
Well, I bloody well weren't!
And no matter how many times Merlyn give me th' play along signal I steadfastly ignored it, preferin' t' squirm and caterwaul and cause misery in general t' th' assembled.
So 'twere right afore th' guards contained me wit' th' Captain's own silk scarf-a right fancy touch, I though and mayhap a wee bit enticin' in other circumstances-that I felt a poke in me backside and heard an "Oi!" what I recognized.
There standin' behind me an' glarin' liken unto an unpaid doxy on a bustlin' Friday e'en at a dirty quayside tavern wit' a long line o' jacks still t' go were me own husband.
"I be here." he spake, steppin' forward t' stand by me side.
"Aye ye bloody, buggery, pusillanimous, rat bast'd! An' I thought ye were disavowin' me?" I sputtered in an apoplectic-like fit.
The effrontery o' th' man! I internally raged. Th' egregious nerve t' effectuate such an' appallin' set o' circumstances in me darkest hour! I shuddered. Th', th', th'………
"I changed me mind." he allowed quietly.
Th' stinkin', filthy….softhearted, forgivin', tender, wee sweet heart o' a man…..I thought.
The black silk scarf wound 'round me neck then as they yanked me away from him and tied a knot what would choke th' cud outten a Hi'lan' koo.
Aye then, so this be what it'll feel like I thought, stretchin' up on me tip toes an' strugglin' fer breath, me husband lookin' deep int' me eyes.
"Now, Madam. Now ye know what 'twill be like to hang." spake th' Captain smoothly.
Aye. And me ne'er even havin' th' chance t' tell me own darlin' husband I'd kill him if he'd et all that cheese.
*Stay tuned for Part th' Seventh
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Well, I could na say as I blamed him...about th’ shoes I mean, though I were right put out about his denyin’ me. But too late, fer he’d brung observance down upon his wee head.
Th’ Captain turned and took note o’ him.
“State yer name.” Th’ Captain says as I latched onto me husband’s arm in an effort t’ look supported an’ innocent.
“Malcolm.” He says, lookin’ sgian dubhs at me.
“And your Sir name.” Sighs th’ Captain.
“MacGregor.” Me husband mutters.
Hmmm. That were news t’ me as we hadn’t yet got t’ that part what wit’ me bein’ gone an’ all.
“Aye! An’ that would make me th’ La-day MacGregor.” I says givin’ a mock curtsy.
“Ye did na e’en know ye were th’ Lady MacGregor until jus’ now.” Me husband growls in me ear. I admit, I likes it whence he growls.
“Aye. But I did know th’ Malcolm part.” I shot back in a whisper.
“Silence!” that from th’ Captain.
“You are the husband then?” he inquires.
“Aye!” I replied fer him. “This be me husband, one Malcolm MacGregor! Now if ye’ll excuse us we’ve married life t’ be attend’ t’ an'..."
“Madame, shut your gob.” Says th’ Captain.
Aye well, it would na be th’ last time he’d say that t’ me this day.
“Fine.” I says. But I didn't.
Well, I debated it back an forth wit' th' Captain an' e'en demanded an audience wit' th' Price, which earned me no distinguished marks. But me somewhat vociferous protestations only served t' rouse th' Colonel an' he arrived lookin' rumpled wit' a chicken bone in one hand, a goblet o' port in th' other an' me death warramt along wit' some half-chewed meat an' a bit o' his beard on his tongue.
Th' Colonel do na like being roused owin' as t' how he be excessively lumpish an' generally in a nefarious mood by nature. Though iffen I'd o' saved some o' them scones I might o' been able t' distract him.
Scones? I thought. Scones! Drat! Th' Lady Cameron an' her tight arsed, fancy ilk were behind this! An' know ye, th' Lady Cameron be no lackin' in behind.
I were kind o' perplexed thinkin', can ye really be hanged then fer fartin' at th' Ladies Tea? And how then will this look in th' history books?
“Seize his weapon.” Came th’ Duke's order as th’ guards stepped forward t’ relieve Malcolm o’ his dirk, which now that I thinks on it were probably a lucky thing fer me as th’ look he shot me could o’ withered a fresh thistle.
But they were na content wit’ jus’ that and th’ Captain turned t’ me mates Merlyn and Lord Talon who’d been watchin’ th’ arraignment from the blanket.
Me other mates, Mad Peg, Screamin’ Lily Rose, th’ Lady Shawna an’ Bloody De’d Aim, who were me favorite an’ mos’ accurate wit’ a blunderbuss at 44 paces-though that weren’t helpin’ me now-sat lookin’ unarmed an’ helpless.
“Pirates.” He proclaimed.
And so it were that under guard we three, meself, Merlyn an’ Lord Talon, were marched off t’ adjoin wit’ our fate.
I looked back one las’ time t’ see me husband settle his arse upon our picnic blanket- th’ verra picnic meant t’ celebrate our handfastin’-as Mad Peg passed him a wooden bowl.
“Cheese?” she politely inquired.
He picked out a hunk an’ began t’ delicately nibble upon it givin’ great care t’ lickin’ all th’ edges first fer ants, his eyes ne’er leavin’ mine until I were yanked offen me boots by an insolent an’ scraggy guard an’ marched at bayonet point t’ th’ British outpost.
Th’ last thing I heard afore they shoved me int’ th’ tunnel leadin’ outside th’ walls o' th' Fort were Mad Peg sayin’ “We’ve Irish Potatoes as well.”
Like I said, Mad Peg ain’t much o’ a liar.
*Stay tuned for Part Th’ Sixth
Friday, September 19, 2008
PART TH’ FOURTH
Afore I’d e’en swallowed me first cup o’ rum...alright then, me second...fine, third! and flicked th’ ants offen me victuals, boot steps crunched on th’ gravel path leadin’ to our group and I looked up t’ see th’ Captain o’ th’ British garrison approachin’ our crew, flanked by armed British guard and a group o’ Scots...Black Watch no doubt from th' scowls they give me. His deadlights were set directly upon me. Give a tickle it did...though it might o’ been th’ ants.
Now, I ain’t ne’er been in a position similar t’ this where it turned out waggish. Them bayonets is pointy. So, it surprised me naught when th’ Captain ordered, “On your feet, Madame. You are under arrest.”
Which is ne’er a good thing t’ be said t’ ye whence yer tryin’ t’ eat yer cheese.
So, I hoisted me arse up offen me blanket an’ met th’ Captain full on.
He were a well-spoken, handsome man wit’ a certain roguish glint in his eye but full o’ twaddle as he read off a list o’ crimes, piratical in nature, I was t’ be sent t’ trial fer. An’ me lookin’ like laced mutton that day. Go figure.
Seems th’ crux o’ their wee onslaught on me person were that I matched all known descriptions o’ that other, slightly less infamous pirate, Anne Bonny!
Anne Bonny fer blood’s sake? Anne Bonny? Drat that pirate wench! I knew e’en as I were sayin’, “Aye.” That I ne’er should o’ let her borry me lace bodice an’ third bes’ bloomers. Especially not after I seen th’ state o’ me drawers whence she returned ‘em. Know ye, that Rackem’s got some strange tastes. And I’ve no doubt Read were paradin ‘round in ‘em as well. Took me a whole half a day day t' air 'em out!
Th’ Captain kept insistin’ I were Bonny which only made me mad as she ain’t half as purty as I am added t’ th’ fact she be havin' atrocious table manners!
I belched a wet one then and stared th’ Captain down.
I figured I had two choices: Convince him I weren’t Anne Bonny and thus avoid a hangin’ or, well, actually I had only th’ one choice: Avoid a hangin’.
‘Twould have been a simple thing t’ bat me eyes and play th’ coy and innocent lass.
And I intended t’ do jus’ that. Right ‘till me gob opened up and came blurtin’ out,
“Aye then ye daft British bugger...I be no Anne Bonny! I be Violet Moorfields, pirate th’ Eglantine! Scourge o’ whate’er I touch an’ more likely t’ slit yer throat from gizzard t' gut wit’ a rusty cutlass an’ then write home t’ tell yer Muther what I done fer th’ pure amusement o’ it then t’ bid ye a good day!”
There now I thought, that sounded scary.
“Pirate you say?” the Captain politely inquired wit’ a smile, seemingly unruffled.
I admit, he were right good whence it come t’ that.
“Aye! Pirate!” I spit back.
Murmurs o’ “no!” an’ “uh-oh!” an’ “here, put this cheese in yer gob!” came from me unarmed mates standin’ watch behind.
“You freely admit before this guard to being a...pirate?” th’ Captain asked.
“Aye! That I do.”
“Seize her.” He gave th’ command as eager Red Coats an’ Black Watch Scots surrounded me as I caught a glimpse o’ me husband standin’ on th’ side o’ th’ guard.
“Wait! Wait! I may have misunderstood th’ question.”
Hey, it was worth a shot.
“Pirate!” He pronounced with that quietly smooth , yet deadly way he had o’ speakin’. ‘Twould o’ been kinda excitin’ in other circumstances. I though t' tuck that away fer future reference.
Aye. Pirate. I thought inside me mind as th’ old, familiar thrill o’ pride rose up from me boots followed by an e’en more profound thought: Ohhhh....crap.
Me husband caught me eye at that moment.
“Aye well, if ye stayed home o’ a night this sort o’ thing would na be happenin now would it?”
His comment caught th’ Captain’s attention.
“You know this lass? And I use the term...slackly.”
Me husband looked me directly in th’ eye.
“Nay. I’ve ne’er seen her afore in me life.”
I figured he were jus’ cranky fer his shoes had been pinchin’ his feet.
*Stay tuned for PART THE FIFTH
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
PART TH’ THIRD
Th’ sun peeked int’ me cabin just as I pinned me mob cap t’ me curls, smoothed me skirt and gave me bodice an extra tug fer good measure. Beltin’ me arasaid round me waist I hoisted me picnic larder and stepped off th’ ship a proper lady right down t’ me kerseymere drawers. Fer me husband’s sake I would travel as neither lad nor pirate this day.
It was t’ be a grand day at th’ Fort! Word had gone out t’ th’ pirate ships that I was ashore and freebooters o’ all manner, fine and cherished mates all, gathered t’ celebrate me return t’ polite society as well as me year an’ a day handfastin’ anniversary. A coterie o’ pirates turned out at th’ gate leavin’ cutlass and flintlock behind, garbed in an arrary o’ tartan plundered from unsuspectin’ Scots whilst they slumbered in th’ heather.
Now know ye, ye can get up a pirate in plaid but that don’t make him a Scot, so it were comical t’ note th’ looks on th’ faces o’ th’ British guard as we swaggered up, th’ tell-tale rollin’ gate left o’er from th’ ship’s deck still evident in our stride.
As th’ soldiers were about t’ discharge their duty and mayhap a round o’ fire as well I made mention t’ th’ cockiest of an affront t’ me flock th' e’en afore that had vexed me greatly. Th’ guilty look on his face bespoke o’ him being justly charged and made fer doubly good mirth as o’ yet I had ne’er seen a flock o’ ewes aboard a pirate ship. Ye might say th’ lad looked a bit….sheepish.
Arr! Arr! Arr!
They gave us trouble naught after that.
I entered th’ Fort wit’ th’ warm glow o’ bein’ reunited wit’ good friends, in particular me kindred mate and long-time partner in piratical crime, Captain Merlyn from th’ Lusty Avenger. It were good t’ hav’ a peacable length o’ time t’ spend in her company wit’out continually duckin’ cannon fire from an ongoin’ plunder. There were other treasured mates as well in our band o’ merry Scots and it gave me great pleasure t’ know I had such fine kith an’ kin.
Th’ banquet cloth were spread and victuals aplenty appeared . ‘Twere an exotic feast fit for a Pirate King and we dug in wit’ much merriment, huggin’ and kissin’ each other like th’ reunited mates we were.
‘Twere then that I took note o’ me husband showin’ off his battle skills wit’ a much larger Scot though appearin’ t’ hold his own, wieldin’ targe and broadsword like a master. A wee shiver o' proudness went through me.
“Good-day t’ ye, Husband!” calls I. “Me cot were right cold last e’en!” I taunted.
“And where were you?” he shot back a bit o’ a sour look on his face, givin’ his opponent an opportunity t’ score an’ unexpected hit.
“Worry not, mate!” calls Lord Talon, another o’ our own fine pirates. “Me thinks her cot were not as cold as she complains!”
This did bring uproarious laughter from the crew wit’ Merlyn nearly chokin’ on a hunk o' beefstick in her mirth!
“Aye! Good answer!” she shouted back. And it were then that she remembered how much she missed me.
“Aye, ‘tis a fine day indeed, us all together!” she spake and did lean t’ give me a sisterly kiss.
"Hear! Hear!” we all cried in unison and raised our tankards t' th' sky.
We all agreed heartily that there be no grander feelin’ than reunitin’ wit’ cherished mates.
I looked 'round our circle at the familiar faces I’d known and loved for many a year and felt at blissful peace.
I crammed a whole one o' Mad Peg's Irish potatoes in me gob and belched around it wit' satisfaction.
And then it got ugly.
*Stay tuned for PART THE FOURTH
Sunday, September 14, 2008
TH' SAILIN' O' VIOLET MOORFIELDS: PART TH' SECOND
Me loyal mate, Mad Peg O’Dunana, also disguised as a lad had crept ashore earlier that ‘morn t’ survey th’ situation from land and t’ give th’ All’s Well signal for th’ landin’. It came t’ me then that me husband knew full well he bathed fer more’n his sweet-smellin’ self.
As it turned out…I were right.
“I know ye.” He spake t’ Mad Peg whilst still on land. Her tellin’ me this immediately upon our reunion ashore.
“Aye. Ye do.” Replied she.
“Then where is she?” he shot back knowin’ full well we rarely travel apart.
Mad Peg, a great pirate but a very poor liar replied, “On the ship.”
The die, it seems, were cast afore I e’er reached shore.
We sailed, close hauled then, back t’ port where I made me leave o’ th’ ship’s fine crew and headed toward th’ Fort.
Me nautical garb afforded me passage past th’ British guard, them bein’ young an’ easily confused. I went then straight t’ me husband.
We raised more’n a few eyebrows as we hurriedly embraced, me bein’ a lad an’ all, but he knew me straight away from th’ red curls escaped from me head rag and th’ insolent yet affectionate way I greeted him.
“Ahoy, ye rat bast’d! It be good t’ lay eyes on ye again!”
“Have a care then wife or I’ll get ye wet.” He replied referrin’ t’ his sodden plaid.
“One can only hope.” I admitted referrin’ not t’ his wet garb.
“I be promoted t’ Cap’n now!” he boasted stickin’ out his chest wit’ pride an’ lookin’ e'er so cute.
“An’ how do ye like it?”
“Well, I hate wearin’ th’ shoes.”
I had t’ smile. Fer that, I suppose, were th’ real reason I married him.
The rest o’ th’ day passed quickly wit’ British militia throwin’ their perceived insult o’ “pirate!” about each time I passed though I took it as a compliment and not wit’out some pride as well. A battle e’en ensued th’ British attackin’ wit’ th’ ferocity o’ wild boars an’ Scots a plenty screamin’ fer their mothers an’ teddy bears and fallin’ down dead at me feet.
Me husband though were fearless and, what’s more safe and fer that I breathed a sigh o’ relief. I weren’t nearly done wit’ him yet.
“Twere in th’ calm after th’ battle that Mad Peg and I made what would turn out t’ be a mos’ grievous error and attracted more attention t’ ourselves by acceptin’ an invitation t’ th’ Ladies Tea.
Now, th’ words ‘ladies’ and ‘tea’ should o’ given me a heads-up right away but I were anxious t’ take suspicion as t’ why he were moonin’ o’er a young lad away from me husband. And besides, Mad Peg wanted tea in a fancy cup. In sooth, she don’t ask fer much so we politely accepted ne’er givin’ thought that we were supposed t’ be lads.
Aye, th’ Ladies Tea! All th’ scones ye could cram int’ yer gob albeit under th’ disapprovin’ eye o’ th’ Lady Cameron, wife t’ th’ clan’s chief, whose size bespoke o’some serious samplin’ durin’ th’ biscuit-bakin’ process. Garbed in an ostentatious plaid she had th’ look o’ a Yule gift wrapped wit’ too little paper and did give me th’ Evil Eye fer refusin’ t’ comply wit’ th’ rules. Seems farts ain’t allowed at a ladies tea though th’ Lady Cameron looked as though she could o’ outdone me in that department iffen she’d a mind to. Mad Peg fit right in though an’, fergettin’ herself, took her place up front an’ sipped tea like a fine lady. Like I said, Mad Peg do na lie verra well. I stayed in th’ back t’ keep an eye on things all th’ while getting’ yelled at fer puttin’ me feet on th’ furniture. But th’ Lady Cameron appeared t’ hav’ our number and by th’ squinty eye she give us I could tell she knew our secret. Though th’ question remained: What would she do about it?
I cringed as Mad Peg stuck her pinky in th’ air.
The Prince joined us then and all th’ ladies did fuss o’er him greatly which were probably due t’ him lookin’ like a china dolly wit’ poseable parts. I kept silent though fer th’ Lady Cameron had her eye on me. Plus, I had it in mind t’ plunder a few more scones.
They was good scones.
We accosted th’ Prince as he were takin’ his leave demandin’ payment o’ th’ two sovereigns he kept promisin’ us but he put us off wit’ borin’ talk o’ his coffers an’ bade us follow him t’ his quarters. But I weren’t in th’ mood fer a hangin’…or worse…so I ducked t’ th’ privy whence his back were turned . Mad Peg followed through though, brave or daft I weren’t sure, an’ as I emerged from me hidin’ place I found meself alone wit’ me husband.
Me year’s absence had done naught t’ improve his disposition at bein’ abandoned on his handfastin’ e’en, men bein’ whiney like that. But I suppose that’s th’ chance ye take whence decidin’ t’ marry a pirate. I canna say fer sure though as I’ve ne’er been addle-pated enough t’ try it.
Aye, men can be such a chore sometimes. So, after a few winks and promises and secret pinches and a full round o’ See! Look At This Boo-Boo I Got In Battle, he softened a bit….though that weren’t exactly th’ result I were lookin’ fer. And whilst he were still smilin’ and happy t’ see me and pointin’ to a scab I took my leave and returned t’ th’ ship thinkin’ it best not t’ have him accused o’, what were sure t’ be seen by th’ tight-arsed Powers That Be, unnatural crimes wit’ a red haired lad.
I also figured it more kind t’ get him used t’ me leavin’ at th’ odd moment fer were I not a pirate and belongin’ t’ th’ sea?
As th’ sun fell I turned wit’ more'n a twinge o’ guilt an’ disappeared int’ th’ night.
*Stay tuned for PART THE THIRD
Saturday, September 13, 2008
TH' SAILIN' O' VIOLET MOORFIELDS: TH' NOOSE AIN'T LOOSE
PART TH’ FIRST
~Set forth by Violet Moorfields, Piratess th’ Eglantine
A True Recountin’ o’ th’ 1745 Jacobite Rebellion
(more or less…)
I knotted up me slops, wrapped th’ ivory rag ‘round me noggin and stepped back to survey me transformation.From th’ depths o’ th’ speckled and cracked lookin’-glass Dougall MacMoorfields, me own brother, sent me a cocky wink.
Th’ rest were easy.
Boardin’ th’ ship in th’ calm o’ that early ‘morn our crew stowed gear, readied sail and squinted int’ th’ sun as fancy-heeled footsteps came mincin’ down th’ quay; His Grace, Bonnie Prince Charlie, flanked by th’ Duke o’ Atholl had arrived. And wit’ nary a guard in sight.
Oh, wee Charlie had his slender French sword daintily secured t' his side but methinks I had little t’ fear from that fer his chief concern appeared t’ be th’ securin’ o’ his tricorn , seriously too large for his royal pate. It were my job t’ sail his grand arse t’ the shores o’ Glenfinnan for intense negotiations an’ other military hoo-ha I cared about naught.
I bowed politely though and held me tongue, for was I not Violet Moorfields, pirate?
Violet, named after th’ purple flowers what grew wit’ wild abandon in th’ Spring an’ Moorfields as an afterthought fer th’ putrid swamp jus’ north o’ Bishopsgate Wit’out an’ Bedlam, where I were born.
And had I not, a year t’ th’ day afore, chased his Royal Self ‘crost th’ waves flyin’ th’ false colors o’ th’ British, leavin’ a wake o’ cannon fire and th’ concealin’ smoke o’ black powder? Though th’ wee bugger escaped and damn him fer that for it would have amused me greatly t’ see him blown t’ smithereens wit’ naught but his curled wig left behind as proff that he had lived.
In sooth I cared not a whit fer which side I fought though I confess me desire black powder o’er naught.
Aye. Th’ firin’ o’ cannon. Th’ sound o’ which shakes ye t’ yer boots an’ some secret places betwixt an’ between, like th’ bottom o’ yer wildly beatin’ heart an’ th’ core o’ yer blackened soul.
And so it were that we set sail, uneventfully, until th’ cry o’ “Land Ho!” Th’ Fort were in sight!
Th’ Landin’ Party were waitin’ on th’ rocks as we sent our grommets t’ row first th’ Duke then Charlie his self t’ shore from th’ moor’d ship. I remained behind, secretly smirkin’ t’ see th’ scramble t’ keep His Lordship dry.
I spied th’ bravest grommet waist dep in th’ sea as kilted Scots swarmed th’ long boat in an effort t’ haul th’ Prince ashore. Tartan from a half dozen clans floated atop th’ water as I entertained briefly what a grand view must be available t’ any passin’ kipper wit’ a weather eye and a mind t’ look up. As th’ Landin’ Party led th’ Royal Procession up th’ rampart and th’ grommets began th’ return heave-ho t’ th’ ship I made note that one lone Scot remained behind in th’ waters.
I trained me spy glass upon a suddenly familiar tartan and caught a fleeting glimpse o’ a fine, white arse flashin’ above th’ water. As that singular Highlander bent t’ perform his leisurely ablutions it struck me like a broadside from a heavily loaded four pounder; that arse belonged t’ me own husband!
Aye. A year t’ th’ day it were as well since I’d handfasted t’ one Malcolm MacGregor, a true Scot an’ pure Jacobite, then promptly set sail aboard th’ pirate ship in search o’ that which I knew not. In sooth, th’ very ship what aimed cannon at th’ man my betrothed had sworn wit’ his life t’ protect.
Cross purposes, it would seem, fer such a union.
Aye, destiny and folly in equal measure.
And now I had returned.
*Stay tuned for PART TH' SECOND....
Monday, September 8, 2008
"Aye, I do heartily repent. I repent that I had not done more mischief, and that I did not cut the throats of them that took me, and I am extremely sorry that you ain't all hang'd as well as me.
- Convicted pirate speaking to his judge