Friday, September 19, 2008



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

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