⛵ ⛵ ⛵ ⛵...(Toor ay ???)...
Daktari was agitated but he feared he would get no better offer and that if he pushed it, he might just as easily get a sharp blade to the neck as the other man had done…
“OK. Thirty-eight silvers….and you give me those coppers!” He agreed.
[On-board the Silverton…]
Word spread fast across the ship that Commander Galligan had three prisoners in the longboat as the ratline was lowered and the crew started coming up.
“Ahh'd sooner sell me Gran-Mummy’s easy chair before I make room on-board for these blokes!" Lieutenant Errislravenhill said as she looked over the rail.
The two younger French soldiers were the first of the prisoners to climb over the rail and stand nervously in front of the crew. Last came the bandaged Caporal Chief who when finally was helped aboard shook off any attempt to steady him…
“Get your hands off me you Scottish dogs!” He cursed as he stood with his head bandaged and his hands shackled.
In a timely coincidence, two of the large cannon on Zanzibar belched forth fire and smoke and the heavy shot landed three hundred yards short as before. The unseeing Chief smiled as he heard the big guns of the French post, but his celebration was cut short by a swift kick in the shin by Lieutenant Errislravenhill!
“Ye bloody Franks kin put them twenty pounders up yer arse!" She said angrily as the Chief winced from the blow.
The Captain walked down from the bridge and stood in front of the prisoners.
“Aw three of ye French jiggin' diggeries are noow prisoners of th' Royal Scottish Navy." He said as he took out his pipe and lit it.
“I am an officer of the French foreign Legion! I demand my rights!” The Chief yelled out, looking slightly in the wrong direction.
“Rights? Oh yoo'll have rights! Rights ta medical attention, rights ta bread an' water, an' th' rights ta a comfortable straw bunk in th' brig!"
“You focking pirate! You attacked my fort!”
“Aye, Ahh did…after yoo fired on the Scottish fleet.” The Captain replied coolly as he turned to Cockpit Officer Ilipino, “Take these prisoners doon ta sickbay fur an examination wi' Warrant Officer Surgeon Hack.”
“Aye Sairrr!” Ilipino replied with a salute as he and Seaman Tokjockey pushed the three men towards the galley stairs.
“You’ll not get away with this Slane! You’ll hang from a French gallows before this is over!” The Caporal Chief spouted as he struggled along with his men.
The Captain ignored the angry words and let out a large plume of blue smoke in the shape of a cannon ball as he gazed north towards Pemba.
Commander Galligan walked up, “What will become of them?"
“They attacked a Scottish fleet. They’ll go before the Vice Admiral in Edinburgh. Probably be sentenced to hang or… rot away in the pit of Newgate!” He replied as he took another pull on his pipe and sent the embers burning red-hot.
Galligan pondered the thought, not deciding which fate would be worse…
“Shall we pull th' crew back froms Pemba?” He asked.
“Aye, th' Sell Cycle is over fur noow, an' Ahh’m longin' ta git back home!"
⛵ ⛵ ⛵ ⛵
"Newgate Prison is a prison at th' corner of Newgate causey an' old Bailey, jist inside th' City of London, England. Built in th' 12th century, th' prison was extended an' rebuilt many times, an' has remained in use fur over 700 years. In th' early 12th century, Henry II instituted legal reforms 'att gave th' crown more control over th' administration of justice.
He required th' construction of prisons, where th' accused would bide while Royal Judges debated their innocence ur guilt an' subsequent punishment. In 1188, Newgate was th' first institution established ta meet 'att purpose." 😐 -Keptin
Toor suggestions so far:
Doha of Qatar
"Two toor sugestions isnae nearly enough ta hav a vote! An' remembers, there's no place in th' whole wide warld 'att we cannot go! Test not yoor Keptin!"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Confused? Ascared? Seasick? Need a private chat with the Captain?" - email@example.com
Pictures from: www.freeimages.com, www.pexels.com, pixabay.com, steemit.com an’ www.google.com/maps. Data loosely interpretted froms: Walter Scott (poem), an' sometimes finely crafted reit from th' author's extensiff personal experience an' such.