⛵ ⛵ ⛵ ⛵...(Toor ay ???)...
“Aye. Ahh suspect there’s a good chance 'att th' sell cycle might return by th' time we reach her…” The captain said as he eyed the north coast of Zanzibar with a warry eye.
“Aye Sairrr!” Galligan replied as he then turned and called out the commands to hoist anchor.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
[On-board the Silverton, sickbay…]
“Hold still ye French worm beforer Ahh put oot yer eyes fur good!" Warrant Officer Surgeon Hack warned as he held a pair of pliers with one hand and a rolled cigarette with the other.
“You’re focking heathens and barbarians!” The Caporal Chief cried out as Cockpit Officer Ukako and Standing Officer Onaldoavelino held him down on the surgery bench.
The task was a gruesome one. Splinter by splinter, each tiny piece of wood was pulled slowly out of his eyeballs with the careful hand of Hack.
“Auuuugh! You Scottish bastard! You’re killing me! You call yourself a surgeon?! Why am I not given wine?!!” The Chief complained bitterly as he squinted hard and blood rolled down his cheeks.
“Shut yer pie-hole Frenk, before Ahh take oot yer tongue as well! We doon’t drinks wine an’ we doon’t waste good whiskey on French prisoners!"
Officer Ukako turned away in a queasy moment as she whispered, "Maybe wee's should try beetroot...", while Officer Onaldoavelino shut his eyes and bit his upper lip.
“Hold on Frenchy, just one more ta pulls!”
The yelling and the cursing went on for some time but finally the awefull task was finished. Hack wiped his hands on the officers jacket and took a long drag on his cigarette...
“There ye go Frenk! Good as new! Yoo’ll see in a few days. Take him back ta th’ brig!”
“Barbarians! You’re nothing if not barbarians!” The Chief bellowed as they man-handled him down the hall towards the brig.
[In the lower hold, in front of the brig…]
Lieutenant Ickied stood in front of the iron barred door as Ukako and Onaldoavelino dragged the Caporal Chief into the hallway.
“Well, what have we got here?!” He mocked as he opened the cell door and the officers shoved the Chief in with his two younger legionaires.
“I am an officer! I demand to be treated as such!”
“Ooh yoo’ll be treated as such.” Ickied said sternly as he turned to Ukako, “Give the officer here an extra half-slice of bread an' all the water he wants!”
“Alright, no one is ta enter th’ brig withoot th’ approval of an officer or higher!” Ickied ordered as he left for the upper deck.
[Up on the main deck…]
“Yo! Land-Ho!” Tuna’s deep voice rang out from above.
“Wussatt?! Land?!” The Captain yelled back.
“Aye Sairrr! Mafia Islain fifteen miles sooth-west!”
“Fine as silver snails!” The Captain said as he yelled out to Commander Galligan, “Bring her aboot twinty degrees ta th’ west mucker!”
The big Frigate heaved towards the west as the the very tip of Mafia Island began to emerge on the horizon.
⛵ ⛵ ⛵ ⛵
"Wine?! Th' fockin' French dog wants wine! Haw! Haw! Haw! They's noo grapes in th' highlands mucker!" 😆 -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!"
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"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.