Blogarama

h. dagger's adventures at sea

Name:
Location: the waves, the ocean

Hoist the sails, raise yer bloody goblets, ahoy & onward me laddies!

Monday, June 19, 2006

O for a Draught of Vintage!

Aye, aye, laddies all, o for a draught of vintage! Gather ye round the mast & fall, o for a draught of vintage! Me parrot be drunk & slurring his caws, o for a draught of vintage! To piss oneself be not a flaw, o for a draught of vintage! Me breaches be soiled & soggied withal, o for a draught of vintage! So ready yr scapboards & ready yr draw, o for a draught of vintage!

Lads, what for it if yr cap'n writes a ditty here & there? 'Tis a cap'n's prerogative, aye? & what for it if yr cap'n soiled 'is trainers? 'Tis a cruel life 'pon the waves, lads, & yr cap'n cares not for trivial matters, nay. Drink, then, as yr cap'n has, drink a draught of vintage & sleep yr cursed somnolence, & may ye walk o'erboard in yr somnambulation to spare me the plank. The plank, such a thing, drawn o'er heavy salt-arm & briny depths. The plank! The plank!

Friday, June 09, 2006

A Tale, Then, A Tale

Aye, 't looks like tongues be wagging after me explanations aye like the cursed finger of the ne'ersaywell, that bony thing that rattles in its sheeth of skin, the very rhythm of death itself, laddies, & it wags to & from for yer cap'n to wind the tale of the muleshark, the knock 'pon me cabin door, aye, that ponderous thing, heavy with stolen rings. Well, then, as we left it, lads, if me mem'ry serves me so well as me patched parrot, I was suspended in me tale in the murky depths, aye, with the effects of me mutinous crew floatin' about me head like stars 'bout the temples of those that be in tender love, for such have I hard, yer cap'n, verily. On either side, lads, I spied me sinking brigate & the naval manowar, a fine little schooner by any account, aye. Me crew, deserters, mutineers, authors of their own dim destiny, every one, signed a pact with the British fleet, aye, for certain recompense after yer cap'n's head a' been delivered. Cruel fate, aye, that puts a man i' the gallows when 'is turns & tricks turn trick 'pon 'isself. The naval ensign o'erhead, each of them was meant to be put to death. Yer cap'n, swirling about as mentioned thought it a bitter decree that me own dagger be not the one to draw 'cross their scurrilous throats, aye, & as such, lads, yer cap'n swam near the hull of the manowar, spying a rope three cubits 'neath the ocean-sheen, where salt-arm & shark alike collide. With me hook I did design meself safe passage, undetected, aye, & with me telescope, rendered broken & hollow now as a straw, I did breathe o'er that glassy mirror which hides the very depths, lads. For nigh on twelve hours me hook held fast, be body dragged along, plumbing the sounds, until I spied above the luminous glow of Diana, aye, 'pon the Western baths. Yer cap'n then crept, lads, a slow climb o'er the rope's length, lighting 'pon the darkened starboard, 'pon the poop-deck, where naught but two custodians of the empire dozed on their guard. An honorable man, yer cap'n awakened them each ere drawing them into eternal repose, lads, for what is a cap'n if not honorable in battle, a head 'bove his mutinous dogs? Stealthily, lads, me peg now covered o'er in the doo-rag of the dead sentinel, I made me way from cabin to cabin, saving the cap'n's for last, aye, & me dagger did draw the blood of many noble men that night, lads, such is true. Me death, 'twould seem, was not ordained for that very night, as so many others, consigned to the fate what couples with crossing Henry Dagger, appeared to be. The cap'n of the vessel, a slight man, aye, & a pussilanimous one at that, lads, cowered 'pon me visage, 'pon the cut o' me job as it entered unbid 'pon 'is cabin as a demon unto a dream. Eyes, what remain of 'em, lads, convey a tale beyond what humble words can hope after, & in that look I taught that lad a lesson, aye, for he knew not the code of the pirate, lads, nor of the seas, nor of simple honor. Me dagger sluiced him four ways & left him bent 'pon his charts, his own blood drawing longitude & latitude. & as for me mutinous crew, that tale I shall impart in a goodly while, lads. Enough blood 'as been spilt here for the time being, lads. For now, let us cast our thoughts far 'pon the reaches of far shores, where our lasses walk 'pon the starry sands & sing after our names.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Longsense

Longsense, aye, yer voice raises yer cap'n like a bloody Lazarus, aye, like the codpiece of an ornery youth what puts into bay after long travail 'pon the salty tumult, a seafarer, aye, an exile 'pon tide & tumble. What tales I've yet to tell ye, to tell ye all who waited 'pon the knocking for the truth to unfurl, aye, as smoke does, the ghost from the cannon's roar. I've tales, laddies, 'pon me word, I've tales to tell. Now I be wary from wind & word, lads, but I'll be hasty with me return, ere another two months fall o'er the cusp o' oblivion...