Stay a bit shipmates, stay a bit if its pirates you'll be wanting to speak on. S'pose you was to pass me that bottle that stands by you, for tellin' what these very deadlights have seen is thirsty work for a seafaring man. Arr, here's luck then, and may yer bottom never foul nor never fetch hard on a lee shore!
Aye, there's a sight o' poor seamen sent down Davy Jones by the likes of o' that rum crew, and what the devils afloat don't scupper the mooncussers ashore have done. Beachcombing they calls it; grave-robbing's nearer the mark - blast their eyes - a'picking through the bones of castaways like sandfleas. 'Ware the light on a dark shore, shipmate, or its shoal water and breakers for you sure.
Not quite the style, says you. Not the fine figure of a freebooter put to canvas by the likes of Pyle or Wyeth? Aye, but when all's said and done, a pirate's no gentleman, d'ysee. No matter the cut of his cloth or the coin in his pocket, even fresh water's naught but bilge in the orlop.
Now these two scalawags are Cap'n "Black Dog" Emily and 1st Mate Elias, "the Red Hand Man". Now I'll tell you true, I've seen Sam Bellamy in the Whydah and Edward Teach with the slow matches burning, and never yet have seen the like of these salty dogs. I reckon you take them for landsmen, and their home port be Connecticut "the land of steady habits." But they're collateral kin, d'ysee, to a Nutmegger privateer; Cap'n Gideon Olmsted, and the codlin don't fall far from the capstan if yer fool enough to set it there when the wind is up. And their great, great, great grandpappy, John Thomas Martin, was Master of the Great Lakes schooner "Walrus", which every tar and landsman knows from Stevenson was the name of old Flint's barky. There was even one came back from Davy Jones - Archibald Gracie, he were - went down with the Titanic and back again and plucked alive from the sea in the morning. Aye, there are mariners in their line - pitch and oakum - and loot from the China Trade in every house and hall you can be sure.
Here's as scurvy a crew as ever fouled coils in a cable tier. Why, they sailed by the wind to Stellwagen and back without so much as dry heave, and laughed when the whalefish broke water and set to blowin' off the starboard bow. If ever you see Cap'n Emily and the Red Hand Man hull up and to windward, you're bound to strike or miss stays.
And what manner of man am I, then, to know these dread pirates so uncommon well, says you. Are you a magistrate, then, yer honor? I needn't sign articles with the likes of them to know their quality. I sired them! And what's more, shipmate, dead men tell no tales. Arr!
32 days until International Talk Like a Pirate Day