Come aboard, come aboard, me brave-hearted brother-adventures. Come and sit a while with good 'auld Cookie, you will. Share a pipe and maybe a cup, Mate, I will share a tale of the cutthroat group of pirates on board the Meirle. Well, cutthroat may not be the best word, it might not. How about villainous? No.... um... roguish... foul...

Drunken!

_{Come and pull a seat closer, and I will spend a yarn of the Drunken crew of the Goode Ship Meirle and our adventures. But be for warned, you be. Most of the crew can get very cranky when they miss naptime.}

            As I remember things, we were just of the coast of Nassau, when I called the crew for their mid-afternoon, before snack time, rum rations, seconds.  The crew impatiently lined up to get their cups filled, as I took my station at the tap.  Lips were licked in anticipation and a quite, excited mummer was heard from the crew. Proudly taking the first cup in hand I turned the handle to relive the cask of its sweet, dark elixir that makes all of our problems go far, far away.  But, what happened next will haunt me for the rest of my life.

There was a horrible sucking sound as air rushed into the tap and cask, but no rum came out.  In disbelief, I let the tap running for a minute just incase something different would happen, but I new in my gut that the worst has happened:  we are out of rum!

“Don’t panic Cookie.” I told myself, “You’ve been in tougher spots and came out smelling like roses.  Now…SOME ONE CHECK THE REST OF THE RUM STORES!  NOW!  NOW!  NOW!”

As some of the crew ran down below decks to look for more rum, the rest of us shook the cask to try to get the very last drop out of it.  Bad news came form the lads that went below.  All casks were empty.  No more rum or devilkin, or grog or punch.  No more Pina Coladas, Mai tais, or Zombies.  No more alcoholic beverage made form molasses. 

The effects on the crew were almost instant.  The sail went soft and lubbery; ropes fell into uncoiled messes on deck.  Mates talk back to their masters.  The poor Meirle rock side to side as it she was stuck in a store.  Chaos broke out as moral went even lower than the time Charity decided it would be fun if all the crew went to paint ceramics.  I don’t want to remind ya swabs what happened that day.

Bells were rang and whistles were blown as the orders where given out to search the ship form bow to aft for more rum.  No place was scared in this search.  Everyone’s private stashes were checked.  All the sea bags and chest were emptied.  Hammocks were over turned and ship stores were looking into.

We even checked Quarter Master Polly’s chest that we were “never, never, never” aloud to look in.  Ya know the one that vibrates sometimes.  Well, peaking into it, we didn’t find any rum, but I do have to say, that looks really uncomfortable.

The crew ended up in huddled mass on deck.  Confusion and fear ran faster through the crew than a Spanish merchantman surrendering.  There was even talk of mutiny.  But all talk came to a quick hush as Capt’n Shamus stood to address the shattered remains of the crew of the Meirle.

He stood there for a second or two, looking ever man jack of us in the eye, just to make sure he had all of our attention.  Then, taking a deep breath, and in grand Irish tradition he spouted, “Why are we all out or ruuuuuummm???  Why? Why? Why? Why?  Stoopids!  Parrot poop heads!  I hate you all!  HATE YOU!”  Crossing his arm and legs, he sat down on deck pouting like a French man when his cheese does not go with the wine.

Obliviously, Capt’n missed his naptime, again.  As QM Polly went to put him in his cabin, the rest of the crew and I tried to figure out how to get out of this mess.  I am afraid that sobriety was getting the best of the crew.  The best ideas that we came up with were: finding a genie in a bottle and wishing for more rum, closing our eyes really tightly and wishing for more rum, finding a mermaid and wishing for more rum and drinking the genie in the bottle because someone said genies were made out of rum.

As my mates and I sat on deck trying to figure the best place to find a genie, QM Polly returned from putting the Capt’n down for his nap.  “Lads,” she said, “I’ve been thinking.  We have all that wine that we took from that Spanish merchant.  Why don’t we just drink that in place of the rum?”

The crew went silent as they stared at her.  “You can’t drink wine,” I replied, “You might as well put bloomers on us and call us French.  Anyways, I am pretty sure wine is poisonous and will give you the pox as well.”

“Well, why don’t we just sail over to Nassau and get some more rum?  I mean, I can practically see the grog shops form here.”  Polly suggested.

“Silly Polly, that sounds like a lot of work.  And, I think I speak for the rest of the mess when I say, we didn’t sign on to become pirates to do a lot of work.  Anyways, with the lads and lasses sobering up, I don’t think any of us could walk in a straight line, much less sail in one.”

Just as luck would have it at that moment, someone spotted another ship coming along starboard of us.  It was a Dutch pink by the name of Neptune’s Mistress.  Quickly we hailed her and her crew and asked if maybe we could borrow a cup of devilkin, or maybe 30 cups.

“Oh, you are out of rum,” said the Captain, adjusting his funny looking pointed hat with all the plums you could fit in a hat, “and we have so much extra on account that is what our cargo is.  Our cargo hold is full of rum.  We have hogsheads full of the stuff. And I can tell you, because my crew and I have been drinking it all day, it’s really good rum!  But, I think you all are a horde of grimy dogs, and will not get any of my precious cargo that is due for the Dutch Royal Navy.”

This one reason why I personally left the navy: silly men, in silly hats telling me what I cannot do.  And did he really have to call us dogs?

“Hells bells and buckets of blood lads,” I shouted grabbing me blunderbuss and hopping on the starboard rail, “If they do not want to share it with us, I say that we swing over to their decks take what we want.  Let’s board her and cut ‘em to pieces!  Arrrrr…” I turned to face the crew expecting my bloodthirsty band of cutthroats arming themselves for battle, to find the most of them lined against the larboard rail.  Some were whistling in the air nonchalantly, and others had gained a great interest in their fingernails.

“Um, Cookie,” Galley-girl Sylvia spoke up, “That sounds like a lot of work, and, I think I speak for the rest of the mess when I say, we didn’t sign on to become pirates to do a lot of work.”

I think I had just been hoisted by my own petard, but my thoughts on what a funny word petard is were quickly broken by the sounds of cannon fire.  Those lubbers have decided to attack us in our weaken moment of sobriety. 

So, not only are we out of rum, and sobering up, but now we have some Dutch rosewater officer taking target practice at us.  Could things get any worse today?

Diving for cover with the rest of the crew, we huddled behind any cover we could find I over heard some state, “Dem Dutchies had better be careful or they are gonna wake da Capt’n.”

“Wake the Capt’n.”  Polly and I said at the same time.  Apparently we had the same idea to get us out of this mess.  After a few minutes of planning, we drew straws to see who would have to risk their lives in this perilous deed.  Of course, yours truly lost the draw.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened the door to Capt’n Shamus’ cabin.  The lights were out, but I could just make out his sleeping shape.  Every quietly, I tip toed into the cabin, moved gently around the furniture, and stacks of nautical charts.  I moved around QM Polly’s chest that we are “never, never, never” to look into and to the side of the Capt’n’s bed.  He had already kicked off his covers in his sleep, so it was easy for me to spot my objective.  I reached over him and grab a hold of Mr. Squid-ums, Capt’n Shamus’ beloved, plush, sleepy time squid.

Taking Mr. Squid-ums by one of his over stuffed tentacles, and with one swift movement I yanked the stuffed squid from it’s safe confines of Capt’n Shamus’ sleeping arms and ran for the door like the devil himself was coming after me. 

When I reached the deck of the Meirle, and with a mighty throw, I lobbed the squid onto the opposing ship.  The cannon fire stopped as the crew of the Neptune’s Mistress looked at the strange projectile that was sent their way.  Of course the crew of the Meirle just watched the door to the Capt’n’s cabin and waited.

With the sound of thunder the door slammed open.  There stood our 6’3” Capt’n in his man sized onesies with the skull and crossbones embroidered into it.  One hand was rubbing a sleepy eye and in the other was his cutlass, Malcolm.  The expression on his face was a mixture of sleep, confusion, and anger.

In unison the crew of the Meirle pointed over to the Dutch ship.  Capt’n Shamus took a single step and then leaped to retrieve his sleepy time squid.  He soared thought the air with his cutlass in hand like the Arch Angle Michael himself.  

Well is the Arch Angle Michael wore adult size Jolly Rodger, footed pajamas and had misfortune of being born an Irish man.

Those poor Dutch bastards did not have a chance.  The only sounds we really heard from the other ship was the thump of Shamus landing, a few screams, and then after no more than a few minutes passed when there was silence.

We carefully made our way over to the Neptune’s Mistress.  I do not think there was a single living sole onboard when we got there.  We found Malcolm embedded hilt deep into the main mast.  Capt’n Shamus was located in the cargo hold, fast asleep in front of the rum, clutching Mr. Squid-ums close.

Now, how we got the rum form our good Capt’n, with out losing too many lives is a story for another day.

I am giving you my sworn aff-e-davie that everything thing is the absolute truth.  If I am telling a lie, may the good Lord come down and kick each one of those lads over on the Black Rose in the dandling man bits.