Be Warned Lads!

Ahoy me lads!  Weigh anchor and set to, we’re leaving port!

 

Aye.  The loon is who ye think it is wavin’ at us from dockside.

 

It’s…

 

The Punny Pirate!!!

 

Did ye hear aboot yon pirate movin’ ptcher?

 

It’s rated, “Arrrrrrrrrrr!”

 

Too late lads, she got us square amidships wi’ her newest turrible pun!!

 

Underneath The Dancing Trees

by a.m. moscoso

When I was a girl I used to hear stories about a woman named Calabar Felonway who used to live in a town called Ninebones Cross and she used to travel to strange places and she collected strange things.

Once I heard that somewhere on her property, which was full of something called Dancing Trees, was a strange plant.

The plant that grew under the Dancing Trees was, I’m not kidding you, a plant that grew…

sheep

and the plant was called

The Vegetable Lamb of Tartary

I know, it sounds silly and hard to believe.

On the other hand Calabar Felonway, who lived and died outside of Seattle  was supposed to have been named for a Plague Ship.

The Story says that the Calabar Felonway washed up dead and corpseless two hundred years after she left London during the height of the Black Death in 1603.

The day they found her was also the day that Calabar Felonway was born in Ninebones Cross to a woman called Bartsia Butherbroom.

It’s true.

Every word.

amm

Wormbark Road

by anita marie moscoso

Bartsia Butcherbroom lives alone on Wormbark Road and even though Wormbark is sitting on some prime real estate up there in the Olympic Mountains of Washington state  no one wants to live out there and the reason for that isn’t the road with the funny name.

The reason is Bartsia Butcherbroom.

Bartsia lives in this little stone house with no windows and as far as anyone can tell it doesn’t have a door either- little details about Bartsia’s house are sketchy at best because in the 30 plus years she’s lived on Wormbark no one has ever went looking to knock on Bartsia’s door.

Catching a glimpse of Bartsia working herb garden that grows wild at the side of her is about all anyone wants to see of  her.

If you’re unlucky by nature  you might see her sitting on her porch rocking on her porch swing.

Bartsia sits there whittling little human shaped figures with a long knife with a bone white handle from the wood she collects from around her property .

When she’s done she stands them up along the railing that runs along her porch or she tosses them into the Riversleigh Creek that runs behind her property.

When the little figures wash up along the banks in the city of  Hedon the people that find them dig little holes and push the figures in with their feet. They try to use something else other then their hands and then they go home straight home and try to forget those tiny little figures with the rows of  “X”  marks running across their little eyes.

Maybe you’ll wonder how she makes such tiny cuts with such a big knife, but if I were you I wouldn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Bartsia Butcherbroom.

Especially if you were one of those people who touched one of those little figures with your hands before you buried it- or if as you passed by her sitting on her porch as she whittled and she caught your reflection in that long blade attached to the bone white handle she carves her figures with.

If you your unfortunate enough to be in either position more then likely you’re going to start to dream of her.

Having Bartsia show up in your dreams can only mean one thing.

It means that you’re going to be out one night and that you will hear the scariest sound anyone can imagine hearing.

Trust me, there are a lot of things out there in the black night that comes from the Cascades that sound bad. People with small “X” marks running across their closed eyes and pleading as they stumble through the woods ” Please wake me up, please wake me up “ is pretty bad in itself.

But the scariest sound you ‘ll ever hear are the words, ” What was that? “

You’ll be saying them-  and they will be the last words you’ll ever hear as you turn around and come face to face with Bartsia Butcherbroom who lives on Wormbark Road in a house with no windows or doors.

Where Ninebones Cross

 

by Anita Marie Moscoso

It’s a pale gray house set off a dusty road in a dead town called Ninebones Cross.

Nine Bones had a real name and of course it’s a real town, but I’ll bet a lot of people wish it wasn’t…

Ninebones used to be called Calaway and back in 1897 when Seattle became the Gateway to Gold some of the more adventurous Stampeders would take the dark roads out of Seattle and head into the town of Calaway to ‘ increase their odds ‘ of getting rich.

The person they all went to discuss this prospect with was a woman named Calabar Felonway.

Calabar Felonway-  that’s what she was called, not Cally, not Miss Felonway, not Ma’am…she was called Calabar Felonway and she used to give advice, for a price, on how to find what your heart desired.

Of course the Stampeders all desired the same thing- and after awhile Calabar Felonway got a little short tempered with the men and women who showed up at her door by moonlight to ask for advice.” Gold ” they’d say there in Calabar Felonway’s Parlor, ” I want to find lots of gold. “

” Of course you do ” Calabar Felonway would say in her dusty voice in her dusty Parlor by the moonlight trying to make it’s way through her dusty windows.

“ You’ll  help me then. ” they’d all say.

” No, I won’t help you. What I provide here is a service, it’s a deal my friend, and there is a contract involved and a fee. So I ask you, shall we proceed? “

” Yes. ” they’d all say with the same desperate edge to their voice and the same empty look in their eyes.

” Fine, ” Calabar would say and she’d motion for them to follow her into her kitchen and then she’d tell them to take a seat at the table

.They never sat though, they’d just stand there and say, ” I don’t want to sit , just tell me what I have to do.”

They all did what they were told. It’s funny though how they were able to do that when none of them listened.

The cost for advice from Calabar Felonway was a bottle of rum, a fresh kill (as long as it was warm blooded and didn’t come from the Sea) and for that very small price she’d make you rich, she’d make someone fall in love with you, Calabar Felonway would give you what your heart desired.

That’s what she told Dyer Frost one late evening, and after he paid the fee she whispered into Dyer’s ear where he would find the gold and the future that was in store for him.

She threw that part in for free.

He got up and said, ” I’m going to be rich. I am going to be a very rich and happy man ”

” Yes you are. “

Then as Dyer went back over the words Calabar Felonway had hissed into his ear he found to his horror he couldn’t remember the specifics.

The directions to the vein of gold that would make him that man he saw in his head, the happy rich man, were gone.

Next he could feel the pictures of  his wonderful future framed in pure gold being pulled- thread by golden thread- from his head. 

Before they were gone he said in terror, ” It’s going…God help me I’m losing it all.”

” Now that I have your attention I”ll tell you  how this works,” she told him. “I have to draw you a map and you have to keep it with you at all times. If you lose sight of it even for a minute you’ll forget everything. You’ll even forgot you have a map and you’ll be just like the rest of those sad desperate fools scratching in those mines for gold like those mice scratching away in my pantry over there for food.

So that’s the deal Mr Frost, you can’t lose site of my map even for a second.”

” It’s a deal,” he said.

” It’s a burden, ” she told him.But of course he didn’t hear that.

They never did.

Dyer Frost went out to the edge of Calaway to get his map.

When Calabar Felonway had told him she’d  leave it for him hanging from the Dancing Tree where Ninebones Cross and the blood drained from his face she laughed- she laughed for a very long time and then she said ” Come now,  you didn’t think this was going to be pleasant did you?”

Dyer guessed not and as he turned to leave she said, ” Oh and by the way I’d get there before sunrise if I were you. “

He didn’t ask why, they never did.

He did make it too the Dancing Tree before sunrise- he ran all the way which was funny because he ran straight passed his horse that was tethered right outside of Calabar Felonway’s house.

There was his map, hanging as promised from the Dancing Tree where Ninebones Cross- the same Dancing Tree where men, women and children met their deaths at the end of a rope.

The same tree where everyone in town knows nine bones buried by betrayal and treachery are caught in the roots of that twisted oak tree.

When the wind blew through the leaves of the Dancing Tree you could hear whispering- that was the story and it was true. It was enough to age a person but during Dyer Frost’s day the only visitors to the Dancing Tree weren’t exactly empathetic to the sounds of Souls in Torment.

They were to busy being consumed by their own when they reached for that map.

Dyer’s Map like all the others

 were inked and illustrated by Calabar Felonway’s skilled hand

and

Dyer’s map like all of the others-

were tattooed onto the backs of the dead. 

The Brazen Wench of Owl Creek Bridge Strikes ( again! )

HA!

As if I’d ask powers that be at the SFC or E herself something like permission take a ship out named for the infamous Calabar Felonway….hey…the flesh and blood Calabar Felonway would think that’s lame and very un-pirate like.

And then she’d curse my bones to everlasting torment under one of those nasty trees growing out on the land she used to own.

ANYWAY

..if you have a tale to tell or some booty to share then you can come along….

just don’t TELL anybody.

amm

Greeting a New Pirate-to-be

“Welcome aboard!!  Here’s yer bunk, I put the herbs in fer ye this time, next time ye’ll need t’be askin’ me.  But there’ll fresh herbs added every fortnight.”  *lifting my eye-patch, and fanning the area underneath*

“Nay, there’s nowt wrong wi’ my eye, ’tis a trick I learned long ago.  If ye wear a patch on yer weaker eye all o’ th’ time, an’ flip it back as ye’re diving in t’board another vessel, ye’ll already be seein’ in the dark frae th’ eye what is under th’ patch.

“If’n y’see a pirate wi’ a scar under his patch yu c’n know that he doesna pirate any more.  Why?  Accause he hasna th’ vision, it is summat t’do wi’ seein’ th’ deep.  Ye must hae both eyes t’ know hae close ye are t’things around ye.  If ye only hae the one eye, ye canna see that an’ ye might end up in th’ Briny Blue, an’ that is but a wee step frae’ Davvy Jones’ Locker!”

“Let me ask ye a question, how many time hae ye been t’sea afore this?”

“None, how aboot on freshwater climes?”

“None at’all?”

“Do ye know hae t’swim?”

“Holy Neptune’s Trident!!”

“Nay, ye’ve not done aught wrong, I am impressed a’ how quickly yer’ comin’ by yer sealegs. Impressed and more than a wee bit curious as tae yer story.  How in all drops o’ water in th’ocean did ye come t’be on a Pirate Ship?  An’ e’en more…” 

*lowering my voice*  “What the blinkin’ hell is a member o’ th’ Royalty doin’ here??”

“I willna tell anyone, ‘cept fer the Captain.  Why?  ‘Tis her boat we’re sailin’ on, we’d best show her our respect while we’re aboard.  She is strong, courgeous, an’ verra smart, Is our Cap!”

“Noo, back tae th’ last question I asked ye?  Not now lad, when ye’re ready tae tell me, that’ll be soon enow.”

“But… and this is a verra important but.  th’ Cap’n an I will both need tae know who tae tell, should anythin’ happen tae ye.  Accourse we would, there are only freemen aboard The Calabar Felonway.  They may hae been a slave somewhere along their road tae’ here.  Once they board this lady they’re a free man.  The Cap’n’ don’ hold wi’ a man ownin’ another man.  Also, from here on out, Ye’ll be Sea-Legs Pete, ’cause ye’re findin’ ‘em sae fast.” 

“We canna be usin’ ye’re real name at all, nowheres-like. If’n some low pirates was t’hear who ye really are, they’d want tae kidnap ye fer th’ ransom, they would!” 

*laughing heartily* 

“I hae seen enow o’ Courty fold-de-rol t’know th’ dances y’must master.  Ye’re doin’ it wi’oot knowin’ it.  I, mesel’, hae seen ye lift a missin’ handkerchief tae yer nose, near ten times already.  Watch an’ listen, an’ if ye’re no sure o’ somethin’, why ye need only ask me, I’ll nowt steer ye a bad course.”

“Nay, ye jist need tae… disguise it a wee bit.” 

 *demonstrating a variation on the handkerchief motion that blended with the body languages around us*

“If ye keep yer eyes open, there’re more’n a few o’ th’ younger sons what sail wi’ this lady.”

“There was a lad frae th’ Far Eastern climes, he were a younger son an’ were servin wi’ us.  I had asked him who tae write to, an’ he tol’ me.  He also sent a letter to his family t’tell ‘em he were alive an’ where his feet were walkin’ th’deck.”

“It weren’t more’n’ ten months later we put in at home port, an’ there were a talkin’ wire letter what told ‘im his older brother had died in battle, and he was now the eldest son and it were his duty tae go home.”

“When Cap’ heard that, she hooked him up as a passenger wi’ a boat bound fer his home port.  He weren’t wi’ us long, but he learned much while he was here.  I heard frae another ship, what heard it frae a fabric merchant, who was in th’ Princes country; an’ he heard the common folk say wi’ pride that their new King was a good, and just King.  Many went on tae say that they were having the Life O’ Riley under his Kingship.”

“So ye see, Fate will hae some amazin’ twist and turns fer ye, what ye do with it is the measure of a man.”

“Many o’ th’ common men who serve our Lass hae had lives s’turrible that ye wonder how they manage to look another man in th’ eye.  When ye look at their deeds ye’ll see what they done wi’ their share o’ th’ sorrows.”

“Now I’ll stop preachin’-like, but I will ask ye t’ follow me t’ th’ Mess.  Ye canna be a pirate wi’oot yer skin t’drink frae while on duty!!”

“Aye, them as are runnin frae summat at home can be guaranteed t’ fergit summat.  I keep a wee stock o’ things aside fer jist that.  Nay, ye dinnae need t’pay until th’ voyage is done.  By then ye’ll know the worth of it, an’ ye know better what tae pay fer it.”

“Me??  I’m no’ waitin’ t’claim a Throne, or any sort of inheritance.  This is where m’spirit is lad, here on the decks an’ riggin’s o’ th’ Calabar.”

*offering a skin full to bulging with grog*

“I know it isna th’ fine wines ye’re used tae, but come a cold night on watch ye’ll not miss yer wine one whit, and ye’ll mourn t’the Heavens if ye loose yer skin o’ grog.”

“Now off wi’ lad, so’s ye can learn t’be a pirate!”

Chat on the Foredeck

Ahhhhh, so ye wants ta know more aboot me eh?  What would ye be wantin’ t’ know? I have’na’ a thing ta hide.  Let me fill m’ pipe an’ I’ll tell what ye’re wantin’ ta knoo.

Why am I not wed with a house fulla babbees?  An’ what made ye wonder aboot that?  Me?  A fine prize o’ a woman?  Ach, what a laugh ye’re givin’ me!!

I’ve been wed lads, for more’n a few moons, ’twas years and years we tried ta be good ta one another.  Twas sad, truly; we did love, as much as we could, but we were’na’ good for one another.

Aye, just because ye love someone, does’na’ mean ye can own ‘em, like.  I learned that th’ hard way; by lovin’ long after I knew we’d no’ be richt for th’ other.  All that done was make us both miserable, and sully part o’ this life.  The most lovin’ thing I done fer that mon was tae walk away fra’ him, and let ‘im build a new life.

What was wrong wi’ the auld life?  It did’na’ fit ‘im any more, like a snake what has outgrown their skin an’ must shed it ta be comfortable wi’ theirself. 

I was’na’ happy either.  Th’ new lives we been makin’ fer ourselves fit us to a treat.  I am happier on the seas than any place I been.

What aboot th’ mon I wed?  Well, a form o’ th’ Irish Disease took ‘im, but his his Spirit were what the disease took. The Spirit I had loved for nigh onto 20 year were gone, and the new Spirit in ‘im were not what I wished tae be wi’.

I’ll no regret lovin’ him, I canna regret lovin’, ever.  Lovin’ is what brings us closer ta what th’ Gods want us ta be.  Ever’ time we love, our hearts grow some, tae make room fer the love, an’ that room is fer th’ Gods to fill as they will.

Hae I ever loved another man?  Accourse I have, once ye know how tae love, ye must love.  It is summat ye c’n only ken once ye’ know how tae love. 

I love th’ men I love deeply, and love ‘em wisely enow tae not expect them ta’ be dancin’ attendance on me.  I love ‘em best by lettin’ ‘em live the life they find happiness in.

Nay, I am’na’ jokin’.  I canna own a mon any more than I can own th’ wind or th’ sun.

Where ha’ I been?  Why, accourse I been t’ Ireland, an’ France, all over th’ seas, I’ve lived in th’ Colonies… pardon me, th’ United States. 

I been to their mountains, lakes, and deserts.  I’ve lived in great cities, and in the farmlands.  An’ I tell ye true, ever’ place has summat special that is’na’ anywhere else in the wide world.

Nay lads, their deserts are’na’ like th’ Gobi an’ Sahara.  There’re plants, an’ animals a-plenty.  It do rain in th’ desert, just not like ye’ see in places with woods an’ suchlike. 

They ha’ these cactuses all over th’ place, these things what look like a tree trunk with’na’ a leaf or bloom in sight.  Some o’ them are tall as a tree, with a hide what feels like leather and spines sharp as a Devilfish all over ‘em. 

But, if’n’ ye’re out in th’ desert and ye have’no’ water, ye can cut a piece o’ one a’ them an’ suck the juice outta it t’ keep frae dyin’.

I’ve seen things in th’ desert what would scare a man tae an early grave.  There’re Indians what can ride a horse to a treat, they need nae saddle nor bridle.  I hae seen ‘em chargin’ all painted and wild like, ’tis enough to frighten a devil into repentin’. 

An’ these same Indians are sae happy, an’ lovin’ and faithful to their Great Spirit I canna help but respect an’ like them.

I’ve seen snakes what warn ye afore they give ye th’ killin’ bite. I hae seen sheep wi’ nae more coat than a bloomin’ ‘orse.  They,  all o’ em, hae horns, but the rams’ are massive. 

In their season the rams will butt heads like all rams, but they are doin’ this on th’ mountain-tops, noo on solid ground.

I’ve seen horses, gone back t’ bein wild, runnin’ under a full moon, their hooves poundin’ on the hard desert floor.  Their manes ‘n’ tails were flyin’ behind ‘em like spindrift, or high clouds.

I seen a crayture like a lion, but black as death wi’ eyes o’ clear green.  He was huntin’ in th’ mountains, and did’na’ see me, else I would’na’ be tellin’ you aboot it.

There is a bear, what dwarfs all other bears, and his coat shines like silver, the folk  call ‘im a Grizzly Bear.  They tol’ me that he is th’ meanest, smartest, and bravest kind o’ bear ye’ll ever see. 

I took their word for it.  I was’na’ goin’ t’ challenge a bear that stood taller than a mon on a tall horse.

Aye lads, th’ more ye see o’ this world o’ ourn, the more ye know that we are’na’ just an accident like some scientist would want ta make us believe.

What is the most amazin’ thing I ever seen?  ‘Twas a babbee bein’ born, accourse!!  Tae be witness ta that humbles a Spirit, and gives ye a glory at th’ same time.  Ta hear their first breath, and see ‘em lookin’ for their Mam, it surely must be like bein’ in Heaven, an seein’ God, or th’ Gods, whichever ye prefer.

Where do I hang me oilskin betwixt journeys?  There is an Inn in Lemuria what suits me fine, th’ Riversleigh Inn ’tis; pleasant, wi’ good conversation an’ music.  Th’ people what stay there are fine folk; an Enchanteur,  poets, artists, sculptors, dancers, yer ain Captain ha’ been known tae visit, a bard now an’ agin, an’ th’ Wee Folks are there nowadays.  At th’ Riversleigh Inn, my room there is allus waitin’ for me wi’ fresh sheets, soft pillas, an’ a kitchen that has th’ room fer me t’ cook what’e'er I wish.

Oh, ye want ter hear aboot me island?  An’ ye really think I’m goin’ta tell ye easy as that?  Nay, lads, some things are best kept a secret, an’ me island is one o’ ‘em. 

 All I’ll tell ye is that I have s’many books there I had tae build ‘em their ain house!  Aye, I love readin’ that much.

Aye, whilst yer out chasin coold beers an’ loose women, I’m seekin’  books I have’nae read yet.  I knoo many o’ ye think readin’ and learnin’ are fer bluestockin’s an’ perfessers.  Ye’re quite wrong lads. 

When ye’re too auld tae sail what will ye be doin’?  Sittin’ in a bar somewhere, a-swappin’ drinks fer tales o’ the auld days? 

Me, what else?  I’ll be teachin’ the young folk what I think is truly important, the care an’ feedin’ o’ their Spirits.  What else would I be doin’?

Noo, are ye happy wi’ that lads?  M’ pipe has’na’ a thing in it, our grog is drunk up, and ’tis time fer me ta make us an evenin’ meal. 

Ohhhh, aye. ’twill be a goodly feast. We’re roastin a pig on th’ beach, an’ I’ve stuffed in as many greens as what I knew we could eat.  Then I wrapped the whole in a coat o’ clay afore buryin’ it w’ th’ coals we been makin’. 

Aye, there’ll be plenty o’ tatties, and turnips, carrots, and and some fresh bread to set our bellies ta’ rights.

Aye, I knoo our teeth ha’ been gettin’ loose.  ‘Tis ta be expected when we have’na’ fresh fruit or greens.  Why do ye think I stuffed yon pigling wi’ greens? 

An’, I been out pickin’ strawberries ta’ eat wi’ sugar, as well as makin some berry preserve ta use later.

Sailors Log-Week 1

Sailors Log

It’s been a week since I’ve seen a glimpse of land. A week since I’ve stood on the firm ground of the pirate island Catungooli, a week since I signed up to be a pirate on this ship known as the Calabar.

The silence is almost frightening. The sound of women’s laughter, of drunken men singing merrily, of fights being played out in the street as i lay in my bed trying to sleep had been washed away by the first wave that separated me from my old life.

I didn’t always want to be a pirate. i never did really, and I’m not even sure i want to be one now. i could’ve been a soldier, a blacksmith, maybe even a politician. I used to dream about being a politician, of wearing the curly white wig and those fancy clothes i envied so. Of being looked up to, of being respected, of having a life away from dragging my father home night after night onto his bed, with him bearly conscious enough to walk but conscious enough to swing at my head, swearing and saying his only had one.

And then i saw the Calabar. I dont know what it was doing at Catungooli, most likely filling up on supplies like all the other pirate ships. But this ship seemed different, special. It called out my name, it promised me joy and riches beyond compare, to take me away from this life i loathed, and freedom. I had never felt so alive, so sure in my whole life that the Calabar was my destiny, and if i joined it’s crew i would recieve everything it promised.

The Calabar lied.

Natz

Skeleton Crew

 

“Well m’lads, tis a quiet night on the seas tonight, the moon shines bright, and there’s a fair breeze t’carry us across the seas. ‘Tis a good night f’tellin’ tales.”

How many of ye ha’ heard the tale o’ Th’ Skellington Crew? That’s all of ye?? Only four of a whole crew of pirate lads? What’s th’ world comin’ to? Next ye’ll be tellin’ me that none o’ ye ha’ heard o’ Le Gargouille o’ th’ Seine River over in th’ Frenchies’ country!! None o’ ye ha’ heard of th’ Dragon o’ th’ Seine?? What’s them schools’ teachin’ ye?? Arithmetic?? Hah!!! Not one o’ can steer by the stars!! Nor can ye figger knors wi’ a rope!! Next I’ll be changin’ yer nappies like a bloomin babby!!

Oh, aye, ye all know English, but can any o’ ye speak our mother tongue? I feared that were so. Can ye sing like Chuculain? Nay? Who ever heered of a good lad that canna speak Irish nor sing??

Oh aye, I admit I canna sing, nor can me Mam, she were a Frenchwoman, mebbe even Royalty what wanted t’ escape th’ Revolution. M ’Pa were from County Cork, aye, he were a true Irishman. He could speak Irish, French, and English. He could sing th’ angels from Heaven, and he danced a fine jig until th’ Irish Disease took ‘im.

Now, me Mam, she’s th’ one what taught me t’cook. Aye, ye’ve a Frenchwoman t’ thank for th’ good food in yer bellies. She also taught me t’ be a healer. Aye, she were s’posed t’ be Royalty, her Pa were doctor t’ th’ King and Queen theirselves. Now, ye’ve gotten me off track…

Yes, ‘t’were m’ Mam told me about that Gargouille, she tole me that it were ugly as can be, and it were because o’ the Gargouille that th’ divvils were kep’ at bay. It were th’ Gargouille’s terrible phiz that scared awa’ th’ divvils.

That weren’t the tale I wanted t’tell ye, I wanted t’warn ye about th’ Skellington Crew. Oh. Aye, ‘tis more’n a tale for drunkards in th’ pub t’garble for more o’ th’ juice o’ the barley.

There were a fine pirate ship, th’ Secret Cove she were, she plied her trade east o’ our lanes. I knewed her Captain many a year ago, I weren’t aboard th’ Calabar then. On what were her last voyage, they sailed wi’ a full crew, a good crew. Most of ‘em had been aboard her fer three or four voyages already.

Her Captain was a good lady, She could steer a big ship through the worst o’ reefs and not s’much as knock a barnacle off’n th’ hull. She knew what a crew needed to serve well, and stay loyal t’ their ship.

So, th ’Mossy Oak sailed out’n the Harbour o’ Haiti bound fer the high seas and treasures t’be won. She were due back in by Christmas, and she never come back.

It were five years later, after th’ Divvil’s Lady claimed the route o’ th’ Secret Cove, that a terrible calm fell on th’seas. Fer almost a fortnight there were no winds atall. Every ship stood where she were on glassy water.

Th’ days were long and tempers were short. Every captain were nigh onto tearin’ their hair out in frustration and the doctors were usin’ every trick they knew to stay any mutinous thoughts. At last, on one night a dense fog covered most o’ th’ seas thereabouts and th’ Divvil’s Lady’s crew were cheerin’, hopin’ it boded winds t’follow.

They were sippin their grog and singing loud when the fog parted and another ship hove into view. A dread silence fell over th’ crew as they saw the name on th’ other ship.

Th’ Secret Cove it were, wi’ sails furled and runnin’ silent. Th’ Secret Cove drew closer and the lads o’ th’ Divvil’s Lady were frozen in fear. For there were no crewmen, only skellingtons aboard her. Shinin’ white bones and grinnin’ skulls.

The phosphor on th’ water was brightest around th’ hull o’ th’ Secret Cove. One o’ th’ lads took to cryin’ out like a banshee, and tearin’ at his hair. By th time th’ Secret Cove sailed past and disappeared back into th’ fog half th’ crew were babblin’ in fright, and th’ rest were not far behind.

The lad what were cryin like a bashee never sailed again after that voyage. He moved as far awa’ from th’ ocean as he could.get. T’ this day th’ Divvil’s Lady willna sail those waters, she has taken t’ bein’ a passenger ship along th’ coast o’ th’ Colonies… excuse me, Amerca.. Th’ captain retired and moved inland and th’ crew all took to landlubber lives and willna speak o’ that night.

How did I learn o’ the Skellington Crew? Why, I tried to heal th’ lad what saw them skellingtons first. I figger that I done everything I could fer th’ lad when he could sleep through th’ night without havin’ nightmares. Now his hair… that were another matter. He had a head full o’ glossy black curls when he left on that awful voyage, when they limped into port he were half-bald, and what hair he still had were white as bones.

Laugh if ye wish, ‘tis true, ask our good captain if ye don’t believe me. Aye, she knows about th’ Secret Cove, and th’ Skellington Crew. She’ll tell ye th’ same tale as I did. She knew th’ captain o’ th’ Divvil’s Lady, an’ th’ Secret Cove.

I’ll tell ye this, our Captain willna go near the Secret Cove’s lanes. None o’ th’ Captains will. If’n I ever seen th’ Secret Cove, I’d be a landlubber for th’ rest o’ m’ days!!

Well now, my mug’s empty an’ so’s m’ pipe. I’ll be biddin’ you lads a good night, an’ start some breakfast f’ mornin’ fer ye.

Kittens At Play

Kittens at play in fields of clover

Bluebirds a ‘twitter in redplum trees

Pipers a’skirling the “Highland Rover”,

Sounds from afar as the mmmmmm of bees.