Fifteen Men in a Dead Man's Vest!

Captain Hans Hohenlohe whoops with delight as he stands upon the after-deck of the newly re-christened sloop the Centennial Sparrow. (Below) Salt spray blows across his face and the wind whistles through his wig. The maritime vicissitudes of the last few days have been forgotten in the excitement of a voyage in a marvellously uncrowded ship that goes decisively forwards in the water and not downwards in ways that make his toes all wrinkled. The voyage thus far has been relatively uneventful, the encounters including only a fishing vessel and a small basket of very sea-sick rats.

Quartermaster Crispin Drei joins Hohenlohe and first mate Lars Yerda on the after-deck. 'You called for me, sir. Aaaar!' he says above the sound of the wind. 

'Indeed! Indeed!' says Hohenlohe. 'It is time herr gentlemen to reveal to you our mission!' Yerda and Drei lean in.

'It would seem, apparently, that the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel intends to destabilise Vulgaria. They have their hands on a Vulgarian pretender!'

'A pretender?' asks Drei quizzically. 'Why on earth would they be needing a mime artist?'

'No', interjects Yerda, 'a pretender to the throne he is'.
Drei frowns. 'Oh. Aaaaar! But don't the prince of Vulgaria already be a pretender? Dimitri, he seems certainly only to pretend to be a decent ruler'.

'That is as may be, mister Drei', replies the captain, 'but we are tasked with interfering with this Bachscuttel plan. The Bachscuttelers have the pretender  in a small bay on their coast. He will soon be taken by sea, and then the river Strudel, to Vulgaria itself. We are to sail to Rotenburg; pick up landgravial troops awaiting there; and then land them  near to where the pretender is being held. Once these troops have seized the fellow, we shall sail him off to a future comprising of imprisonment, poor cuisine, and an unwelcome introduction to metal implements that are sharp, hot, heavy, or some uncomfortable combination of the three!'

'Aaaar!', replies Drei reflectively, 'but should we be doing that cap'n? I mean to say, sir, Dimitri - he ain't a good ruler. I'd like to think that a ruler had the best interests of his people at heart. It be important to do what's right'.

Hohenlohe raises his eyebrows. 'Do what's ...? But you're a pirate! Scourge of the seas!  Blood, plunder, "yo-ho-ho and a bottle of some readily available alcoholic beverage!"'

Drei shrugs. 'Well, in my time as a vicar ...'

'You were a vicar before you joined the ship?' asks Hohenlohe incredulously.

'Worked in a church you did?' adds Yerda questioningly.

'But', adds the captain, 'you don't seem very, you know ... religious'.

'Well cap'n - I wasn't a very good vicar. I couldn't get the hang of the tricky bits'.

'The tricky bits?'

'Aaaar, yes. You know: being meek; turning the other cheek, especially to meek people; helping others; believing in God'.

'So ... so ... what did you spend your time doing?'

'Aaaar, well: you know, the other things that priests be doing'.

'What?'

'Eating and drinking, sir; sleeping, of course. Collecting tithes. Inappropriate touching; more drinking. Sermons, hypocrisy, that sort of thing. But mainly drinking. Or at least, that's what I mainly remembers doing. Aaaar!'

'Oh'.

'Yes, but the touching - it was all taken out of context, sir. And I like to think that some of it rubbed off.'

'What, when you were touching?'

'No, sir. I means the general vicar atmosphere of being supposed to be doing good things and wanting life to be, well nice. For poor people, sir. And, er, the meek. And samaritans. The good ones. Aaaar!'

'No! No! No!' replies Hohenlohe adamantly. 'We complete our mission. Damn it, Drei - you're a pirate now and not a vicar: a life of carefree violence and alcoholism, unfettered by such petty concerns as laws and morals'.
'There be more overlap with a vicar's life than yer might think, cap'n. Aaaar!'
Bemused, Hohenlohe orders the crew to set a course for Rotenburg!

'Good progress, we're making, captain', says Yerda later, as Hohenlohe scans the coast.
'Yes indeed', he replies. But the captain's concentration is broken by a terrible cacophonous noise emanating from the ship: a sound that seems to comprise of a blend simultaneously of a tedious drone, the sound made by nails being drawn down some form of chalkboard, an ex-wife or elderly relative asking loudly and repeatedly for some form of extended financial support, and a group of parrots singing their favourite selection of Welsh folk songs.
'Mister Drei', shouts Hohenlohe. 'Mister Drei, what in the name of Beelzebub is that terrible noise!'
Drei returns to the after-deck. 'The men be amusing themselves with a song, sir. Aaaar!'

Yerda nods in agreement. 'Singing sea shities they are'.

'Shanties, mister Yerda', corrects Drei. 'They be sea shanties'.

Hohenlohe grimaces. 'No, I think mister Yerda has it right'.
'15 men on a dead man's chest', says Drei. 'It be traditional'.
'Is it traditional to sing it so badly?' asks Hohenohe morosely. 'And anyway, it seems an odd song'.
'Why be that, sir?'
'Well, it seems quite specific. Why 15? I mean, I think having about three men on my chest would probably kill me. The other 12 seems quite unnecessary.
'Perhaps, they just all be needing a hug, sir. Aaaar! Pirating can be quite stressful. Or, perhaps it's not "on his chest". Perhaps it's "in a dead man's vest"'. 

'"15 men in a dead man's vest"? That doesn't seem practical. It would be too crowded, surely'.

Drei contemplates this. 'Perhaps, sir, they wears it one after another?'

(Below) 'Bring her about, mister Yerda!' shouts Hohenlohe as dusk begins to arrive.
'Sir, aye, aye!' says the first mate.

As the Centennial Sparrow wears, the captain and quartermaster look down at the plates of food that both hold, carefully trying to avoid spilling the contents as the deck shifts beneath them. They both stare at their dinner. The cook has tried some innovative approaches to cooking the salt pork.
'You haven't eaten your supper, sir. Aaaar!' says Drei.
Hohenlohe pulls a face. 'In truth mister Drei, I cannot. It's awful. I love a good weevil as much as the next man, but the cook's ruined them too. Look at them'.
'What be those weevils doing, sir?'
Hohenlohe peers at his plate. 'I think, Drei, that they're trying to surrender. It's no surprise to me that the cook also doubles as the carpenter. This doesn't taste very nice at all'.

'Arrr! No, sir, but the pork does have a lovely set of dovetail joints'.

'We should just throw it overboard: perhaps the dolphins would like it'.
'No, sir - I be thinking that the pork ain't even good enough for them. In fact, you might say that it's just "not fit for porpoise"'.
Hohenlohe looks at Drei. Drie shrugs and mimes a small drum roll.

Suddenly, from above comes a loud cry of 'Ship ho!'
Hohenlohe quickly has his spyglass to his eye, searching the horizon.
Behind them there is a curse and then a terrible splintering sound. Looking around, Yerda seems to have in his hands a length of broken wood that looks depressingly like the tiller.
'Just came off in my hands, it did' cries Yerda.
'No tiller! We can't turn!' cries Drei. 'We be fine, though', he says, recovering his equilibrium. 'I'll have the men do some repairs. That ship'll be able to turn and avoid us!'
Hohenlohe turns wearily. 'I think, gentlemen, that that ship is going to cause us more trouble than you think'.
'Aaaar! Why sir - has the other ship got a pirate flag on it?'
'No Drei, the other "ship" has a lighthouse on it'.
There is a moment of silence.
'Shafted we are', says Yerda.