He is shaking his head in disgust, not able, even, to manage the simplest Arrg. His crew is a disgrace. An embarrassment. A week in port concluded, he’d planned this dawn to sail, seeking ships to pillage and plunder.
One week in port. Meant to re-provision the Gold Slave. Allow the men to tidy themselves up a bit and pursue their choice of comfort. Who then, he wondered, was responsible for turning his gang of disreputable sailors into a laughingstock?
The likely culprit comes to mind. A certain wench, belonging to most recently recruited scallywag, Lazyjax Wallace. Pleasant enough lass, but over abundant in her concern as to the diet, exercise and grooming habits of the men while away at sea. And so she’d sent with her pirate, from home, a container of some sort of special soap.
Look at them, he thinks to himself with contempt. Attired in snowy white shirts which smell of spring, none of them wishing to get dirty, his men preferring instead to comb their beards and polish the silver buckles on their tall black boots.
does EXACTLY what it says on the tin
She’d fountain penned the instructions up Lazyjax’s arm, though not one among the formerly mangy lot of them could read.
Here is the quote
Does exactly what it says on the tin