Of sailor’s tales and sailor’s tune with their bold adventures hot and cold I can recall a peculiar incident unexpected where I played the cabin boy and bold young lad to a guile filled old reprobate going by the name of Silver. Ere was a man that was built like the stalk of a redwood with are like its mighty bows. Yet ironically confined to a wheel chair. Or as I was to find out, when it suited him. His rummy tongue ever ready to offer its purloined jewels of cheerful persuasion for anyone so foolish to give its claims credence and be Shanghaied into his service. For he could charm the brass off a binnacle with his sugared words too easily cast windward making one feel immediately convinced that you and he had somehow shared some longstanding common bond as mates as evident as those mighty oak toothpicks that were solidly held skyward by ratlines of social convention. These iron bands holding both of you together like the iron staves of oak the barrel of apples oft visited within the cook’s galley where he salted his tales. To me he took a particular shine, cajoling me to busker him about in his four-wheeled conveyance out destination being a small less visited community college on a distant coast. A small two-story municipal modern structure that knew nothing of pirate ways in black spotted book verses of yore or life long vendettas come of a previous maroon never forgiven on some distant sandy shore.
It was unsuspecting me who served as prime mover. I was an easterly trade wind propelling his craft its true intent hatches neatly battened down steaming away below the equatorial hot passions of ultimate purpose. The two of us tacking our way about the corridors of the first floor, my heavily laden wheeled cargo directing me to steer him clear of unexpected reefs infested by raiders perniciously concerned with boldly boarding us to haul up their humanitarian colors for the sake of any of their other ‘captains’ to plainly see. Yet by the quick counsel of my heavy ward who could sort out their bluster with his well-practiced weather eye sailed smoothly passed close hauled at any angle that might catch too much of their wind which might slow us in their wake. The goal of finding a strange elevator that operated by encompassing its passengers in a circumference from both sides before lifting them aloft to the next deck. Leaving both him and I upon the floor above before two double doors. He preparing me in the next moments for an unexpected encounter wherein I was to find out the true purpose of our briefly-shared quest. At full speed we ran the gauntlet bursting past the obstacles falling into a hall hosting an odd assembly of elder buccaneers. Their master of ceremony being an old bony scarecrow dressed ceremoniously within the ghostly tatters white canvas suggesting a bygone soul. It was to this shoal that my companion made a beeline bellowing out curses and oaths.
The assembly frozen in their seats by his unexpected presence caught in amazement and horror at the verbal maelstrom he left in his wake. His twin wheeled craft cutting across the room its approach powered by his two mighty arms one of them shooting forth to encircle the gullet of the hapless usurper that he loudly pledge his imminent vengeance upon. His other mighty arm swinging unexpectedly ‘helm alee’ like an untended mizzen yard grabbing up a large stone pillar into its grip. The object of his wrath now flung with great malice to the deck begging loudly for mercy as his limbless wheel bound protagonist lifted the full weight of his battering ram two handed above his head bring its full force repeatedly down upon the wriggling form of his unfortunate victim like a massive thumb squishing at a weevil found in the bully beef. The terrifyingly loud supplications of the unfortunate brought to final silence with a crushing blow to the skull by the juggernaut leaving an unrecognizable mess splattered across the floor.