BilgeRat

Aaarrgh! Belay that ye scurvy ridden plagiarist! If'n ye thinks tha ye can don tha nautical attire wi'out serving ye time as cabin boy 'n deck scrubber ye've taken leave o' yer sences. Tha talk o' tha pirates n' other scum o' tha sea do after tha BilgeRat has compleat 'is task is tha "Blub, blub, blub...." fra davy jones locker.

Aaarrgh! Tha baltic eel Hortlhund is proving t' be slippery. He bombarded tha Rat's line with a carronade for many hours then formed 'is men in a column that would make Boney proud. Now tha thin line of me sturdy marines has begun ta flay 'is column with ball n' shot n' shell. All that can be heard from 'is side of tha hill is some muttered mumbo jumbo like "operashunal paws" or somesuch. So tha Rat continue ta swill 'is grog n' wait....

Aaarrgh! Tis little wonder that tha targets o Hortlhund’s crusade cannot be seen to be quaking. For as tha outerboards groan under a deluge o’ Hortlhund’s verbiage tha despatches that quote ‘is own do in most cases it seems compare ‘is mental competence with that of a barnacle. No doubt Hortlhund in this does attempt t’ gain authority for ‘is vendetta against tha many right thinkin’ folk who give ‘is despatches tha tiny consideration they deserve. They need not fear. For Hortlhund will no doubt draw ‘is crusade out as far ‘as it will go, tedium will be tha lot o’ ‘is victims ‘as ‘e employs tha strategems o’ ‘is profession to tha battle. Tha Rat be most concern’d t’ learn o’ Hortlhund’s endeavour ta get athwart tha Pole n’ tha Mace. Such may have a nautical tone but methinks tha Articles of War would ensure ‘e would swing from tha yardarm were he to succeed. Mayhap he should anyway. Mr Spkrs plight ‘as concern’d tha Rat. Take tha advice o’ an old sea rat. When it seems that sleep be hard ta come by I turn t’ tha Collected Works Of Gaylord Focker an’ soon be slumbering in me bunk. I advise tha consumption o’ a tincture for settling tha bowels before taking up tha sleep inducing tome as on occasions tha digestion may be affected. Aaarrgh!

Aaarrgh! Hortlhund! For godssake man, have yer fleets hulls scraped, tha weed n' barnacled hulls are retardin' their progress. Me fine marines n' sailors are swillin' tha grog n' soon tha Rat'll be breakin' inta a fine sea chantey ifn ye don't shake a leg.

Aaarrgh! Well Hortlhund ye must of purchased yer commission in some regiment o' deperates for e'en tha bumbling poltroons of tha Swedish Navy would no have awarded such a snivelling buffoon as yerself. Ye have lost yer audience right here, for who amongst us thinks of you as any but a capering scurvy ridden clown bereft o' yer wits. Yer miserable "Oh I blew up my own powder magazine" wouldna have worked fer Villaneuve at Trafalgar n' it won't fer tha likes o' yerself now. At least a Frenchy would cut n' run. But ye weasel yer way n preen belike a slippery bewigged 'gentleman' o' tha law. n thats a species that deserv'd a 24 pounder shot in tha guts more than e'en a Frenchy.

Aaaarrgh! n' Aaarrggh! again with feeling at Hortlhund's mangling o tha nautical vernacular which one must deplore e'en more than tha Rat's own. It seems this Hortlhund's grasp o' naval warfare is as lacking as twere in his 18th (not 17th you rum sodden Swedish lubber) century countrymen. This bodes well for tha Rat for no doubt he'll run his ancient galleons upon me reefs and 'is poor overburdened frigates will founder under tha weight of their armaments. Speakin' of weighty matters where be tha cetacean Mr Boo_R. Tha Rat is in tha throws o purchase a fine fleet o whaling ships to put paid to 'is blowing n' blustering.

Aaaarrgh! Thaar he blows! Well now Mister Boo_R 'tis not tha habit o' 'is Majesties Navy to go whalin' but ifn one gets in tha ships way tha Rat will happily employ tha bow chasers. An 18 pounder roun'shot should silence yer blowhole which ye seem eager to vent without duly considerin' tha foul stench o your wind.

Aaarrgh! Reveal'd in all 'is 'glory' tha Frenchness of this fellow. Twere not enough t' subject us to 'is filibuster and 'is moonin' o'er some dockyard doxy. Now he takes a change in tha wind and cravenly skulks back inta port. Aaarrgh! Belay that scurvy skulkin' For 't seems this Hortlhund be by nature French and lubber. Afore ye cut n' run ye must answer t tha Rat.

Aaaarrgh! Tis time for a sea shanty methinks Maid of Amsterdam (Hortlhund's Lament) In Amsterdam there lived a maid Mark you well what I say! In Amsterdam there lives a maid, And this fair maid the language flayed. Chorus I'll go no more a duelin', with you fair maid. A dueling, A dueling, since dueling's been my ru-i-in, I'll go no more a dueling, with you fair maid. Her verse be unlike any knight Mark you well what I say Her verse be unlike any knight, And that was to Sean-a-chai's delight. Chorus I told this fair maid to take a walk, Mark well what I do say I told this maid to take a walk That we might stop this creepy stalk. Chorus Alas I took this fair maid's glove, Mark well what I do say Alas I took this fair maid's glove Instead of giving her a shove. Chorus Then a great ugly Utahman rammed my bow Mark well what I do say For a great ugly Utahman rammed my bow, And said, "Young man, dis bin mein vrow!" Chorus Then take warning boys, from me, Mark well what I do say! So take a warning, boys, from me, With mormon wives don't make too free. Chorus

Aaaarrgh! There be no suprise that this Swede has gone stark raving mad for it is a trait of 'is nation it seems. Tha Kingdom of Sweden is renown for tha "history's greatest warships" that soon grace the bottom of tha sea. History's greatest shipwrecks morelike. When tha Baltic fishes observed tha Swedish fleet sailing forth twas they would soon be feastin' upon the crews. Even a longboat, of which a 10 foot variety does not exist, crewed by trusty British tars, who supped grog not "ale", would be a match for one of Sweden's "history's greatest shipwrecks" so long as 'twere manned by Swedes who would founder it at the first tack. For why would tha BilgeRat concern hisself with the Swedes "Mars" or her fellow clownships of the greatest show aflotsam like Vasa, Kronan or Sverdat. Better HMS Mars, which took the French Hercule, fought to gallant victory at Trafalgar and was with Lord Saumarez when he brought 'is fleet to save the misbegotten ingrates: the Swedes. This Hortlhund's an insolent cur who will soon rue 'is empty bluster. You can expect my despatch forwith.

Aaaarrgh! Damme, it's no suprise to see Hortlhund all abashed afore tha BilgeRat. Gazing at the deck and shuffling 'is feet like some midshipman hauled up before the Cap'n for dereliction. No amount of muttering under 'is breath about bananas and such like can hide the fact that the rum sodden buffoon named some his bathtoys "Victory" and "Mars" sullying the name of these fine ships which fought on the glorious 21st of October and pon the latter poor George Duff met 'is end (rest 'is soul). Why Moriarty 'as the rights of it, hanging is too good for him, a 150 lashes is more likeit (keelhauling bein' not quite the same spectacle, if you get my meaning).

Aaaarrgh! This is piracy! Surely the articles of war have something to say about this brazen act. A more bungling and buffoonish attempt at a nautical theme could not be imagined. Lord Nelson'd be rising up from 'is very grave at the name of his flagship being attached to such an undertaking. Not only taken, but used to name a vessel manned by those high seas galoots, the Prussians. This Hund fellow is no sea dog. His Norse ancestry diluted by generations of breeding with some landlocked race. Probably Austrians or Bavarians by the cut of 'is jib. Upon further perusal, article 33 probably applies in this case: "If any flag officer, captain, or commander, or lieutenant belonging to the fleet, shall be convicted before a court martial of behaving in a scandalous, infamous, cruel, oppressive, or fraudulent manner, unbecoming the character of an officer, he shall be dismissed from His Majesty's service." This Lt Horthund's despatch is all of these things, most especially of the "cruel" part. For more appropriate punishment, article 29 might apply: "If any person in the fleet shall commit the unnatural and detestable sin of buggery and sodomy with man or beast, he shall be punished with death by the sentence of a court martial." For he has surely buggered up something. Stringing up from the yardarm would be a mercy compared the punishment this scurvy lubber deserves

Aaarrgh! "BilgeRat to the quarterdeck" this does bellow. Me muse 'as been malign'd by some twittering lubber whose bungled 'is way orf the broad highway and mumbles away in 'is squalor.

Aaarrgh! Sludge, enough of your sympathy for those in perpetual shore leave. Or is trying to sink me fleet with musket fire to much of a challenge for your Frenchness. Back to the task at hand you scurvy dilletante.

Aaarrgh! Sludge. Sludge is being French. Of Sludge's Frenchness there can be no dispute. The Rat observes no hail from the Sludge in tha Cess regarding our little bingle. Can it be (wonders the Rat) that Sludge is coy about 'is Frenchness. Oh, no indeed. The fellow absolutely wallows in it. The Rat is most put out at having to command flighty Prussians to put Sludge's French to the sword. Some sturdy British tars would have soon set the French Sludge to rights. The sea veritably swarms with Sludge's troop transports and gunboats. Sludge is being the French in certainty, playing the role to the hilt. Meandering one of 'is transports round and round within musket shot of my Prussians while the rest of his fleet stalks just within cannon range. Now I must contend with a nasty Sludge outbreak in the midst of me fleet. Courtesy of a pell mell round the flank advance by 'is transports. Though the sea is awash with the wreckage and flotsam of his transports, thanks to the steady work of my gunners, by some miracle of Frenchness the troops aboard survived all but unscathed an' now occupy one of me forts. Not happy with this display of Frenchness Sludge wanders a vessel, with it's guns blasted off their mountings but still seaworthy, back and forth like a cheap Portsmouth doxy to attract the attention and fire of me men. Aaaarrgh! But this is not the end of it. In the 'piece de resistance' to use 'is damnable lingo, Sludge has stiffened up his French forces with some British lads. How can I know this you ask, when they were at least a couple of miles away? Well, upon entering some trees they raised their ensign. Now the blood runs from 'is scuppers and the French are dieing at the very muzzles of me guns.