You was talkin' out of yer head last night, too," chortles Davy. "No one's gonna fancy me. I'm gonna be ugly and no on'es gonna fancyme!" he mimics, mincing about the hammock. "You are such a rum cove, Jacky, for thinkin' such things when yer just about beat t' death! Fancy me? Fancy me? Jacky, no one's gonna fancy us, we're all gonna end up lookin' like Snag!" "Which is how a salty dog sailor's supposed to look," says Willy with a firm nod. "And you're halfway there, Jack-o!" crows Tink. Ah, the sweet comfort of friends.

If I take a tumble, I'll mae quite a splash, but at least I won't smash against the deck and make a mess. Still be dead, though.

You've got to think of the fine times you had with your mate, not the moment of his perishin'. Every tear you shed now only wets his windin' sheet and disturbs his rest

men i swear." -jacky faber

But surely we are not allowed..." "Allowed?" I counters. "We're allowed to do anything in this world until someone says we ain't allowed and that someone can back it up.

Why did I follow her? If you must know, Sir, it was easy. Pound for pound, Puss-in-Boots was the best commander I ever served under.

And if that is the Foremast, what do you think that sail might be called, Mr. Wheeler?" "The Foresail?" "Very good, Mr. Wheeler, and the next one up would be called..." ..."The Next Sail, Sir?" "Alas, no, Mr. Wheeler.