Did the stories of drinking, fighting, drinking, debauchery, drinking, piracy and drinking ever stop? Perhaps when the rum ran out, possibly when the ale ran out, maybe even when the whiskey ran out, or when the cider ran out, but definitely only when all the booze had run out and the drunk horde finally fell asleep where they sat, stood, lay, or fell.

Another story shared by one of the crew during that raging party under the Storm of Ale was told by Red Ned Chumbucket from the West, a gunner of more than forty years who had stood tall among the crew of the Privateer since the day of her first sail under the new moniker.

As with many of the pirates that the Good Captain recruited in his early days of solo pirating Red Ned was selected because word of mouth had reached the Good Captain at the right time. He had a glorious career prior to the Good Captain, he’d worked under some of the most illustrious pirate captains in the known world but he never found a solid foundation, that was until the Good Captain offered him the job as main gunner. However under the Storm of Ale it was not his story since joining the crew of the Privateer that was to be spoken about, it was his story from long, long before under the captaincy of Green Pete.

“Gather around me hearties I ‘ave me a tale t’ tell.” A crowd began to form around Red Ned as he climbed onto the table. “Someone get me another tankard o’ rum ‘n I shall start.”

A moment or two passed as the crowd grew and true to his word the second he was handed a full tankard of his desired whiskey Red Ned began his tale.

“In a far away secret cove, a distance so far away no one today would fathom th’ thought o’ such a journey, me tale does start. It happened in th’ land o’ Sbribah-á- dubh, which fer those who don’t know be ‘n island off th’ coast o’ wha’ we today know as Candelmon Land.”

Red Ned’s voice was loud and boomed across the room with more force than any other pirate.

“We hid our mighty pirate ships, they were moored within th’ cove. Our aim was t’ keep ourselves clear o’ pryin’ eyes ‘n th’ eyes o’ scoundrelly buggers like yourselves!”

From his position standing atop of the table Red Ned waved his hand at the crowd before him as he spoke the last word. The crowd roared with both laughter and cheer. When the sound lowered again Red Ned continued his story.

“Th’ Candlemonian crowd did teach us how t’ brew a powerful potion. They gave us th’ tools, they gave us th’ booty ‘n we turned our mighty ship onto a floatin’ brewery o’ bacchanalia.”

The crowd roared, each and every one of them knowing that bacchanalia was a drunken celebration, therefore knowing exactly what Red Ned meant with his description of the ship.

“Aboard our good ship Matey we did brew a toxic punch, th’ mix o’ unlikely ingredients as much as surprise as th’ final product. It looked a bit like th’ gravy yer ole elder did pour upon yer mush. However it tasted more like that rotten crunchy cereal that yer mother made ye eat fer grub on those cold ‘n miserable winter mornin’s.

But we still drank it!

Its effects lastin’ fer longer than any other drink ye ‘ave ever known yet at th’ same time its flavours, its scents ‘n its taste, its horrible, horrible taste was somehow so delectable. ’twas also completely undetectable in its effects. ’twas th’ type o’ drink ye could drink ‘n drink ‘n drink, feelin’ wonderful right up ’til th’ moment ye fall onto th’ floor as a stumblin’ mess.

Once ye’ve savoured th’ nectar yer brain wit’ be floatin’. Once ye’ve drunk th’ potion ye’ll be a gibberin’ wreck ‘n once ye’ve downed it ye’ll be needin’ a pair o’ powerful spectacles even fer yer mangy wee mutt!”

The surrounding crowd laughed, a belly aching, loud and raucous laughter, a noise so loud that Red Ned could not hear himself speak. So instead he took a swig of his whiskey and waited for the noise to abate.

“Fer those o’ ye interested let me tell ye wha’ this Pegleg Potion be made from. Ye loots one part o’ th’ finest spirit ye can find, wit’ a dash o’ water from th’ Caribbean seas. Ye mix it wit’ some monkey brains ‘n a touch o’ Haitian spice. Stir it twice, boil it hard, boil it slow ‘n stir it only t’ the left. Add th’ scrappin’ from th’ soles o’ ye feet ‘n long wit’ yer manky socks. Then ye add a dash o’ chocolate ‘n a pint or two o’ French moonshine. Pour it in an ole wooden bucket ‘n slosh it round fer no more than a minute. Th’ it’s time t’ prepare fer th’ drinkin’.

There was a mixture of gagging, laughing, cheering, hollering and foot stomping as the ingredients list of Red Ned’s magical nectar, the drink he called Pegleg Potion was taken in by the drunken crowd.

After another slug of his from his whiskey laden tankard Red Ned finished off his tale.

“So should ye every gets yourself th’ chance t’ sail th’ seas o’ Sbribah-á- dubh Island loot it wit’ both hands me laddies. Don’t let th’ fact that such an island has long since been swallowed by th’ sea heed ya way ’cause th’ power o’ th’ Pegleg Potion shall forever permeate th’ coastline o’ Camdelmon land. ‘n if ye should ever find yourself thar be sure t’ pour yer ole mate Red Ned a tankard o’ th’ long seeked treasure ‘n together we can drink t’ th’ end o’ time!

Previous Pirate story here.