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| CANADA'S SOURCE FOR HUMOUR, PARODY, AND SATIRE
Singapore in the old days was a wild place for the men and crew of the Salt Lick. We were trading rubber on a long scrub I recall, and we ran afoul of a British frigate, thinking us for some Malay gun runner. Well we was none too pleased when they started firing loads of grapeshot across our bow, but it was all Barkley "Rum Stains" Pippington's fault for running up the wrong colours. Fortunately we caught the soft end of a Malaccan wind that blew us clear of the Brits and the Johore Strait. We ducked into Keeling Bay, and laid ourselves in, not wanting to take a chance of getting our planks salted with grape again. Besides, the locals were very kindly to us, and plying us with fresh mangoes and kegs of donkey soup brought in from Penang. There weren't nothing much to do asides from squid wrestling and pasting the deck with fresh shelac. We spent close to 17 days idling about and brushing our wigs. It was a limp and wheaty day that we shoved off and wallied ourselves out to the base at Sembawang, which we knew better as East Malta. We were done sure going to make it politely clear to the admiralty that we were sailing straight up and blowing right. Barty Wells was getting tight in the knickers, remembering the time he was in a skinboat dashing from Limey with a healthy stash of sea tonic, brewed and stewed using some of the finest Jamaican sugar. But once we anchored into the navy harbour, we got our reeds in a row, and Admiral Hawthorne himself signed us a trade waiver, which promised us an easy time when we ported back in London. I don't know
what was made from the rubber, but the trip made us richer than a swordfish
with a silver snout.
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Sea Tales from Old Pete
