North of Kingston, Sir Edmund St. Vincent-Harewood-Osprey, Esq. ambled through his cocoa groves with the viceroy who, bein a much youngerer man, was feelin very impatient.
“Sir Edmund,” he said, “I feel you are not takin the seriousness of this situation, well, er, seriously.”
“Son, I’ve seen cocoa come an cocoa go. It will outlast all the pirates, you mark my words.”
“But this isn’t just any pirate. It’s not like we’re talkin about Red Beard or Captain John Partridge. This is Morgashi that I have to handle!”
“Weeell, yes, he’s a caution, an no mistake. But I have been readin the reports, boft in the newspapers an the letters from my opposites in London, an everbody says his crew is naught but a rag tag: cats, dogs, hoomin peeples, a old circus tiger and the like. Whut we have in the Royal Navy is 100% men, and British subjects at that. How can we possibly lose?”
The viceroy sighed. He had dealt with such narrowly educated men before. He said carefully, “Sir Edmund, have you ever lived with a house cat or a dog? Or, for example, attended a circus?”
“What? Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Horses, that’s the ticket!”
“Yes,” said the viceroy. “That’s what I thought.”