From the fort on the top of the hill across the bay a twenty-one-gun salute is fired in honor of the doings, and as the smoke from the old 36-pounders drifts away the soldiers, resplendent in red and blue uniforms and faux-bearskin shakos wander over to join the crowd.

Down the gangplank of "Queen Anne's Revenge," the scummiest vessel that you've ever seen, walks the Captain and his crew -- except for the cook, of course, who's in the scuppers with the staggers and jags. They greet the soldiers affably and start to pass around bottles of ardent spirits as two of the crew begin to play a button box and a ukulele, respectively if not respectably.