Bucko, if ever I find yer glass eye in me drink agin, I'll swallow it down and them bring 'er back up, an' then down an' up agin, and at the end I'll spit 'er acrost the bar like a seed an' see if I can can interest others in a game of eye golf. Matey, I've been in tavens where when the day dawned and the evenin' was over the place was knee-deep in bitten off ears, gnawed off noses, gouged eyes, and so many jewels that the wenches didn't dare walk cross the floor fer fear of gettin' pregnant on the journey! Places were a man's life wasn't worth a smoked herrin' and a lass's virtue even less, when ye could find a virtuous lass, which wasn't likely.

But I wanted ta tell ye about a mate of mine named Bolloxin' Billy. He had a glass eye like ye do, only his was a fearsome red set in a sea of yellow as bright as the dawn of a fair day and a good wind and the scent of home port in yer nostrils after a long voyage. When he'd put in this eye, why, t'would put the fear o' God into a Unitarian or make a Quaker want to fight clear.

Billy was a mainforetops'lman, too, and that wasn't the only tall thing about him, if ye get my drift. Popular with the lasses, he was, and strong as three new-made oxen.

Just one problem had Billy, and it weren't the clap, neither, tho I know ye're thinkin' that, given his way o' life, so ta speak. No, Billy had piles, and I don't mean of Spanish gold, neither. He didn't have 'em bad, tho, but they were a chink in his waterline, and he didn't like ta be holed that way, 'twix wind and water in a manner of speakin'.

Billy got to thinkin' on it, which is the worst a man can do, because that's what the mates and captain are for, but he didn't want to share his secret weakness with this particular set of captain and mates anyway, since they were much too close, if you see the drift o' the current there. Put another way, Billy was rear afeared.

So one day when we was anchored in Port Royale, Billy made himself an appointment to see a doctor who specialised in piles and such, a back door johnny, ye might say. He'd heard that this wee little man could cure piles without pain, or at least without much pain, and then Billy would have no problems in dischargin' ta stern.

Billy wasn't afreed of mortal man, but he did get the nerves about doctors. So just before his appointment, Billy drank down a couple glasses o' gin, which he was partial to when ashore. He then drank down a third, only it wasn't gin. It was the flagon o' water in which his awful glass eye was cleanin'.

There was no hope for it, and Billy just put a patch over the empty eyesocket and made his way to the bottom doctor, who was a mile or more away. He wasn't happy about his luck in swallowin' his eye, but he knew that'd pass soon enough, but it did give him a shitty outlook fer a while there.

Billy got to the doctor's, where the sign on the door read "Architeuthus Hemroidus, MD (Johannesburg), Rectal Disorders. FRCS, FRCP, RCNMP, FRAP, etc. Always the bottom prices, Serving Port Royale's discrete elite." And in he went.

Did ye ever note that if ye go to a shore doctor ye sit and wait? Well, that's what Billy did. And while he was waitin', his breakfast started to make itself known, and salt horse, beans, onions, and ship's bread can make for a fair wind indeed.

Finally, Billy was called into the doctor's cabin. He was told to drop his sails and lean over the gun, as we say aboard ship, and Billy did. The doctor then looked into the breech of the peice, and drew back and looked at Billy. Then he got a candle and moved in for a closer look, because, mateys, he couldn't believer what he was seein'.

As he was lookin' at Billy, Billy was lookin' back at him!

The doctor drew himself up to his full height o' four foot and some and shouted at poor Billy, who was still in a most discomodin't postion, "By God, man! I am a medical doctor, trained in the best schools! If you insist upon watching everything I do, I cannot treat you!"

Billy squirmed around to spy the Doctor, an' to answer him as he deserved, but him movin' was too much for his internal pressure and instead of words Billy responded with an almighty great broadside! His glass eye flew out the open window and holed a man o' war square in the magazines, which exploded. The flames from the candle ignited the Billy's miasma, and the resultin' explosion and fire, with that of the ship's magazines, utterly flattened Port Royale.

Some say 'twas an earthquake, but now ye know the truth of it. As fer Billy, the recoil drove him through the walls of the doctor's house, over the hills and onto a deserted island leagues away, where we picked him up six weeks later.

I'll tell ye the story o' Billy's next glass eye sometime, but I've got to make the tide, and that's at its lowest right now, both inside and out, so if you'll be good enough to pass the bottle of rum there I'll get the internal tide up to sailin' level.

Thankee.