First of all, you must never speak of anything by its name -- in that country. So, if you see a tree on a mountain, it will be better to say 'Look at the green on the high'; for that's how they talk -- in that country. And whatever you do, you must find a false reason for doing it -- in that country. If you rob a man, you must say it is to help and protect him: that's the ethics -- of that country. And everything of value has no value at all -- in that country. You must be perfectly commonplace if you want to be a genius -- in that country. And everything you like you must pretend not to like; and anything that is there you must pretend is not there -- in that country. And you must always say that you are sacrificing yourself in the cause of religion, and morality, and humanity, and liberty, and progress, when you want to cheat your neighbour -- in that country.
Capt. Jack Aubrey:
Right lads, now, I know there's not a faint heart among you, and I know you're as anxious as I am to get into close action. But we must bring them right up beside us before we spring this trap. That will test our nerve, and discipline will count just as much as courage. The Acheron is a tough nut to crack... more than twice our guns, more than twice our numbers, and they will sell their lives dearly. Topmen, your handling of the sheets to be lubberly and un-navy like. Until the signal calls, you're to spill the wind from our sails, this will bring us almost to a complete stop. Gun crews, you must run out and tie down in double quick time. With the rear wheels removed, you've gained elevation. and without recoil, there'll be no chance for re-load, so gun captains, that gives you one shot from the lardboard battery... one shot only. You'll fire for her mainmast. Much will depend on your accuracy... however... even crippled, she will still be dangerous, like a wounded beast. Captain Howard and the marines will sweep their weather deck with swivel gun and musket fire from the tops. They'll try and even the odds for us before we board. They mean to take us as a prize. [all chuckling]
Capt. Jack Aubrey:
And we are worth more to them undamaged. Their greed... will be their downfall. England is under threat of invasion, and though we be on the far side of the world, this ship is our home. This ship, is England. So it's every hand to his rope or gun, quick's the word and sharp's the action. After all... surprise is on our side.
Crew:
Huzzah, huzzah!
Mole:
You have disturbed the dirt.
Milo:
Uh, pardon me?
Mole:
You have disturbed the dirt! Dirt from around the globe spanning the centuries! [pulls the covers of Milo's bed, exposing clumps of dirt with little flags]
Mole:
What have you done? England must never merge with France!
Milo:
What's it doing in my bed?
Mole:
You ask too many questions! Who are you? Who sent you? Speak up!
Milo:
Me? I'm, uh...
Mole:
Bah! I will know soon enough. [grabs Milo's hand]
Milo:
Hey, hey, hey! Let go!
Mole:
Do not be such a crybaby. Hold still. [takes a bit of dirt from under one of Milo's fingernails]
Mole:
Aha! There you are. Now tell me your story, my little friend. [looks at dirt under magnifying lenses]
Mole:
Parchment fiber from the Nile Delta circa 500 B.C., lead pencil No. 2, paint flecks of a type used in government buildings, you have a cat, short hair Persian, two years old, third in a liter of seven. These are all the microscopic fingerprints of the mapmaker. [tastes dirt]
Mole:
And linguist.
[first lines]
Narrator:
I shall tell you of William Wallace. Historians from England will say I am a liar, but history is written by those who have hanged heroes. The king of Scotland had died without a son, and the king of England, a cruel pagan known as Edward the Longshanks, claimed the throne of Scotland for himself. Scotland's nobles fought him, and fought each other, over the crown. So Longshanks invited them to talks of truce - no weapons, one page only. Among the farmers of that shire was Malcolm Wallace, a commoner with his own lands; he had two sons, John and William.
Malcolm Wallace:
I told ye to stay.
Young William:
Well, I finished my work. Where're we goin'?
Malcolm Wallace:
McAndrews'. He was supposed to visit when the gatherin' was over.
Young William:
Can I come?
Malcolm Wallace:
No! Go home, boy.
Young William:
But I want to go.
Malcolm Wallace:
Go home, William, or you'll feel the back o' my hand.
It was as easy as breathing to go and have tea near the place where Jane Austen had so wittily scribbled and so painfully died. One of the things that causes some critics to marvel at Miss Austen is the laconic way in which, as a daughter of the epoch that saw the Napoleonic Wars, she contrives like a Greek dramatist to keep it off the stage while she concentrates on the human factor. I think this comes close to affectation on the part of some of her admirers. Captain Frederick Wentworth in Persuasion, for example, is partly of interest to the female sex because of the 'prize' loot he has extracted from his encounters with Bonaparte's navy. Still, as one born after Hiroshima I can testify that a small Hampshire township, however large the number of names of the fallen on its village-green war memorial, is more than a world away from any unpleasantness on the European mainland or the high or narrow seas that lie between. (I used to love the detail that Hampshire's 'New Forest' is so called because it was only planted for the hunt in the late eleventh century.) I remember watching with my father and brother through the fence of Stanstead House, the Sussex mansion of the Earl of Bessborough, one evening in the early 1960s, and seeing an immense golden meadow carpeted entirely by grazing rabbits. I'll never keep that quiet, or be that still, again.
This was around the time of countrywide protest against the introduction of a horrible laboratory-confected disease, named 'myxomatosis,' into the warrens of old England to keep down the number of nibbling rodents. Richard Adams's lapine masterpiece Watership Down is the remarkable work that it is, not merely because it evokes the world of hedgerows and chalk-downs and streams and spinneys better than anything since The Wind in the Willows, but because it is only really possible to imagine gassing and massacre and organized cruelty on this ancient and green and gently rounded landscape if it is organized and carried out against herbivores.
Elizabeth:
Captain Barbossa , I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal .
Barbossa:
There are a lot of long words in there, Miss; we're naught but humble pirates. What is it that you want?
Elizabeth:
I want you to leave and never come back.
Barbossa:
I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Means "no".
Elizabeth:
Very well. I'll drop it. [dangles medallion over the sea]
Barbossa:
Me holds are burstin' with swag. That bit of shine matters to us? Why?
Elizabeth:
It's what you've been searching for. I recognized the ship. I saw it eight years ago on the crossing from England .
Barbossa:
Did ya, now?
Elizabeth:
Fine. Well, I suppose if it is worthless then there's no point in me keeping it. [it drops a bit, the pirates lunge forward]
Barbossa:
No! Ah. [chuckles]
Barbossa:
You have a name, Missy?
Elizabeth:
Elizabeth... Turner. I'm a maid in the Governor's household.
Barbossa:
Miss Turner...? [turns to face the pirates]
Pintel:
Bootstrap.
Barbossa:
And how does a maid come to own a trinket such as that? Family heirloom, perhaps?
Elizabeth:
I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean.
Barbossa:
Very well, you hand it over and we'll put your town to our rudder and ne'er return.
Elizabeth:
[she hands it over] Our bargain? [Barbossa walks away from her]
Bo'sun:
Still the guns and stow 'em, Signal the men, set the flags and make good to clear port.
Elizabeth:
Wait! You have to take me to shore. According to the Code of the Order of the Brethren...
Barbossa:
First, your return to shore was not part of our negotiations nor our agreement so I must do nothing. And secondly, you must be a pirate for the pirate's code to apply and you're not. And thirdly, the code is more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules. Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, Miss Turner .
