The barnacled boat bobbed above and beneath the bubbles of the deep. Bystanders observed the beams of brilliant blue behind the boat, and bantered busily about them. "They bemoan the battle before it has begun," one babbled.

"Correct!" cried the captain. "Conclusions can cleverly become confusion in crowds collectively collaborating. So neither city councillors nor clowns in Congress can change the claims of cantankerous captains convinced of their copious capital. Come and claim your constitutional checklist collaterally!" ("Crazy as a Christmas cracker," cackled a constable close by.) Children continued counting clouds in clear constellations, connecting cockleburs and candy canes, churches and chocolate cakes.

Dozens of denizens of Dharma dropped their doings and meandered down to the docks where the Captain cried. They dreamt distant dreams of drednaughts dragging drums of gold, drums this Captain would plunder, dazzling the dazed do-gooders with his deftness in blade-wielding and dressage. Then the crew would redeem the drums for dregs of Durnyk's Dim Ale, drinking dosages damning them to a dastardly drunkenness. "Damnation!" they howled. "Captain, distant from these docks we dream of drums of gold. Lead us in their direction!"

"Far from here we'll find the fabulous figures you dream of and drink to!" cried the captain in a frenzy. "Follow me, and for forty Fridays we shall train in fencing and fine sailing, to bid our fond farewells to family and friends next February fourteenth. For only fools and the fearless fare well in foreign affairs, and to be forthright, I fear the effects of the frying sun and the ferocious sea on the faint of heart. For every fifty that dream of daring debacles, only five will find the fortitude to face their fears. But those whose hearts are firmer than the firs from which this barnacled boat is built may defend their dreams of drums of gold and dregs of Dim Ale by affronting the fortress of Fierce Frederick Faldone. Forward, to fantastic findings!"

And so, for forty Fridays they fenced and sailed, and on the forty-first Friday they bade farewells. On February fifteenth, they gladly and giddily gathered their gumption and got aboard the great dinghy, geared up for the grand leagues to the Faldone fortress. The guys and gals all gave greatly of their elbow grease, grunting gayly. All but Gordon Gorglegrunt. Gordon grumpily griped about the gruel and bubble gum they gobbled obligatorily. Disgusted by this ghastly garbage, he glimpsed through his guts the garrisons of old and their grub, ghastly as well. And then he guessed the crazy Captain's game: these guys and girls, garbed so and gauntlet-armed, would grow like a garden to a global guerrilla garrison that would first guard the gaunt remainder of the world and then guide it to a grim demise.

"Hey, Hook!" he hollered at the crafty captain. "How huge is this house we're hoping to hijack, and how many months of hardship before we're back in harbor? Harry's horse has hiccups, which we find hilarious yet highly unhealthy. If we haven't headed home by Halloween, we'll have a heck of a lot of hysterical hippies, who are only happy on their hallucinogenic hilltops. And while the highfalutin' hornblowers help hallow the hollow halls of heavenly homes, here their hallelujahs are only a headache. How can a handful of gauntleted guys and gals from the back beaches and boondocks of Dharma deal dreadfully with the Fierce Frederick Faldone? You hear of hopes you can harvest to make history, but a hen's chance of hopping to hell is higher than the hope I hold for our crazy crew. I hereby hand you the whole responsibility for hanging these hopeless humans, and henceforth will hang out at the helm while you host your horrific hullabaloo."

Justly jaundiced at these jilted jests, crazy Captain Columbus jabbered some juvinilities. Then he jumped at the jeer. "From what does Fierce Frederick Faldone find fear? Hear this jig from his joint:

'Jibe not the Jabberwock, junior.
His jaws do juice, his juices jatch.
His judo jams the Jubjub bird, and jerks
To jeapoardy the Jarkosnatch.'

"We may judge the jargon and jam judiciously from Dharma with only these gauntleted guys and gals--and the frabjous Jabberwock!"

Across the kaleidoscopic waters Faldone's first lookout, Kevin Kublatoon cautioned his comrades, "Keep quiet!" In the calm, a kitten cried, and Kevin quickly kicked it, scolding, "Kids and kittens who cackle in key situations could quickly become kipper kibble." He quietly considered his cognizance and counseled his colleague Katherine: "Keep your keen eyes on the keel yonder--a kind of intuitive instinct indicates it's from the distant docks of Dharma, and I fear for our Fuhrer, the fearsome Frederick Faldone. They say the gauntlets of gallant denizens of Dharma carry the cruel concoctions of the Jabberwock's frabjous jaw-juice. No kitchen in all of Kiplingdom can counter the kumquat ketchup of the jealous Jabberwock!"

In a jiffy, the jolting Jabberwock jig jangled over their laboriously concealed lookout, and Kevin and Katherine leapt like lizards and scuttled to linger in leafy concealment. Then they laid eyes on the crew of crazy Captain Columbus Hook. The legend was legitimate--the lecherous legion at last lumbered towards Fierce Faldone's Fortress. All was lost! Kevin and Katherine lambasted the lore and loitered on the lookout 'til they could no longer. They steeled their lungs and loudly called for battle. A legion of Faldone's forces luridly lunged from where they had lain in wait on the lee side of the island. Gordon Gorglegrunt grimaced as his crazy Captain left the materializing mutiny to lecture the leaky defense on deck.

"Mice and minstrels, you are, not men!" maintained the muddled master. "Maybe your minuscule muscles were masculine in Madeira, but for the awesome assignment before us, a manlier might is needed." Mocking murmurs were heard from many quarters, and the fearful first mate Michael decided to redirect the dissension to a more immediate misdeed. "My good men and women, may I suggest we move now to make our magnificent might known to the followers of Faldone? Monsters and madness may overtake our minds if we meddle with "maybes" much longer, and our ambush is already much-diminished by this disastrous delay. Let us look now to the motto of our mothers: 'Men who mumble often stumble; might makes right, so let's go fight!'"