Blimey me harties and avast ye bilge rats, is it possible that the Jamaican pirates could hold our Wilmar for ransom? Our lass Wilmar be no wench ye know. Shiver me timbers matey, could they take their booty, the unsuspecting Wilmar, and butcher her into that accursed broad gauge that still operates on the island?
We may have to belay their actions with our own team of buccaneers. Together with Letters of Marquee we will have to batten down the hatches, hoist our own Jolly Roger, weigh anchor, hoist the mizzen and crush ye barnacles of those rapscoundrels.
Flogging or dancing with Jack Ketch by hanging from the yardarm is to good for 'em scurvy dogs. Once those scallywags have walked the plank to visit Davy Jones locker where those Scourges of the 7 seas be shark bait and me bucko, ye know dead men tell no tails. We can smartly recapture our loot, the beloved lass Wilmar, and set sail for New York.
Yo Ho Ho, savvy me hardies?