Scurvy dog swore blind to the ‘ole crew that ‘e weren’t a’courtin’ the lass, that 'e 'ad no desire to dock in yon port, if you catch my meaning. But you mark my words, we marked 'ow as 'e’d always be keeping 'is weather eye turned t’ward 'er any time some perfumed fop or foul-mouthed jack tar belched out a pun, belted out a saucy shanty, or cracked some other jape or jest. Clear as the captain’s drunk again, we savvy that 'e were spyin’ 'er face to see if she cracked so much as a grin.