Cursing could have very well been something else The First Mate enjoyed nearly as much as booze, the sea, women and treasure. He hadn't slowed down in the slightest and even when there was no-one to curse at he did not stop, he merely invented words to add to his already colorful repertoire of insults. To him, it was merely another form of motivation.

“... and another thing you whoresons! I'll take me widdlin' knife and carve your back-side so it's as ugly as your front-side. AND I DON'T EVEN GOT A WIDDLIN' KNIFE!!!” He took the extra effort to reach down for a handful of sand and throw it in no particular direction.

It was when he turned to yell at the ship that he was met with a very large abundance of water. He had only the time to blink for the warm salty water dropped him to his rear and soak him once again from head to toe. It did manage something else as well, it got him to shut up.

He sat there a moment, extremely confused, when he heard a womens voice from near the ship. He looked up, water dripping from his hair and face. He took a moment to look around and then point to himself, though he said nothing, merely sat there in his own wetness, sand clinging to him everywhere. Everywhere!