You can't win them all

You are at the helm of your ship, the breeze blowing serenely in your face. It's a nice day, sea is calm, the crew is lounging on deck, the first mate is by your side, everything looks ok...

...Or does it?

A loud bang sounds in the distance. You don't see anything, but you know you heard it, and so does your first mate. Then you both hear a cry from the crow's nest. "Captain! Sail ho off the starboard side!" You rush to the starboard side and peer through your own telescope to see a familiar vessel. Your blood runs cold.

"Pipe the crew!" you order the first mate. "Have them armed and loading the cannons!" She salutes and blows her whistle, yelling the standard "All hands on deck!" call. Once all the crew is present, she repeats your orders. As they obey, she returns to you and leans against your shoulder. You put an arm around her as you wait for the enemy ship.

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Needless to say, the cannon fire ended up with both sides unscathed, but the enemy ship manages to sidle up next to yours. Your rival's crew start lowering gangplanks to span from their ship to yours. You draw your broadsword and yell, "CHARGE!" The fight begins.

Your opponents range from pushovers to brutes who were able to overpower you; one such brute disarmed you and held you at swordpoint. You thought it was over, but he clearly didn't think about proclaiming that you were at his mercy. The two of you were like that for a very short time before he was fired off by your cabin boy.

After thanking your helper, you go to retrieve your broadsword, only for something heavy to land on you. You struggle to get out of underneath it and when you get on your feet, you see that it is the unconscious form of your lookout. Before you look away, you hear the sound of a blade imbedding into the deck. You turn to see the same blade wielded by your first mate, then you look up the main mast to see her on the port side of the yardarm, one hand flailing, the other clutching some hanging rope, both feet planted firmly into the yardarm, and her shirt lacking a lower half. You become horrified to see your archenemy up there with her, his rapier drawn and being inched closer to her newly exposed midriff. Her whistle falls on your feet, but you're too deep in horrific shock as she sucks in her belly to avoid a piercing. It's only when it looks as though her tummy is concave and the rapier tip is inches from her navel that you blow the whistle, getting the attention of every duelist.

"Stand down!" you order. When your men don't do anything, you yell in anguish, "for God's sake, drop your weapons!" Any swordsman that is on your side complies.

Your foe laughs from his position. "Lads! This ship is ours!" His henchmen cheer and he continues, "What I say goes! For instance," he grins evily and points down at you, "your shirt is a gag!"

You thought that his crew, although varying in terms of combat, all were lacking in terms of intelligence and thus wouldn't understand him. Two brutes proved you wrong when they walked up to you, ripped off your shirt, stuffed it into your mouth, and secured it with rope. One of them happened to be the brother of he who disarmed you so he levels his blade at your belly button and draws it near to you. You pull in your stomach to afford some living time, all thoughts on defeat leaving as you become more concerned about avoiding a painful sting.