"This, gentlemen, is my mate, Jeremy Sparrow by name,
who hath a taste for divinity that in no wise interferes with his
taste for a galleon or a guarda costa. This man, Diccon Demon by
name, was of my crew. The gentleman without a sword is my
prisoner, taken by me from the last ship I sunk. How he, an
Englishman, came to be upon a Spanish bark I have not found
leisure to inquire. The lady is my prisoner, also."
"Sure by rights she should be gaoler and hold all men's hearts in
ward," said Paradise, with a low bow to my unfortunate captive.
While he spoke a most remarkable transformation was going on.
The minister's grave, rugged, and deeply lined face smoothed itself
and shed ten years at least; in the eyes that I had seen wet with
noble tears a laughing devil now lurked, while his strong mouth
became a loose-lipped, devil-may-care one. His head with its
aureole of bushy, grizzled hair set itself jauntily upon one side,
and from it and from his face and his whole great frame breathed a
wicked jollity quite indescribable.
"Odsbodikins, captain!" he cried. "Kirby's luck! - 't will pass into a
saw! Adzooks! and so you're captain once more, and I'm mate once
more, and we've a ship once more, and we're off once more
sail the Spanish Main
give the Spaniard pain,
ho, bully boy, heave ho!
By 'r lakin! I'm too dry to sing.
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