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"I'll see you " cried Scarrow, shaking his mouth clear. "Twist his arm round, Ned. Now will you?" "No; not if you twist it off." "Put an inch of your knife into him." "You may put six inches, and then I won't." "Sink me, but I like his spirit!" cried Sharkey. "Put your knife in your pocket, Ned.
You've saved your skin, Scarrow, and it's a pity so stout a man should not take to the only trade where a pretty fellow can pick up a living. You must be born for no common death, Scarrow, since you have lain at my mercy and lived to tell the story. Tie him up, Ned." "To the stove, captain?" "Tut, tut! there's a fire in the stove.
It was no bad find for Captain Scarrow, for, with a short-handed crew, such a seaman as this big New Englander was a prize worth having. He vowed that he was the only man whom Captain Sharkey had ever placed under an obligation.
"Well, captain, I'll have you a silver dollar, and chance it," said the rough old Bristol man beside him. The negro rowers shot the boat alongside, and the linen-clad steersman sprang up the ladder. "Welcome, Captain Scarrow!" he cried. "Have you heard about Sharkey?" The captain grinned at the mate. "What devilry has he been up to now?" he asked. "Devilry! You've not heard, then?
I fear, Captain Scarrow, that you will find a blind and broken man a poor companion for your voyage." "I am honoured in enjoying your Excellency's society," said the captain. "But I am sorry that your eyes should be so afflicted." "Yes, indeed. It is the cursed glare of the sun on the white streets of Basseterre which has gone far to burn them out."
It took a stout seaman in those days to ply his calling in the Caribbean Gulf. Such a man was Captain John Scarrow, of the ship Morning Star, and yet he breathed a long sigh of relief when he heard the splash of the falling anchor and swung at his moorings within a hundred yards of the guns of the citadel of Basseterre. St.
From the Bahamas to the Main his coal-black barque, with the ambiguous name, had been freighted with death and many things which are worse than death. So nervous was Captain Scarrow, with his new full-rigged ship, and her full and valuable lading, that he struck out to the west as far as Bird's Island to be out of the usual track of commerce.
"You may shoot, or you may not!" cried Scarrow, striking his hand upon the breast of his frieze jacket. "If it's my last breath, Sharkey, I tell you that you are a bloody rogue and miscreant, with a halter and hell-fire in store for you!" "There's a man of spirit, and one of my own kidney, and he's going to make a very pretty death of it!" cried Sharkey.
Sink you for a villain, do you dare to question my orders?" "Nay, nay, Captain Sharkey, not so hot, sir!" said the quartermaster, and, lifting Scarrow like a child, he laid him on the table.
With the quick dexterity of a seaman, he tied his spread-eagled hands and feet with a rope which was passed underneath, and gagged him securely with the long cravat which used to adorn the chin of the Governor of St. Kitt's. "Now, Captain Scarrow, we must take our leave of you," said the pirate.
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