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Updated: August 6, 2024
"Hy, yi, old Pickaroon!" came a child's shrill voice from a mill window. "There's a tramp under your tree." The old man raised his head from his work at the rack. "You must not come on dis place," he cried, with a strong French-Canadian accent. "Who says so?" inquired the stranger, putting his back against the tree and stretching out his legs. "I Etienne Provancher."
Had the poor man been apoplectic, he could never have recovered from his paroxysm of wrath. "Where are we?" he repeated, with purple face. "Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg, with imperturbable calmness. "Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy. "I have sent for you, sir " "Pickaroon!" " sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel." "No!
Thence home, and there to the office late, and then home to supper and to bed. I am told to-day, which troubles me, that great complaint is made upon the 'Change, among our merchants, that the very Ostend little pickaroon men-of-war do offer violence to our merchant-men, and search them, beat our masters, and plunder them, upon pretence of carrying Frenchmen's goods.
He had been restraining his feelings with all the strength of his will since Farr had announced his intentions. His departure was flight. He began to run away down the sidewalk. "Saint Joseph, guard my tongue!" he gasped over and over. "I'll go very fast so that I not say it, for I am only old Pickaroon, and he is fine gentlemans!" He continued to weep broken-heartedly. "Mr.
Off the island of Planoca it was overpowered and captured by a little pickaroon, with lateen sails and a couple of guns, and a most villainous crew, in poverty-stricken garments, rusty cutlasses in their hands and stilettos and pistols stuck in their waistbands.
Thence home, and there to the office late, and then home to supper and to bed. I am told to-day, which troubles me, that great complaint is made upon the 'Change, among our merchants, that the very Ostend little pickaroon men-of-war do offer violence to our merchant-men, and search them, beat our masters, and plunder them, upon pretence of carrying Frenchmen's goods.
But I have here a man whom many of you know, I'm sure, for he has stood out in plain view of a street where many pass, and has worked there for thirty years. It is Etienne Provancher." Several men laughed when Farr pushed the old man into view. There was a murmured chorus of "Pickaroon." "It's for the children the poor folks for the memory of our little girl," hissed Farr in the old man's ear.
And some child who saw the motion, getting a hasty peep from a widow, squealed, "Hi yi, old Pickaroon!" "It doesn't pay to get too excited over the sorrows of the world, my friend," drawled the young man under the tree. "It doesn't do any good; and then somebody calls you names. I was something like you once. But I've changed my philosophy. I have hypnotized my altruism. Now I'm perfectly happy."
However, on second thought, this metaphor is not happy description; old Etienne did not rule he obeyed. He did not resent familiarity he welcomed the comradeship of the children. When they called him "Pickaroon" it seemed to him that they were making a play-fellow of him. He sat and whittled toys for them out of the pine-wood scraps which the yard foreman gave him.
"I do not know how to talk here to so much man to the lords of the city," stammered the miserable old man, licking his parched lips, scared until all was black before his eyes. The hush was profound. Men curved their palms at their ears, wondering what old Pickaroon could have to say in City Hall.
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