'I'm a-thinking, your honor, it's a great pity he ain't in a regular man-o'-war's man.'
'What would he do then, Peter?'
'He'd make her talk, your honor, or I'm mistaken.'
'You don't think he'd fight, do you?'
'What for not, your honor?'
'Why, you know he has been dodging along shore here, Peter, all his life—he has hardly smelled gunpowder.'
'Asking your honor's pardon for the freedom, but I must haul off from your honor this time. Captain Sam may be ain't had much experience in the fightin' way as yet; but your honor knows, it's more what's in a man than what he larns—a brave man ashore will be a brave man at sea, that is, a'ter the sickness is over; but if Captain Sam don't face an enemy's bullet with the best on 'em, I'll cut off my pigtail and give it to the cats.' Peter could have made no stronger asseveration; for he highly valued the long appendage to his bushy head, and of all creatures he hated cats.
'Do you think, Peter, if he had a good ship and a dozen guns on board, with a fine crew, he would know what to do with them?'
'If he don't, your honor, I'll give up t'other leg, and go upon stumps the rest of my days.'
'Well, Peter, I believe you; and we think alike this time. You may take these papers, and show them to Lady Morris.'