“What then?” he demanded, still covetous, albeit rueful, too, at what he vaguely knew was lost opportunity.
“It was because you did not play the part of a clammer naturally and nobly,” I replied. “My friend, I counsel you to read Epictetus—and while you are at that,” I added, “I suggest you read also that other classic, the one known as The Pirate’s Own Book.”
So saying, since he stood stupefied, and really not seeing my hand, which I reached out to him in farewell, I called to Partial, and followed by the two stern and relentless figures, made our way back to the spot where the good ship Sea Rover lay straining at her hawser.
“What ho! messmates!” I cried. “Fortune has been kind to our bold band this day. We have taken large booty. Let us up anchor and set sail. Before yon sun has sunk into the deep we shall be far away, and our swift craft is able to shake off all pursuit.”
“Whither away, Black Bart,—Captain, I mean!” said Jean Lafitte (and I blushed at this title and this hard-won rank, as one of the proudest of my swiftly-following accomplishments in happiness).
“Spang! to the Spanish Main,” was my reply.
A moment later, the waves were rippling merrily along the sides of the Sea Rover as she headed out boldly into the high seas.