“It’s an old tradition with us,” Mr. Curtin explained. “I think you might be interested in how it all started.”
“I certainly would,” Vicki answered. “It sounds intriguing.”
“Well, about two hundred years ago, in 1783 to be exact, an officer in the Spanish Navy named José Gaspar mutinied and seized his warship the _Florida Blanca_. Then he turned pirate, changed his name to Gasparilla, meaning Little Gaspar, and began to prey on the merchant ships of all nations. He made his headquarters in the islands around Tampa Bay, and whenever a merchantman came by, he rushed out, captured it, killed the crew, stole the cargo, and then burned the ship.”
“And this cutthroat is the patron rogue of Tampa,” Nina put in. “Louise thinks it’s too disgraceful.”
“Oh, really, Nina. I never said quite that—”
Mr. Curtin laughed as he went on with the story.
“Be that as it may, old Gasparilla’s luck held out for thirty-eight years. Then, one day in 1821, he made a fatal mistake. He pounced on a lone brig which he thought was an unarmed merchantman, but it turned out to be an American warship, the U.S.S. Enterprise. And Gasparilla’s goose was cooked. Within minutes, his ship was a mass of flames.”
“So the Navy finally captured him?”
“Not Gasparilla! The old devil wrapped a heavy iron chain around his waist and leaped into the sea, still brandishing his cutlass.”
“And now Daddy is going to be a lovely, bloodthirsty pirate too,” Nina said impishly.