"Jasper, I never like violence on a eldest son. It do main bad luck, my deear, es a rule; still we've got to go 'ginst bad luck, sometimes. But for the fact of your bein' the third of the family of the same naame—"
"More than the third," I interrupted.
"More than the third ef you like, my deear, but you be the third, an' oal the world do knaw it's a bad thing to kill a man who's the third of the same naame. But for that I mightn't 'ave come in time. You zee, Jasper, I'm a religious man, do send a present to the passon every year for tithes, I do."
At that time I did not believe in Cap'n Jack's words, but afterward I found that all his gang were afraid to do that which was considered unlucky. All Cornish people, I suppose, have heard the rhyme about killing an eldest son who is the third in succession to bear the same christened name. I know, too, that Cap'n Jack believed implicitly in the legend, and I have heard him repeat it very solemnly, as though he were repeating a prayer at a funeral, while his gang became as solemn as judges. And I have little doubt now that the jargon which I will write down—for I who have had a fair lot of schooling do call it jargon—had a great deal to do with saving me from Sam Liddicoat's knife.
"For if a man shall strike him dead,
His blood shall be on the striker's head,
And while ever he draws his breath,
His days shall be a fearful death;
And after death to hell he'll go,
With pain and everlasting woe."