"And I tell you that I want no thanks, so let's talk of business. In the first place, what made you so anxious to get to the water just now? I thought there was blood in your veins that never yet ran in those of a coward."
"A coward?"
"Ay, youngster; the man who has no better resource when he's down in the world than to make away with himself isn't worthy of any other name."
"And what right had you to suppose that I contemplated suicide?"
"The right of a good sharp pair of eyes, my lad. But come, once more to business. Do you see yonder craft at anchor there, to the right of the harbor?"
Paul looked in the direction to which the stranger pointed, and perceived the trim masts of a lightly-built schooner.
"I do."
"Then you see one of the fastest clippers that ever sailed. No rotten timber, but green oak and locust from stem to stern, with not an inch of canvas that isn't meant for speed. Don't talk to me about your steam vessels; lumbering old Noah's arks, that can't go a good pace without bursting up and sending every soul to tarnation smash. See the Amazon fly before the wind, and then you'll know what fast sailing is. If we Southerners come to handy grips with the North, let the Yankees look out for squalls when the Amazon is afloat on the blue water."
"And you, my friend, are you one of her crew?" asked Paul.
"I'm her captain, mate, Captain Prendergills—a sailor by profession, a rover by choice, and a privateer for plunder."