"Dam' fool," muttered Handy Solomon. "Well, here's to crime!"
He drank a deep cup of the raw rum, and staggered back to his seat on the sands.
"'I am not a man-o'-war, nor a privateer,' said he.
Blow high, blow low! What care we!
'But I am a jolly pirate and I'm sailing for my fee,'
Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e."
he sang. "We'll land in Valparaiso and we'll go every man his way; and we'll sink the old Laughing Lass so deep the mermaids can't find her."
Thrackles piled on more wood and the fire leaped high.
"Let's get after 'em,' said he.
"To-morrow's jes' 's good," muttered Pulz. "Les' hav' 'nother drink."
"We'll stay here 'n see if our ol' frien' Percy don' show up," said Handy Solomon. He threw back his head and roared forth a volume of sound toward the dim stars.
"Broadside to broadside the gallant ships did lay,
Blow high, blow low! What care we?
'Til the jolly man-o'-war shot the pirate's mast away,
Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e."
I saw near me a live coal dislodged from the fire when Thrackles had thrown on the armful of wood. An idea came to me. I hitched myself to the spark, and laid across it the rope with which my wrists were tied. This, behind my back, was not easy to accomplish, and twice I burned my wrists before I succeeded.
