Country life -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Siblings -- Fiction
The result was not long doubtful. Indeed, I could not allow it to be, as
I was already getting somewhat bored with the pirate business, and was
wanting to get on to something more southern and sensuous. All serious
resistance came to an end as soon as I had reached the quarter-deck and
cut down the pirate chief--a fine black-bearded fellow in his way,
but hardly up to date in his parry-and-thrust business. Those whom our
cutlasses had spared were marched out along their own plank, in the
approved old fashion; and in time the scuppers relieved the decks of
the blood that made traffic temporarily impossible. And all the time the
British-man-of-war admired and applauded in the offing.
As soon as we had got through with the necessary throat-cutting and
swabbing-up all hands set to work to discover treasure; and soon the
deck shone bravely with ingots and Mexican dollars and church plate.
There were ropes of pearls, too, and big stacks of nougat; and rubies,
and gold watches, and Turkish Delight in tubs. But I left these trifles
to my crew, and continued the search alone. For by this time I had
determined that there should be a Princess on board, carried off to
be sold in captivity to the bold bad Moors, and now with beating heart
awaiting her rescue by me, the Perseus of her dreams.
I came upon her at last in the big state-cabin in the stern; and she
wore a holland pinafore over her Princess-clothes, and she had brown
wavy hair, hanging down her back, just like--well, never mind, she had
brown wavy hair. When gentle-folk meet, courtesies pass; and I will
not weary other people with relating all the compliments and
counter-compliments that we exchanged, all in the most approved manner.
Occasions like this, when tongues wagged smoothly and speech flowed
free, were always especially pleasing to me, who am naturally inclined
to be tongue-tied with women. But at last ceremony was over, and we sat
on the table and swung our legs and agreed to be fast friends. And I
showed her my latest knife--one-bladed, horn-handled, terrific, hung
round my neck with string; and she showed me the chiefest treasures the
ship contained, hidden away in a most private and particular locker--a
musical box with a glass top that let you see the works, and a railway
train with real lines and a real tunnel, and a tin iron-clad that
followed a magnet, and was ever so much handier in many respects than
the real full-sized thing that still lay and applauded in the offing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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