what you say he does, there is no harm done; but
when once he says anything which you think is wrong, promise me to let
me know; and even now, if you will take my advice, you will not be so
intimate with him."

A little while afterward my father and Ben the Whaler both spoke to me
on the same subject, but with much less reservation.

My father said, "Jack, I don't like to see you always in company with
that old pirate, no good can come of it; so haul off a little further
for the future."

And Ben told me, "That a man who couldn't sleep o' nights without
talking of killing people must have a bad conscience, and something
lying heavy on his soul. There's an old saying, Jack, 'Tell me whose
company you keeps, and I'll tell you what sort of a chap you be.' You've
the character of a good honest boy; steer clear of Sam Spicer, or you'll
lose it."

Admonitions from all those whom I loved were not without their effect,
and I made a resolution to be less intimate with Spicer. But it was
difficult to do so, as I was obliged to be at the landing-steps, and
could not prevent his coming there.

I acknowledge that it was a severe privation to me to follow the
injunctions given to me, for I would listen for hours to the thrilling
narratives, the strange and almost incredible accounts of battles,
incidents, and wild adventures, which this man Spicer would relate to
me; and when I thought over them I felt that the desire to rove was
becoming more strong within me every day. One morning I said to him that
"I had a great mind to go on board of a man-of-war."

"On board of a man-of-war?" replied Spicer; "you'd soon be sick enough
of that. Why, who would be at the beck and nod of others, ordered here,
called there, by boy midshipmen; bullied by lieutenants, flogged by
captains; have all the work and little of the pay, all the fighting and
less of the prize-money; and, after having worn out your life in hard
service, be sent here as a great favor, to wear a cocked hat and get a
shilling a week for your 'baccy? Pshaw, boy! that's not life."

"Then, what is life?' inquired I.

"What is life? Why, to sail in a clipper with a jolly crew and a roving
commission; take your prizes, share and share alike, of gold-dust and
doubloons."

"But what sort of vessel must that be, Spicer?"

"What sort? why--a letter of marque--a privateer--a cruise on the
Spanish Main--that's life. Many's the jolly day I've seen in those
latitudes, where men-o