t some
of the men who had sailed with him before expressed their pity to see
him so reduced.

"He's no common man, Barbecue," said the coxswain to me. "He had good
schooling in his young days, and can speak like a book when so minded;
and brave--a lion's nothing alongside of Long John! I seen him grapple
four and knock their heads together--him unarmed."

All the crew respected and even obeyed him. He had a way of talking to
each, and doing everybody some particular service. To me he was
unweariedly kind, and always glad to see me in the galley, which he kept
as clean as a new pin; the dishes hanging up burnished, and his parrot
in a cage in the corner.

"Come away, Hawkins," he would say; "come and have a yarn with John.
Nobody more welcome than yourself, my son. Sit you down and hear the
news. Here's Cap'n Flint--I calls my parrot Cap'n Flint, after the
famous buccaneer--here's Cap'n Flint predicting success to our v'yage.
Wasn't you, Cap'n?"

And the parrot would say, with great rapidity: "Pieces of eight! pieces
of eight! pieces of eight!" till you wondered that it was not out of
breath or till John threw his handkerchief over the cage.

"Now, that bird," he would say, "is, may be, two hundred years old,
Hawkins--they live forever mostly, and if anybody's seen more wickedness
it must be the devil himself. She's sailed with England--the great Cap'n
England, the pirate. She's been at Madagascar, and at Malabar, and
Surinam, and Providence, and Portobello. She was at the fishing up of
the wrecked plate ships. It's there she learned 'Pieces of eight,' and
little wonder; three hundred and fifty thousand of 'em, Hawkins! She was
at the boarding of the _Viceroy of the Indies_ out of Goa, she was, and
to look at her you would think she was a babby. But you smelt
powder--didn't you, cap'n?"

"Stand by to go about," the parrot would scream.

"Ah, she's a handsome craft, she is," the cook would say, and give her
sugar from his pocket, and then the bird would peck at the bars and
swear straight on, passing belief for wickedness. "There," John would
add, "you can't touch pitch and not be mucked, lad. Here's this poor old
innocent bird of mine swearing blue fire and none the wiser, you may lay
to that. She would swear the same, in a manner of speaking, before the
chaplain." And John would touch his forelock with a solemn way he had,
that made me think he was the best of men.

In the meantime the squire and Captain Smoll