human
What, messmate, quoth he, in full, hearty voice, advancing with a shambling limp,
gpt
Pirate, said he, no whit abashed at my outburst.
human
Why, pirate it is. But look'ee, there never was pirate the like o' me for holiness--'specially o' Sundays! Lord love you, there's never a parson or divine, high church or low, a patch on me for real holiness--'specially o' Sundays. So do I pray when cometh my time to die, be it in bed or boots, by sickness, bullet or noose, it may chance of a Sunday. And then again, why not a pirate? What o' yourself, friend? There's a regular fire-and-blood, skull-and-bones look about ye as liketh me very well. And there be many worse things than a mere pirate, brother. And what? You'll go for to ask. Answer I--Spanishers, Papishers, the Pope o' Rome and his bloody Inquisition, of which last I have lasting experience, _camarado_--aye, I have I!
gpt
Ah? said I, sitting up.
human
You have suffered the torture?
gpt
Comrade, look at me! The fire, the pulley, the rack, the wheel, the water--there's no devilment they ha'n't tried on this poor carcase o' mine and all by reason of a Spanish nun as bore away with my brother!
human
Your brother?
gpt
Aye, but 'twas me she loved, for I was younger then and something kinder to the eye. So him they burned, her they buried alive and me they tormented into the wrack ye see. But I escaped wi' my life, the Lord delivered me out o' their bloody hands, which was an ill thing for them, d'ye see, for though I lack my starboard blinker and am somewhat crank i' my spars alow and aloft, I can yet ply whinger and pull trigger rare and apt enough for the rooting out of evil. And where a fairer field for the aforesaid rooting out o' Papishers, Portingales, and the like evil men than this good ship, the _Happy Despatch?_ Aha, messmate, there's many such as I've despatched hot-foot to their master Sathanas, 'twixt then and now. And so 'tis I'm a pirate and so being so do I sing along o' David: 'Blessed be the Lord my strength that teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight.' A rare gift o' words had Davy and for curses none may compare.