"Didn't I tell ye it was 'Somebody'?" said Hudson. "Hand me the stiff."
He replenished his glass, and, after taking a sip or two, asked Wylie if
he had ever had the luck to be boarded by pirates.

"No," said Wylie. "Have you?"

"Ay; and they rescued me from a watery grave, as the lubbers call it. Ye
see, I was employed by Downes & Co., down at the Havanna, and cleared for
Vera Cruz with some boxes of old worn-out printer's type"

"To print psalm-books for the darkies, no doubt," suggested Wylie.

"Insured as specie," continued Hudson, ignoring the interruption. "Well,
just at daybreak one morning, all of a sudden there was a rakish-looking
craft on our weather-bow. Lets fly a nine-pounder across our forefoot,
and was alongside before my men could tumble up from below. I got knocked
into the sea by the boom and fell between the ships; and the pirate he
got hold of me and poured hot grog down my throat to bring me to my
senses."

"That is not what you use it for in general," said Wylie. "Civil sort of
pirate, though."

"Pirate be d--d. That was my consort rigged out with a black flag, and
mounted with four nine-pounders on one side, and five dummies on the
other. He blustered a bit, and swore, and took our type and our cabbages
(I complained to Downes ashore about the vagabond taking the vegetables),
and ordered us to leeward under all canvas, and we never saw him
again--not till he had shaved off his mustaches, and called on Downes to