The Pirate Ship

           OnegreenlightsquintingoverKidd’sCreek,whichisnearthemouthofthepirateriver,markedwherethebrig,theJollyRoger,lay,lowinthewater;arakish-lookingcraftfoultothehull,everybeaminherdetestablelikegroundstrewnwithmangledfeathers.Shewasthecannibaloftheseas,andscarceneededthatwatchfuleye,forshefloatedimmuneinthehorrorofhername.

           Shewaswrappedintheblanketofnight,throughwhichnosoundfromhercouldhavereachedtheshore.Therewaslittlesound,andnoneagreeablesavethewhiroftheship’ssewingmachineatwhichSmeesat,everindustriousandobliging,theessenceofthecommonplace,patheticSmee.Iknownotwhyhewassoinfinitelypathetic,unlessitwerebecausehewassopatheticallyunawareofit;butevenstrongmenhadtoturnhastilyfromlookingathim,andmorethanonceonsummereveningshehadtouchedthefountofHook’stearsandmadeitflow.Ofthis,asofalmosteverythingelse,Smeewasquiteunconscious.

           Afewofthepiratesleantoverthebulwarksdrinkinginthemiasmaofthenight;otherssprawledbybarrelsovergamesofdiceandcards;andtheexhaustedfourwhohadcarriedthelittlehouselayproneonthedeck,whereevenintheirsleeptheyrolledskilfullytothissideorthatoutofHook’sreach,lestheshouldclawthemmechanicallyinpassing.

           Hooktrodthedeckinthought.Omanunfathomable.Itwashishouroftriumph.Peterhadbeenremovedforeverfromhispath,andalltheotherboyswereonthebrig,abouttowalktheplank.