“I thought privateers always sent their prizes into port, to be condemned?”

“Yes, in the Channel and these seas they do, but not down there—­it’s too far off.  We condemn the vessels ourselves, and share the money on the capstan-head.”

“But is that lawful?”

“Lawful! to be sure it is.  Could we spare men to send prizes home to England, and put them into the hands of a rascally agent, who would rob us of three-fourths at least?  No, no; that would never do.  If I could have escaped from the man-of-war which picked up me and four others who were adrift in an open boat, I would now have been on the Coast.  But when I lost my fin, I knew that all was over with me, so I came to the hospital; but I often think of old times, and the life of a rover.  Now, if you have any thoughts of going to sea, look out for some vessel bound to the Gold Coast, and then you’ll soon get in the right way.”

“The Gold Coast!  Is not that to where the slavers go?”

“Yes, slavers and other vessels besides.  Some traffic for ivory and gold-dust; however, that’s as may happen.  You’d soon find yourself in good company, and wouldn’t that be better than begging here for halfpence?  I would be above that, at all events.”

This remark, the first of the kind ever made to me, stung me to the quick.  Strange, I had never before considered myself in the light of a beggar; and yet, was I not so, just as much as a sweeper of a crossing?”

“A beggar?” replied I.

“Yes, a beggar.  Don’t you beg for halfpence, and say, ’Thank your honor; a copper for poor Jack, your honor’?” rejoined Spicer, mimicking me.  “When I see that pretty sister of yours, that looks so like a real lady, I often thinks to myself, ’Fine and smart as you are, miss, your brother’s only a beggar.’  Now, would you not like to return from a cruise with a bag of doubloons to throw into her lap, proving that you were a gentleman, and above coppers thrown to you out of charity?  Well, old as I am, and maimed, I’d sooner starve where I now stand.—­But I must be off, so good-by, Jack; look sharp after the halfpence.”

As Spicer walked away my young blood boiled.  A beggar!  It was but too true; and yet I had never thought it a disgrace before.  I sat down on the steps, and was soon in deep thought.  Boat after boat came to the stairs, and yet I stirred not.  Not one halfpenny did I take during the remainder of that day, for I could not, would not, ask for one.  My pride, hitherto latent, was roused, and before I rose from where I had been seated I made a resolution that I would earn my livelihood in some other way.  What hurt me most was his observations about Virginia and her beggar brother.  I was so proud of Virginia, I felt that her brother ought not to be a beggar.  Such was the effect produced in so short a time by the insidious discourse of this man.  Had he still remained at the steps, I do believe that I should have asked, probably have followed, his advice.  Fortunately he had left, and, after a little reflection, I had the wisdom to go and seek Peter Anderson, and consult him as to what I could do, for to change my mode of obtaining my livelihood I was determined upon.