“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.