"Any debts left?" Lewrie cried out. "If there are, they are to be forgiven! Before we go our separate ways, Thermopylaes will splice the main-brace one last time!"

That raised a great cheer.

"I don't know if we can trust the Corsican tyrant, Bonaparte, to keep the peace for long, lads," he went on, "but if England does face a future conflict, I can't imagine a surer way t'keep that snail-eatin' bastard awake nights than for him to know that the men of Thermopylae are at sea, and that eager t'rip the guts out of the best his navy can send against us!

"Wherever you light, you can be proud of what you accomplished here aboard Thermopylae" Lewrie told them after another great cheer had subsided. "I'm proud of you, and proud that even for a short time I was permitted to be your captain. Don't let the job-"

"Three cheers fer Cap'm Lewrie, hip hip!" interrupted him.

"A cup for you, sir?" Lt. Farley asked, for this once, the rum issue had made its way to the quarterdeck.

"Aye," Lewrie eagerly agreed.

And once the ship's crew had settled, Lewrie concluded, "Thank you kindly, men. I was about t'say, don't let the jobbers cheat you… Don't spend it all the first night… Make sure the doxy doesn't have three hands and pick your pockets blind… and go see your kin before you let yourselves get crimped!

"To Thermopylae… to you… and to us!" he shouted, lifting the wee brass rum cup to his lips and tossing its contents back whole.

Don't… cough! he chid himself, for the neat rum, with but a ha'porth of water to "grog" it this time, almost made his eyes water.