"And we'll disembowel yer sorry _guts_ when we get there."

Glancing at his sword tarnished with the blood of innocent men, women, and possible children from unknown shores, I show him my backside. He grunts, spitting a wad of sea-sick tobacco, and the English bandit strides to the wretched deck above me; naturally, I smile heartily.

I will arrive outside of the territory of the Crown's Colony without the slightest inclination of persecution from the throne, though I must consider the terrible intentions of the pirates who want my lordly granted riches. But, as I thought at that moment, the pirates would fall for my scheme and my attempt to barter my way out of their grimy brig.