'Year after year at home, chopping wood and drawing water and going to church, nothing to divert us save the odd hailstorm or famine – and yet all a man need do is board ship and ride the wind for a few days, and what've you got? Barbary Corsairs and pirate-galleys off the coast of Morocco! Now, Mr. Vliet, he has no taste for adventure. But as for myself, I would rather cross swords with corsairs than pull oars for them – so I'm for fighting!' Jack pulled out the Janissary-sword, which, compared to Mr. Foot's pitted relics, burnt and glittered beneath the African sun. Then he flung the scabbard away. It fup-fup-fupped off to port and then stopped in midair and dove vertically into the waves. ' This is the only thing they're going to get from Half-Cocked Jack!'