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Updated: May 31, 2025
This was the thesis on which Nishikanta Chatterjee got his Ph. Whoever Bhanu Singha might have been, had his writings fallen into the hands of latter-day me, I swear I would not have been deceived. The language might have passed muster; for that which the old poets wrote in was not their mother tongue, but an artificial language varying in the hands of different poets.
The clock marked a quarter before twelve when he climbed up out of the lazarette, replaced the trapdoor, and hurried to set the table. He served the company through the noon meal, although it was all he could do to refrain from capsizing the big tureen of split-pea soup over the head of Simon Nishikanta.
Scraps, the big Newfoundland puppy, who had played and pranced about through all the excitement, seeing so many of the Mary Turner's humans in the boat alongside, sprang over the rail, low and close to the water, and landed sprawling on the mass of sea-bags and goods cases. The boot rocked, and Nishikanta, his automatic in his hand, cried out: "Back with him! Throw him on board!"
"Come on, Greenleaf," Grimshaw called up to the Ancient Mariner. "No, thanking you very kindly, sir," came the reply. "I think there'll be more room in the other boat." "We want the cook!" Nishikanta cried out from the stern sheets. "Come on, you yellow monkey! Jump in!" Little old shrivelled Ah Moy debated.
And Simon Nishikanta tore himself away from his everlasting painting of all colour-delicacies of sea and sky such as are painted by seminary maidens, to be helped and hoisted up the ratlines of the mizzen rigging, the huge bulk of him, by two grinning, slim-waisted sailors, until they lashed him squarely on the crosstrees and left him to stare with eyes of golden desire, across the sun-washed sea through the finest pair of unredeemed binoculars that had ever been pledged in his pawnshops.
Simon Nishikanta sneered openly at what he considered the captain's inefficient navigation, and continued to paint water-colours when he was serene, and to shoot at whales, sea-birds, and all things hurtable when he was downhearted and sea-sore with disappointment at not sighting the Lion's Head peak of the Ancient Mariner's treasure island.
"A foot and a half, and making," the mate shouted aft to him. "We'd better do some packing ourselves," Grimshaw, following on the captain, said to Nishikanta. "Steward," Nishikanta said, "go below and pack my bedding. I'll take care of the rest." "Mr.
We sailed out of New York, ostensibly for the north-west coast, with sealed orders " "In the name of God, peace, peace! You drive me mad with your drivel!" So Nishikanta cried out in nervous pain that was real and quivering. "Old man, have a heart. What do I care to know of your Glister and your sealed orders!" "Ah, sealed orders," the Ancient Mariner went on beamingly.
Greenleaf, if there were rings at the time on the fingers that were cut off?" Daughtry heard Simon Nishikanta ask. "Yes, and one beauty. I found it afterward in the boat bottom and presented it to the sandalwood trader who rescued me. It was a large diamond. I paid one hundred and eighty guineas for it to an English sailor in the Barbadoes. He'd stolen it, and of course it was worth more.
All of which was Greek to Simon Nishikanta, who would promptly take the Ancient Mariner's side of the discussion. But the Ancient Mariner was fair-minded. What advantage he gave the Jew one moment, he balanced the next moment with an advantage to the skipper. "It's a pity," he would suggest to Captain Doane, "that you have only one chronometer. The entire fault may be with the chronometer.
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