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Updated: May 13, 2025
One may muzzle the Press, but no muzzle yet devised can close the mouths of sailormen and their friends in dockyard towns. In the afternoon of the same day, while the news of the disaster was still fresh, there came a whisper, which gained in loudness and in precision of detail as it passed from mouth to ear and from ear to mouth, that the worst had not yet been told.
Those who watched her, sailors such as ever linger about harbours seeking their bread from the waters, though among these were mingled people from the town who had come to this open place to escape the heat, began to talk together affrightedly, but always in the dread whisper that was the voice of this fearful knight. Yes, even the hoarse-throated sailormen whispered like a dying woman.
When he had finished, the sailormen, of whom there were about thirty, with the stout-hearted captain, Jacob Smith, a sturdy-built man of fifty years of age, at the head of them, conferred together, and at last, with one exception that of a young new-married man, whose heart failed him they accepted the offer, swearing that they would see the thing through to the end, were it good or ill, for they were all Englishmen, and no lovers of the Spaniards.
"But see 'ere. Cap'en he tells me I must shave me face and be a 'oss soldier. I never shaved me face in me life, and I dunno 'ow to do it, just as I dunno 'ow to ride a 'oss. I'm a sailorman, I am, and sailormen don't shave their faces and ride 'osses. That's why I arsked yer what yer thought of this 'ere war." The chauffeur struggled into his jeans and adjusted them before replying.
They let him 'ave 'is say, and that night they brought 'ome two other sailormen wot 'ad bet agin Ginger to share their room, and, though they 'ad bet agin 'im, they was so fond of 'im that it was evident that they wasn't going to leave 'im till the fight was over. Ginger gave up then, and at twelve o'clock next day they started off to find the place. Mr.
She could once more see it growing smaller and smaller on the white prairie, until it dipped behind the crest of a low rise, and the sinking beat of hoofs died away. Then, at least, she had realised that he had started on the first stage of a journey which might lead him through the ice-bound gates of the North to the rest that awaits the souls of the sailormen.
The himene was the offspring of the original efforts of the Polynesians to adapt the songs of the sailormen, the national airs of the adventurers of many countries, the rollicking obscenities and drinking doggerel of the navies, and the religious hymns drilled into their ears by the missionaries, English and French. Now the words and the meanings were inextricably confused.
"Sailormen ain't wot you might call dandyfied as a rule," said the night- watchman, who had just had a passage of arms with a lighterman and been advised to let somebody else wash him and make a good job of it; "they've got too much sense.
Without thinking it necessary to ask permission, for the house belonged to her, the Widow Ducket brought a chair and put it in the hall close to the open front door, and Dorcas brought another chair and seated herself by the side of the widow. "Do all you sailormen belong down there at the bay?" asked Mrs.
She was a formidable influence in that little community of sailormen. "That's just how I found him," said Mrs. Pickett. She did not speak loudly, but her voice made the policeman start. He wiped his forehead again. "It might have been apoplexy," he hazarded. Mrs. Pickett said nothing. There was a sound of footsteps outside, and a young man entered, carrying a black bag. "Good morning, Mrs.
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