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Updated: June 17, 2025
A dead old sailor-man lying like a festering carcass on a coral ledge, eyes staring and glazed and fixed, a wide-open mouth that once had spoken comforting words, and now spoke living crabs. That was the vision before them.
Faithful to their naval orthodoxy that it was incumbent for every Christian sailor-man to wash clean his conscience when he was passing from time into eternity, Nelson on the 21st October, 1805, and Collingwood five years later, avowed to those who had the honour of closing their eyes for evermore that they "had not been great sinners," and then slipped into eternal sleep; each of them leaving behind a name that will live and descend into distant ages.
He did nothing at all but walk up and down the streets of Islington exhorting the inhabitants to watch and pray. I do not recollect that this sailor-man stopped to collect pennies, and my impression is that he was, after his fashion, a volunteer evangelist. The tragedy of Mr. Punch was another, and a still greater delight.
In truth, such were apt to set him down as a sailor-man, who had just returned from a long journey, in the course of which he had come to the conclusion that this world was a pleasant place, and one well worth exploring.
Niâbon and Lucia, I must mention, had insisted on standing watch ever since we had left Apamama, and they certainly helped us a lot, for both could now steer very well, and took pleasure in it. The former, with Tepi, was in my watch, the latter was with Tematau, who, like all Eastern Polynesians, was a good sailor-man and could always be relied upon.
"No," answered the creature. "I suppose you'll hunt around an' catch a mouse," remarked Cap'n Bill. "Me? Catch a mouse! Why should I do that?" inquired the Glass Cat. "Why, then you could eat it," said the sailor-man. "I beg to inform you," returned the crystal tabby, "that I do not eat mice. Being transparent, so anyone can see through me, I'd look nice, wouldn't I, with a common mouse inside me?
Unfortunately, to the ordinary sailor-man, the place presented no other forms of amusement besides drinking, and I was grieved to see almost the whole crowd, including the Kanakas, emerge from the grog-shop plentifully supplied with bottles, and, seating themselves on the beach, commence their carouse.
It bore an address in Queen's Gate, London, where at the moment the addressee, curled up in the centre of a very large bed, was doing her best in the darkness to keep a promise. Torpedoes. Mines. Railway travel appeals to the sailor-man. It provides him with ample leisure for conversation, sleep, or convivial song.
But the glory clung to him; he was a plain sailor-man, he said, but he could never long allow you to forget that he had been a banker. His mate, Elias Goddedaal, was a huge Viking of a man, six feet three, and of proportionate mass, strong, sober, industrious, musical, and sentimental. He ran continually over into Swedish melodies, chiefly in the minor.
"And you'd do well to sit in the smoke-room, sir," further advised the sailor-man, clinging to the rail with one hand and pocketing the coin with the other. "No," said R. Schmidt resolutely. "I don't like the air in the smoke- room." "There's quite a bit of air out 'ere, sir." "I need quite a bit." "I should think you might, sir, being a 'ealthy, strappin' sort of a chap, sir. 'Elp yourself.
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