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“1st Sailor. Slack the bolins there; thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow and split thyself.

2nd Sailor. But sea-room, an’ the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.”

Bolins, modern “bowlines,” were anciently used much more than now. At present they are slight ropes which lead from forward to keep the weather edges (leaches) of the courses rigid in light winds when steering full and bye. But in olden days even topgallant sails had their bolins, and they were among the most important ropes in the ship. Then we have the sea-superstition creating the deepest prejudice against carrying a corpse. And, sympathetic as the mariners are, the dead woman must “overboard straight.” Reluctantly we must leave this all too brief sketch of Shakespeare’s true British sea-sympathies, in the hope that it may lead to a deeper appreciation of the sea-lore of our mightiest poet.

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It has been my lot, in the course of a fairly comprehensive experience of sea-life in most capacities between lamp-trimmer and chief officer, to serve under some queer commanders, but of all that I ever endured, the worthy of whom I am about to tell was, without doubt, the most amazing specimen. I have been told, on good authority, that the tag about fact being stranger than fiction is all bosh, but for once I am going to disregard that statement. No fiction that I have ever read has told me anything half so strange, in my poor judgment, as the career of Captain Jones during the time that I was unfortunate enough to be his mate, and therefore I shall stick to fact, at least as much of it as I can tell that will be fit for publication.