- end_line
- 3660
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T03:55:03.879Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3620
- text
- mind. What he had really discovered was this: a crucifix in indigo and
vermilion tattooed on the chest and on the side of the heart. Slanting
across the crucifix and paling the pigment there ran a whitish scar,
long and thin, such as might ensue from the slash of a cutlass
imperfectly parried or dodged. The cross of the Passion is often
tattooed upon the sailor, upon the forearm generally, sometimes, though
but rarely, on the trunk. As for the scar, the old mastman had in
legitimate naval service known what it was to repel boarders and not
without receiving a sabre mark from them. It may be. The gossips of the
lodging, however, took another view of the discovery, and at last
reported to the landlady that the old sailor was a sort of _man forbid_,
a man branded by the Evil Spirit, and it would be well to get rid of
him, lest the charm in the horse-shoe nailed over the house-door should
be fatally counteracted and be naught. The good woman, however, was a
sensible lady with no belief in the horse-shoe, though she tolerated it,
and as the old mastman was regular in his weekly dues, and never made
noise or gave trouble, she turned a deaf ear to all solicitations
against him.
Since in his presence it was ever prudently concealed, the old mariner
was not then aware of underhand proceedings. At sea it had never come to
his ears that some of his shipmates thought him a bucanier, for there
was a quiet leonine droop about the angles of his mouth that
said--_hands off_. So now he was ignorant of the circumstances that the
same rumour had followed him ashore. Had his habits been social, he
would have socially felt the effect of this and cast about in vain for
the cause; whether having basis or not, some ill-report is in certain
instances like what sailors call a _dry tempest_, during which there is
neither rain nor lightning, though none the less the viewless and
intangible winds make a shipwreck and then ask--who did it?
So Orme pursued his solitary way with not much from without to disturb
him. But Time’s moments still keep descending upon the quietest hour,
and though it were adamant they would wear it. In his retirement the
superannuated giant begins to mellow down into a sort of animal decay.
In hard, rude natures, especially such as have passed their lives among
the elements, farmers or sailors, this animal decay mostly affects the
memory by casting a haze over it; not seldom, it softens the heart as
well, besides more or less, perhaps, drowsing the conscience, innocent
or otherwise.
- title
- Chunk 1