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- 15334
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.278Z
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- structure-extraction-lambda
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- 15305
- text
- When a shipmate dies, straightway we sew him up, and overboard he goes;
our world-frigate rushes by, and never more do we behold him again;
though, sooner or later, the everlasting under-tow sweeps him toward
our own destination.
We have both a quarter-deck to our craft and a gun-deck; subterranean
shot-lockers and gunpowder magazines; and the Articles of War form our
domineering code.
Oh, shipmates and world-mates, all round! we the people suffer many
abuses. Our gun-deck is full of complaints. In vain from Lieutenants do
we appeal to the Captain; in vain—while on board our world-frigate—to
the indefinite Navy Commissioners, so far out of sight aloft. Yet the
worst of our evils we blindly inflict upon ourselves; our officers
cannot remove them, even if they would. From the last ills no being can
save another; therein each man must be his own saviour. For the rest,
whatever befall us, let us never train our murderous guns inboard; let
us not mutiny with bloody pikes in our hands. Our Lord High Admiral
will yet interpose; and though long ages should elapse, and leave our
wrongs unredressed, yet, shipmates and world-mates! let us never
forget, that,
Whoever afflict us, whatever surround,
Life is a voyage that’s homeward-bound!
THE END
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