Description
There were scars on his hands, and his nails were black and broken. Across one of his checks there was an old sword cut, which showed white against the brown of his face)
I remember how he looked round the little bay in front of the inn, whistling to himself. Then he suddenly sang the old sea song that we heard so often afterwards:-
Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest-o-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!’
He rapped on the door of the inn. When my father came, the old sailor called roughly for a glass of rum. This he drank slowly, looking round at the cliffs and the sea, and up at our old inn sign . This is a nice little spot,’ he said. Do you get much company here?’
My father told him no, very few people came. Then this is the place for me. Here, mate,’ he cried to the man who had pushed the hand- cart, bring the chest here, and help me in with it. I’ll stay here a bit,’ he said to my father. I’m a plain man. I want only rum and bacon and eggs, and to watch the ships from the top of the cliff.’
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