“Is this a time for spouting profane plays, Mr Price?” said the fanatical boatswain, who was not aware of the poor man’s insanity. “Hold your peace, and call not judgment on our heads, and I prophesy that we shall be saved. ‘The waves of the sea are mighty, and rage horribly; but yet the Lord who dwelleth on high is mightier.’”
Silence ensued, which, after a few minutes, was interrupted by Seymour lamenting over the fate of Captain M— and the rest of the crew who had perished.
“Well, they are in heaven before this, I hope?” observed Robinson, the captain of the forecastle.
“‘Many are called, but few chosen,’” rejoined the boatswain, who appeared, by the flashing of his eye, to be in a state of strong excitement. “No more in heaven than you would be, if the Almighty was pleased to cut you off in his wrath.”
“Where then, Mr Hardsett?” inquired Robinson. “Surely not in—”
“I know—I know,”—cried Price, who again lifted up his head, and, with a vacant laugh, commenced singing—
“Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell!
Hark! now I hear them—ding-dong-bell.”
“For shame, Mr Price!” interrupted the boatswain.
“Ding-dong-ding-dong-bell.”
“Mr Price, what does the Scripture say? ‘Judgments are prepared for scorners,’” continued the boatswain with vehemence.