"Ah, no! No," cried a young voice within; one soft and rich. "Ah, no! Abuse not women. They are true. True ever--or else we are sunk. Shall we not think often of them when we are far away in the colonies, a-making of a home for those we love?" Whereon the owner of this voice also began to sing, in tones silvery and sweet--
"I did but look and love awhile,
'Twas but for one half-hour;
Then to resist I had no will,
And now I have no power.
To sigh and wish is all my ease,
Sighs which do heat impart
Enough to melt the coldest ice,
Yet cannot warm your heart."
Evidently this song was more to the liking of the company than the ribald one of the former singer, since now there were cries and yells for another stave from many voices. But, at that moment, Granger, drawing a key from his pocket, put it in the lock and opened the door, ushering in Geoffrey.
It was a strange sight which met the latter's eyes, or would have been had he not in the past month seen several such at the establishments of various crimps in the neighbourhood to which his duty had forced him to resort. For, within the room, there were some twenty men of all ages and descriptions, and all, unhappily, more or less drunk. Mostly, they sat upon the floor, their backs against the dirty whitewashed walls, their vests apart and their shirts open, as though to give air to their heated throats. And, between the legs of each, were cans, either full or empty, of beer or spirits, a few having liquor still in them, though they were for the most part dry. Of all ages and descriptions were these men, old and young. One there was, a monstrous great fellow, herculean in size, and with a huge head like a bull's, his grizzled hair curling all about it, while his arms, which were visible (since his coat was off--it being used now as a cushion to his back--and his sleeves rolled up), were seen to be tattooed all over with weird as well as quaint devices. Devices such as a snake with red eyes striking its fangs into a heart, a mermaid ogling an imaginary person, and the usual anchor, flags, and so forth.
"The fellow that has been a sailor," said Sir Geoffrey to Lewis. "One cannot doubt."
"Ay, a sailor. Worth having, he. He is the last I can get of that sort."
"Ay, a sailor!" roared the man, hearing Lewis Granger's words. "Ay, a sailor, damme! such as you do not see now. A sailor, noble captain," he went on, recognising Geoffrey's gold cockade and saluting with a huge hand, "such as there ain't many like. Sir, I sailed with Anson in '40--ain't that enough? Ho! With Anson. You know. In the Centurion. Ain't that enough, I say? When we took the Acapulco ship--the plate ship. And what takings there was! Sir, we sailors was the first that ever made the gals eat bank-notes--twenty-pun notes--there weren't no others then--a-tween their bread and butter. What cared we for money? We had won it, and the gals were kind."