"But was he not very wicked?"
"He was a good sailor, please your honour, and he was generous to a proverb; but he had no sense of religion, though at times, I believe, he suffered much in his conscience."
"Do you know what became of him?"
"I have heard that he was sent to Haslar hospital after he left the Venerable, and I suppose he died there; and there, I suppose, he was buried. God rest his soul!"
Mr. Stevens rose and left the room, but soon returned with the tract which gives such an interesting account of Covey. He read some passages from it, and while he was reading, I watched the countenance of the sailor, which betrayed alternately symptoms of astonishment, of joy, and of the deepest solemnity.
"I am right glad," said the honest tar, "to hear that my old shipmate is got safe into such a port. He had a roughish voyage; but the storm is over; and from that account,[2] he is now safe landed."
"There is no refuge from the storm but in Jesus Christ," said Mr. Stevens.
"Ah, there is no getting into the port of heaven but through Christ; this I have known for many years; but it han't done me much good; but I hope it will."
"Have you now left the navy?"