He whirled with fierce passion on me: "Don't you ever let yourself grow
old, lad. Die when you're young, or you'll come to this. I'm tellin'
you sure. Seven an' eighty years am I, an' served my country like a man.
Three good-conduct stripes and the Victoria Cross, an' this is what I get
for it. I wish I was dead, I wish I was dead. Can't come any too quick
for me, I tell you."

The moisture rushed into his eyes, but, before the other man could
comfort him, he began to hum a lilting sea song as though there was no
such thing as heartbreak in the world.

Given encouragement, this is the story he told while waiting in line at
the workhouse after two nights of exposure in the streets.

As a boy he had enlisted in the British navy, and for two score years and
more served faithfully and well. Names, dates, commanders, ports, ships,
engagements, and battles, rolled from his lips in a steady stream, but it
is beyond me to remember them all, for it is not quite in keeping to take
notes at the poorhouse door. He had been through the "First War in
China," as he termed it; had enlisted with the East India Company and
served ten years in India; was back in India again, in the English navy,
at the time of the Mutiny; had served in the Burmese War and in the
Crimea; and all this in addition to having fought and toiled for the
English flag pretty well over the rest of the globe.

Then the thing happened. A little thing, it could only be traced back to
first causes: perhaps the lieutenant's breakfast had not agreed with him;
or he had been up late the night before; or his debts were pressing; or
the commander had spoken brusquely to him. The point is, that on this
particular day the lieutenant was irritable. The sailor, with others,