Lower Street was not the street in which Lucy shopped. It consisted mainly of little houses with screen doors and bright brass knockers, and lozenged windows which opened and shut in the French style, so that a small piece of the window could be opened at will. These houses were the dwelling-places of pilots, sailors, and fishermen belonging to the district. In the middle of the street was a Nonconformist Chapel with a burial ground spreading out in front of it till its outer confines were half-way upon the footpath; a wonderfully tended resting-place: its billows of grass marked in most cases the silent beds of seafarers; the decoration of flower or[Pg 36] memorial was largely nautical: the anchor, the Liliputian bows of a ship as a headpiece, and here and there the headpiece was a gun. Tombstones whose inscriptions endless discharges of wet and the fretting action of the wind had rendered almost illegible, leaned as though for support in their weariness against the walls of the adjacent houses; so that a few bricks or stones might separate a row of dead men from a little parlour full of cheerful company where the fire crackled briskly, where the oil flame shook in ripples of yellow radiance upon the walls and the ceiling, where the atmosphere was good with the perfume of rum punch, and where a manly voice in an interval of silence might be heard singing a nautical ballad to the accompaniment of a fiddle.
lottery-sambad-27-tarikh, Nelson, standing beside his lieutenant, who might have been Pasco (the officer who, on the 21st day of the following October, made[Pg 400] the Nelson signal that is as dear as his heart's blood to every Englishman), acknowledged the salutations of the schooner's quarterdeck and the mobs in her rigging by bows and a smile, and a lifting of his hand and certain flapping motions of the stump of his right arm, an action into which he was frequently moved when irritated or pleased.
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lottery-sambad-27-tarikh "Little enough before me, sir," exclaimed Sir William. "Sailors dream of a cottage ashore, but when they come to it—I like my little perch: 'tis not Old Harbour House," says he, casting his eye over the building, "but I could wish the sea were within range of its windows. I was down in the Harbour yesterday admiring the lines of your Minorca. She lay upright on the mud, awash to her garboard strake about, and I liked her lines in the run, and believed I could see a hint to our shipwrights in the cleanness and beauty of her entry.".
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