a parson 'll make a better Christian of ye,
that I'll swear.'

As if anxious not to pervert us, he concluded: 'That's what I think,
gentlemen.'

Temple and I talked of the ancient raptures of a first of May
cricketing-day on a sunny green meadow, with an ocean of a day before
us, and well-braced spirits for the match. I had the vision of a
matronly, but not much altered Janet, mounted on horseback, to witness
the performance of some favourite Eleven of youngsters with her
connoisseur's eye; and then the model of an English lady, wife, and
mother, waving adieu to the field and cantering home to entertain her
husband's guests. Her husband!

Temple was aware of my grief, but saw no remedy. I knew that in his
heart he thought me justly punished, though he loved me.

We had a long sitting with Captain Welsh, whom I found immoveable, as I
expected I should. His men, he said, had confessed their sin similarly
to the crab in a hole, with one claw out, as the way of sinners was. He
blamed himself mainly. 'Where you have accidents, Mr. Richmond, you have
faults; and where you have faults aboard a ship you may trace a line to
the captain. I should have treated my ship's crew like my conscience,
and gone through them nightly. As it is, sir, here comes round one of
your accidents to tell me I have lived blinded by conceit. That is my
affliction, my young friend. The payment of the money is no more so than
to restore money held in trust.'

Temple and I argued the case with him, as of old on our voyage, on board
the barque Priscilla, quite unavailingly.

'Is a verdict built on lies one that my Maker approves of?' said he. 'If
I keep possession of that money, my young friends, will it clothe me?
Ay, with stings! Will it feed me? Ay, with poison. And they that should
be having it shiver and want!'

He was emphatic, as he would not have been, save to read us an example,
owing to our contention with him. 'The money is Satan in my very hands!'
When he had dismissed the subject he never returned to it.

His topic of extreme happiness, to which Temple led him, was the rescue
of a beautiful sinner from a life of shame. It appeared that Captain
Welsh had the habit between his voyages of making one holiday expedition
to the spot of all creation he thought the fairest, Richmond Hill,
overlooking the Thames; and there, one evening, he espied a lady in
grief, and spoke to her, and gave her consolation. More, he gave her a
blameless home.