394 Notes on Sport and Travel iv 



What a pity we have nobody to shoot at ! The 

 small pieces we should knock him into would be 

 a caution. 



Practice with ships' revolvers is uncertain, from 

 the whole weight of the heavy pistol resting on the 

 finger which pulls the trigger. The way Jack screws 

 and contorts his mug while taking aim is a sight to 

 see. ' Bill Jones, if you point that revolver again 

 to a man's head, I'll report you.' ' I wasn't point- 

 ing it to nobody's 'ead, sir ; I was a-hoolding it 

 like this,' presenting the pistol to the back of the 

 man's head before him, full cocked and his finger 

 on the trigger. 



This afternoon we buried a man sewed up in 

 his hammock, the Union Jack over all. The body 

 was brought up on a grating from below, the bearers 

 looking pale and nervous, the clergyman in full 

 canonicals meeting it at the hatchway and walking 

 before it to the starboard gangway reading the 

 burial service. Forward was a crowd of eager, 

 interested, curious faces ; the marines drawn up 

 with reversed arms ; officers in groups on the poop. 

 All hats off, a dead silence, even the ship hardly 

 making a sound ; a gentle cheeping of blocks and 

 gurgling of water, more like a hush than a noise ; 

 not a reef-point tapping ; all quiet, except the ship's 

 bell, an angry, thrilling bell, jarring on the silence 

 once a minute. Bright, glorious sun, and lowering 

 white sails far above us. The voice of the chaplain 

 sounding strangely distinct in the silence ; a nod 



