human
Look'ee, comrade, said he, tapping the worn covers with bony finger,
gpt
You talk blasphemy!
human
Avast, avast! cried he.
gpt
Here's no blasphemy, thought or word. I love this little Bible o' mine; His meat and drink to me, the friend o' my solitude, my solace in pain, my joy for ever and alway. Some men, being crossed in fortune, hopes, ambition or love, take 'em to drink and the like vanities. I, that suffered all this, took to the Bible and found all my needs betwixt the covers o' this little book. For where shall a wronged man find such a comfortable assurance as this? Hark ye what saith our Psalmist!
human
said he, rolling his bright eye at me,
gpt
How d'ye mean?
human
There is no man aboard this ship, quoth he, nodding again,
gpt
I've heard his name already, said I,
human
A poor heathen, comrade, a blackamoor, friend, a child of Beelzebub abounding in blood, brother--being torturer, executioner and cook and notable in each several office. A man small of soul yet great of body, being nought but a poor, black heathen, as I say. And ashore yonder you shall hear our Christian messmates a-quarrelling over their rum as is the way o' your Christians hereabouts--hark to 'em!