But day-long pulls after whales, the ship left miles astern; and entire dark nights passed moored to the monsters, killed too late to be towed to the ship far to leeward:--all this, and much more, accustoms one to strange things.

Death, to be sure, has a mouth as black as a wolf's, and to be thrust into his jaws is a serious thing.

But true it most certainly is--and I speak from no hearsay-- that to sailors, as a class, the grisly king seems not half so hideous as he appears to those who have only regarded him on shore, and at a deferential distance.

Like many ugly mortals, his features grow less frightful upon acquaintance; and met over often and sociably, the old adage holds true, about familiarity breeding contempt.

Thus too with soldiers.