It was the bo's'n's knife that sliced down my face and sliced away my fingers.

The third officer, the eighteen-year-old lad, fought well beside me, and saved me, so that, just before I fainted, he and I, between us, hove the bo's'n's carcass overside." A shifting of feet and changing of positions of those in the cabin plunged Daughtry back into his polishing, which he had for the time forgotten.

And, as he rubbed the brass-work, he told himself under his breath: "The old party's sure been through the mill.

Such things just got to happen." "No," the Ancient Mariner was continuing, in his thin falsetto, in reply to a query.

"It wasn't the wounds that made me faint.