So weazened and tiny was he, and so large was the brass-studded wheel, that they seemed of a height.

His face was withered, scorched, and wrinkled, and in all seeming he was fifty years older than Mr.Pike.

He was the most remarkable figure of a burnt-out, aged man one would expect to find able seaman on one of the proudest sailing-ships afloat.

Later, through Wada, I was to learn that his name was Andy Fay and that he claimed no more years than sixty-three.
I leaned against the rail in the lee of the wheel-house, and stared up at the lofty spars and myriad ropes that I could guess were there.

No, I decided I was not keen on the voyage.