f it were
not for the soldiers? No, no, don't be too hard on this man, Captain
Washington; he 's done his duty, and is doing it very well, too, so I
'm told, accordin' to your own account, matey," replied the old
carpenter; "and soldiers is good too--in their places, that is, of
course," he went on deprecatingly. "There are two kinds of men, as I
take it, William, to do the fightin' in this world, sailormen and
soldiermen; each has a place, a station to fill, and something to do,
and one can't do t' other's work. Look at that there blasted marine,
aft there in the gangway, for instance; he's a good man, I make no
manner o' doubt, and he has got his place on this barkey, even if he is
only a kind of a soldier and no sailorman at all."

"Now I asks you, Chips, what particular good are soldiers, anyway,
leaving marines out of the question, for they do live on ships," said
the old sailorman. "What can they do that we can't? They can fight,
and fight hard--I 've seen 'em, but so can we," he continued, extending
his brawny arm; "and they can march, too,--I've seen their bloody
footmarks in the snow; but there were sailormen there that kept right
alongside of 'em and did all that they could do. Oh, I forgot one
thing--they can ride horses, that's one thing I could never learn at
all! You 'd ought to seen me on one of the land-lubberly brutes. A
horse has no place on shipboard, no more than a woman, and I 've no use
for either of 'em. But if this country would spend all its money
buying ships, and man 'em with real first-class sailormen, why, d'ye
see, King George's men could never land on our shores at all. We 'd
keep 'em off, and then there'd be no use for the soldiers; they could
all go a-farming. No, give me ships every time, they always win. I
know what I am talking about; I have been on the shore for a month at a
time until I thought I would turn into mud itself. No, 't is not even
a fit place to be buried in; 'earth to earth' won't do for me when I
die; I just want to be dropped overboard--there."

"There is one time ships didn't win," said the carpenter, persisting in
the argument, and pointing aft to the low mounds of sand backed by the
rudely interlaced palmetto logs, behind which the gallant Moultrie had
fought Barker's fleet six months before, until the ships had been
driven off in defeat.

"Those were British ships, man," said the old sailor, with contempt.
"I meant Americans, of course; it makes al