For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. “Jacques is wounded and we are arrested by this imbecile of a sergeant. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. Few men could have done as much. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. It feels like I’ve got a snake of mucus stuffing my entire throat, just one big solid rope. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver.
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