Freely depicted in his own vocation, gentlemen, the Canaller would make a fine dramatic hero, so abundantly and picturesquely wicked is he. Like Mark Antony, for days and days along his green-turfed, flowery Nile, he indolently floats, openly toying with his red-cheeked Cleopatra, ripening his apricot thigh upon the sunny deck. But ashore, all this effeminacy is dashed. The brigandish guise which the Canaller so proudly sports; his slouched and gaily-ribboned hat betoken his grand features. A terror to the smiling innocence of the villages through which he floats; his swart visage and bold swagger are not unshunned in cities. Once a vagabond on his own canal, I have received good turns from one of these Canallers; I thank him heartily; would fain be not ungrateful; but it is often one of the prime redeeming qualities of your man of violence, that at times he has as stiff an arm to back a poor stranger in a strait, as to plunder a wealthy one. In sum, gentlemen, what the wildness of this canal life is, is emphatically evinced by this; that our wild whale-fishery contains so many of its most finished graduates, and that scarce any race of mankind, except Sydney men, are so much distrusted by our whaling captains. Nor does it at all diminish the curiousness of this matter, that to many thousands of our rural boys and young men born along its line, the probationary life of the Grand Canal furnishes the sole transition between quietly reaping in a Christian cornfield, and recklessly ploughing the waters of the most barbaric seas.
As I look into his eyes, I see something I've neverbefore seen in him. I see hate, and ignorance. It scares me.His eyes are dark and clouded, like a stormy evening withwicked people dancing in their midnight bliss. He walks pastme like a stone wall, and even as I grab his arm, he pullsaway with such force and dislike, that I cannot react at all.Wasn't it just days before that I was taken by him, held inhis arms, kissed, and been loved with such force, and suchinner strength, that beads of sweat began to trickle down myforehead as his power overwhelmed me Didn't he just show mehow he needed me He walks past me again, surely not caringas his eyes are still clouded and hateful. I cry out hisname, and beg for him to stop with such emotion, that I amoverwhelmed by a sensation too great for me to comprehend.How can this be This miracle. This wonderful thing that hascaptured my heart, and now ripped it away from me, as thoughI am nothing more than a centipede with no heart and onlysimple thought. He has betrayed me. He has betrayed myopenness and my will has been shattered as I lay here in mysilence that is so far from fetal bliss it is unimaginable.Why has this happened I can only see him from afar and dreamof his touch and the sensation that once overwhelmed me. Mytears mean nothing now as I lay here in a world that is notmy own, or anyone else's. I am trapped in an eternal hell andhere I am forced to remain. 1e1e36bf2d