/for want of a nail.../

Having told his story, the old mariner, half more wretched than living
from what the eyes could tell -- an
impression recanted by his oration -- stroked
the gnarled grey bush sprouting from his chin as he found the words to
close.

"You have heard what I have to say," said the mariner, "While I put no
claim of greatness on me life, I do hope, 'spite my clumsy
story-tellin', the lesson, I hold though in my dimness deeper than the
sea, shall remain with ya and perhaps, if you're lucky, even to soften
yer years.  Kill the albatross: kill it before the dread takes ya and
ya fall forever into the fugue of malaise.
I'd be more than happy to take yer questions now."

The jut of dark time-washed stone still he stood at the lectern,
untouched as the spell broke on the faces of the rows of
upperclassman, their spirits returning to their seats in the small
room now growing dimmer as the pour of light through the westward
windows went out with the tide; the warmth of light autumn breeze that
could be felt on occassion through the cracks waned and the hint of a
chill was in its place carried.

One cadet stood and asked, "What if you take aim for the albatross and
your rifle jams?"

"Then you clean your barrel, reload, aim again, and fire," said the
old man.

"What if you don't have a cleaning rod and the hull is locked
for the night?" asked a second cadet.

"If the albatross is in range, pull your pistol," said the mariner,
"Otherwise, have the duty officer open the hull or wake the captain to
witching hour to get yer rod.  Then you clean your rifle and shoot the
damndable bird."

A shift crossed the old man's face.  He eased his derelict form to a
chair before he continued, his voice becoming somehow more
conversative but further away. "But you all knew these answers
questions ere my tellin'," he said, "You're just seekin' the one
pardon from the burden ya know in your deepest of hearts yer to carry
from yer neck. But for ther'ain't none such a thing, and that one day,
'gainst yer cowardice and dismay, you will have ta take up your gun
and fire that killing shot."

"In those cursed waters of my long gone days, we made port only
through bearing the grit of shooting every albatross, even though
they were countless, their endless span blotted out the sky."