Chapter 36

THE OLD CHURCH OF ST. NICHOLAS, AND THE DEAD-HOUSE

The floating chapel recalls to mind the "Old Church," well known to the
seamen of many generations, who have visited Liverpool. It stands very
near the docks, a venerable mass of brown stone, and by the town's
people is called the Church of St. Nicholas. I believe it is the best
preserved piece of antiquity in all Liverpool.

Before the town rose to any importance, it was the only place of worship
on that side of the Mersey; and under the adjoining Parish of Walton was
a chapel-of-ease; though from the straight backed pews, there could have
been but little comfort taken in it.

In old times, there stood in front of the church a statue of St.
Nicholas, the patron of mariners; to which all pious sailors made
offerings, to induce his saintship to grant them short and prosperous
voyages. In the tower is a fine chime of bells; and I well remember my
delight at first hearing them on the first Sunday morning after our
arrival in the dock. It seemed to carry an admonition with it; something
like the premonition conveyed to young Whittington by Bow Bells.
"Wettingborough! Wettingborough! you must not forget to go to church,
Wettingborough! Don't forget, Wettingborough! Wettingborough! don't
forget."

Thirty or forty years ago, these bells were rung upon the arrival of
every Liverpool ship from a foreign voyage. How forcibly does this
illustrate the increase of the commerce of the town! Were the same
custom now observed, the bells would seldom have a chance to cease.

What seemed the most remarkable about this venerable old church, and
what seemed the most barbarous, and grated upon the veneration with
which I regarded this time-hallowed structure, was the condition of the
grave-yard surrounding it. From its close vicinity to the haunts of the
swarms of laborers about the docks, it is crossed and re-crossed by
thoroughfares in all directions; and the tomb-stones, not being erect,
but horizontal (indeed, they form a complete flagging to the spot),
multitudes are constantly walking over the dead; their heels erasing the
death's-heads and crossbones, the last mementos of the departed. At
noon, when the lumpers employed in loading and unloading the shipping,
retire for an hour to snatch a dinner, many of them resort to the
grave-yard; and seating themselves upon a tomb-stone use the adjoining
one for a table. Often, I saw men stretched out in a drunken sleep upon
these slabs; and once, removing a fellow's arm, read the following
inscription, which, in a manner, was true to the life, if not to the
death:--

"HERE LYETH YE BODY OF TOBIAS DRINKER."

For two memorable circumstances connected with this church, I am