“Yes, sir.”
“What is your name?”
“Brown, sir.”
“What is your father’s business?”
“He was a shipmaster, but he is not living.”
“Was his name Arthur?” cried the captain, more eagerly, his face flushing, and then becoming very pale.
“Yes, sir.”
“And was he cast away in the Roanoke on Abaco, and all hands lost?”
“Just so, sir.”
“God bless you, my son,” shouted the captain, leaping from his chair, and grasping both hands of the seaman, while tears of gladness, streaming from his eyes, fell thick and fast on the pale features of his wondering guest; “your father was one of God Almighty’s noblemen; the first and best friend I ever had. All I am and all I’ve got in the world I owe to him. Didn’t you never hear him tell about Ben Rhines, the long-legged boy just out of the woods, with pine pitch sticking to him, that had to make his mark on the ship’s articles, that he learned to read and write, and made a shipmaster of?”