Boys of Ned’s age learn a language with great rapidity, and he soon began to pick up words, and talk with the people of the house. Nothing could exceed the kindness of Peterson to the little wounded fellow. He was so strong he could lift him easily, and, as he gradually recovered, made him many little messes (being a skillful cook) that were very grateful to the convalescent. Ned began to love his black friend dearly, and always called him James.
To the surprise of all but the surgeon, Ned recovered a great deal faster than the first mate, Mr. Rogers, who was only wounded in the leg, the ball passing through. The wound continued to run, and seemed as if it never would heal, while Ned could walk across the floor with the aid of Walter.
One day Ned was sitting in a chair, propped up with pillows, and eating, with the greatest relish, a nice breakfast Peterson had prepared for him. “James,” said he, laying down his knife and fork, “I’m glad I was wounded.”
“Glad you wounded! Glad you hab so much pain, be sick so long, make de cap’n so much trouble, all ob us feel bad! Nebber hear sich ting afore.”
“I didn’t mean I was glad of that, or that I should want to be wounded again; but I’m glad, now it’s over, I’ve been through it.”
“I know what you tink; you tink, when you git home to Salem, farder, mudder so glad cause you wasn’t killed; den, when you walks in de street, all de people say, ‘Dere Ned Gates; he one smart boy; he been shipwrecked, almost starve on a raft; been wounded two times runnin’ de blockade; see what dat boy been through.’ Den all de boys dey open dere eyes wide and stare, say notin’.”
“That is it, James. I have been through a good deal—haven’t I, for a boy no older than I am?”
“Dat de Lord; he carry you through dat cause you good boy.”
“I ain’t a very good boy, James.”