It was just after dinner; Ned was sitting, propped up with pillows, the captain seated near by, watching him, when he noticed an old man, apparently over sixty years of age, in seaman’s dress, coming along the gangway plank. His hair, where it came outside his tarpaulin, was gray; he stooped very much, appearing feeble, and bore on his back a large number of articles manufactured of willows, and strung together by a cord.
Approaching the captain, he deposited the bundle on the deck, evidently much fatigued, and asked, in English, if he would like to buy any of his work—market-baskets, knife-baskets, table-mats, ladies’ work-baskets, and many articles, merely ornamental, of superior workmanship and most beautifully stained.
There was something in his whole demeanor that was both modest and prepossessing—quite the reverse of street-venders in general.
“There,” said he, “is a market-basket that would be very handy on board ship; and here,”—producing a basket nearly square, and with partings in it for tumblers,—“is an article that would be very convenient on a cabin table, or in a ship’s pantry. Many of my articles are made for vessels’ use, as I deal much with seafaring men.”
Arthur Brown, who was of quick sympathies, was interested in the old gentleman, and touched by seeing a man of his years, apparently infirm, thus employed, felt inclined to converse, especially as he spoke English.
“This is beautiful work,” he observed. “I have seen a great deal of it in England and Germany, where excellent work is made, but never any superior to this. You are surely master of your business.”
“I should be, considering I have been at it for the greater part of my life since I was twelve years old, and we have no knowledge that any of our ancestors were ever anything but weavers of sallies,—that’s what we call the rods the baskets are made of.”
“You seem infirm. Have you been sick?”
“No, captain; I am worn down with wounds and hardships, but, most of all, with a sore heart.”
“Then you’ve been a soldier?”