“No, sir; a sailor. I was born in Lincolnshire, England, in the fens. There my forefathers all lived and followed their trade. A happier man, sir, the sun never shone upon than myself. I had an affectionate wife,—a right godly woman, and thrifty,—and three children. I employed four, sometimes five men. My oldest child was a boy. He worked in the shop. We paid our rent easy, and were getting along nicely, when, in the midst of all this happiness, I was pressed, torn from my family, and put aboard a hulk. Wouldn’t you think, sir, that would break a man down?”
“I should, indeed, my friend,” replied Captain Brown, greatly moved, “and I feel for you, from the bottom of my heart.”
The tears were running down little Ned’s cheeks as he sat propped up on the hen-coop.
“It must have been long ago,” continued the captain.
“Not so very long, sir. Only about ten years.”
“Indeed!”
“How old might you take me to be, sir?”
“Sixty, or thereabouts.”
“I am but forty-seven. Ought to be in my prime. But O, sir, to have a wife and family, and be forever separated from them, in a strange land, and not know whether they are dead or alive, or whether they are in distress or not,—only to know that they are dead to you, and you to them,—it keeps gnawing at the heart-strings.”
“It must, indeed. But how did you get clear from the navy?”