“She was the Amazonia, from Calcutta to Boston, David Clark, master.”
“Do you know how much of a crew she carried?”
“Twenty-five, all told.”
“Any other women except the captain’s wife?”
“No, sir.”
“Benjamin H. Foster; but Mrs. Clark always called me ‘Benny,’” the lad replied, and at mention of the woman’s name his grief overwhelmed him once more.
The eyes of the keeper and his comrades were not free from a certain moisture, and more than one furtively passed the sleeve of his rough coat across his face as all waited for the lad to recover his composure in a measure.
“I’ll try not to cry again, sir,” Benny said piteously, after struggling a moment to force back the tears.
“It is well you should grieve, lad; don’t think I blamed you for doing what is only natural. When it is possible you shall tell all you know about the ship and her voyage, giving the names of those members of the crew that come to mind.”