In a few minutes I was joined by the house-governor, himself a skipper, and fresh from the command of a sailing-ship-a genial, hearty gentleman, and the fittest person in the world for the command of such a quarter-deck as this.
“The old men will be going to dinner at one o’clock,” he said; would I like to see them at their meal? I answered “Yes;” so we stood in the door of a long, handsome room, fitted with tables and benches, and watched the aged seamen come in one by one, hobbling on their sticks, many of them talking to themselves.
“Have you any shipmasters among these men?” I inquired. “Several,” answered the house-governor; and he instantly called out a name. An old man approached us slowly; he was bald, with a very finely-shaped head and a long grey beard, and stood deferentially before us, his hands clasped, waiting to be addressed.
“This man had command of vessels for many years,” said the house-governor.
I looked at the poor old creature, and received one of the gentlest, saddest smiles I ever saw on a man’s face. I asked him how it was that he came to need the charity of this institution in his old age.
“I was in the General Steam Navigation Company’s service, sir, for many years, and had charge of vessels running to Boulogne. But my memory began to fail me; I was attacked with dizziness, and had to give up. I had saved some money, and took a little hotel at Boulogne, on the Quay. I could not make it answer, and, being ruined and an old man, sir, I had to come here.”
He broke down at this, his eyes filled with tears, and he turned his back upon me. I waited a little, and then, taking his arm, I asked him if he was happy in this house. Yes, he said, he was quite happy.
“You may talk to me without fear,” I continued; “I am here to learn the truth and to speak it. Do they feed you well?”
“Very well, sir.”
“Have you no complaints to make?”