[Footnote 2:  Ben’s observations were true at the time he spoke; but this is no longer the case.  So much more general has education become, that now, in a ship’s company, at least five out of seven can read.]

“Never knew them?”

“No, boy, no.  My father and mother left me when I was one year old:  he was drowned, and my mother—­she died too, poor soul!”

“How did your mother die, Ben?”

“It’s a sad, sad story, Jack, and I cannot bear to think of it; it was told me long afterward, by one who little thought to whom he was speaking.”

“Do tell me, Ben.”

“You’re too young, boy, for such a tale; it’s too shocking.”

“Was it worse than being froze to death, as I nearly was the other day?”

“Yes, my lad, worse than that; although, for one so young as you are, that was quite bad enough.”

“Well, Ben, I won’t ask you to tell me if it pains you to tell it.  But you did not do wrong?”

“How could a baby of two years old do wrong, and five thousand miles off at the time, you little fool?  Well, I don’t know if I won’t tell you, Jack, after all, because you will then find out that there’s a comfort in reading the Bible; but you must promise me never to speak about it.  I’m a foolish old fellow to tell it to you, Jack, I do believe; but I’m fond of you, boy, and I don’t like to say ‘no’ to you.  Now come to an anchor close to me.  The bells are ringing for dinner—­I shall lose my meal, but you will not lose your story, and there will be no fear of interruption.

“My father was brought up to the sea, Jack, and was a smart young man till he was about thirty, when a fall from the mainyard disabled him from hard duty and going aft; but still he had been brought up to sea, and was fit for nothing on shore.  So, as he was a clean, likely fellow, he obtained the situation of purser’s steward in an Indiaman.  After that he was captain’s steward on board of several ships.  He sailed originally from Yarmouth, and going home after a voyage to see his relations, he fell in with my mother, and they were spliced.  He was very fond of his wife, and I believe she was a very true and good woman, equally fond of him.  He went to sea again, and I was born.  He made another voyage to India, and when he came back I was two years old.  I do not recollect him or my mother.  My father had agreed to sail to the West Indies as captain’s steward, and the captain, with whom he had sailed before, consented that he should take his wife with him, to attend upon the lady passengers; so I was left at Yarmouth, and put out to nurse till they came back.  But they never came back, Jack; and, as soon as I can recollect, I found myself in the workhouse, and, when old enough, was sent to sea.  I had been told that my father and mother had been lost at sea, but no one could tell me how, and I thought little more about it, for I had never known them, and those we don’t know we do not love or care for, be they father or mother.