I known how to read and write, I might have been something better than a
poor Greenwich pensioner; but nevertheless I'm thankful that I'm no
worse. Ever since I've been a man grown I've only regretted it once,--
and that's been all my life. Why, Jack, I'd give this right arm of
mine--to be sure, it's no great things now, but once it could send a
harpoon in, up to the hilt--but still a right arm is a right arm to the
end of your days!--and I'd give it with pleasure, if I only knew how to
read and write;--nay, I wouldn't care about the writing; but, if I could
only read print, Jack, I'd give it; for then I could read the Bible, as
Peter Anderson does. Why, Jack, when we do go to chapel on Sunday,
there's not one in ten of us who can follow the parson with his book;
all we can do is to listen; and when he has done speaking, we are done
also, must wait till he preaches again. Don't I feel ashamed, then,
Jack, at not being able to read? and ought not they to feel proud who
can;--no, not proud, but thankful? [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.] We don't think of the Bible much in our younger days,
boy; but, when we are tripping our anchor for the other world, we long
to read away our doubts and misgivings; and it's the only chart you can
navigate by safely. I think a parent has much to answer for, that don't
teach its child to read; but I must not blame my father or mother, for I
never knew them."

"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 afterwards, 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 fin