Jack," said he; "and I know the loss of it. Had
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, and 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[2]? 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."

[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 te