A characteristic
instance of this occurred to me about six months ago. I had
business in a shipyard, and the gateman who admitted me is
one of the last of the seamen of the middle of the century.
He was for many years master of sailing vessels belonging to
a north-east coast port. He is a fine-looking, intelligent
old fellow. I knew him by repute in my boyhood days; he had
the reputation then of being a smart captain, and owners
readily gave him employment. After greeting me with
sailor-like cordiality, he commenced to converse about the
old days, and as the conversation proceeded the weird
sadness of his look gradually disappeared, his eyes began to
sparkle, and joy soon suffused his ruddy face. His soul was
ablaze with reminiscences, and his unaffected talk was easy
and delightful to listen to. I was reluctant to break the
charm of it by introducing a subject that might be
distasteful to him. It was my desire to hear _from his own
lips_ a tale of shipwreck which is virtually without
parallel in its ghastly tragedy. I instinctively felt myself
creeping on to sacred ground. As soon as I mentioned the
matter his countenance changed and he became pensive.
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