"I beg your pardon, Sir," he said quickly. "Your dress made me mistake
you for one of the sailors; but I see from your complexion that you have
not been long on the sea."
Clarendon received the apology very graciously, and now became
interested in conversing with the stranger. Before parting with the
acquaintance made thus unceremoniously, they had exchanged names,--for
cards they had none at hand,--and the English gentleman partly promised
to visit Clarendon Beverley at his own plantation of Altamac, which
brother is to superintend on his return home.
There was a young Italian girl on board, as nurse to one of the ladies,
who reminded me of a poor little fellow that recently died at Boston.
David told me about him, and said that his face was the saddest that he
ever saw. He earned a scanty support in a strange land by exhibiting
two little white mice, which he carried in a small wooden cage hung
around his neck. He offered to show them without asking for money, and
when they ran up and down his arms, and over his hands, he would look
upon them with the most mournful affection, as if they were the only
friends he had on earth. Every one who saw him longed to know his
history; but he could speak but little English, and shrank from the
notice of strangers. He was taken sick and carried to the Massachusetts
Hospital, where his gentleness won him many friends. But they could not
stop the progress of his disease, or comfort his poor, lonely heart.
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