“Well, my boy,” said Sampson, as he grasped Harry by the hand, “we’ve sailed under a clear sky for the most of the time, and we’ve held together about as good as the strongest, but there’s no use in shedding fresh water tears over it, for I’m thinking this’ll not be your last voyage, and as for me, there’s nothing to hinder my hanging around this little sand-heap a bit longer; and who knows but we may try it again some day.  Who knows? ah, who knows that John Sampson is not lying at this moment at the bottom of the sea?  Who is there that cares to know?”

“This, I know, is not your home, Mr. Sampson; but have you not one friend? is there no spot in the wide world which is dear to you? is there not one who will welcome you home?”

“All places are the same to me, and I can truly say, there is not a person on the whole earth that would ‘bout ship’ to get a look at me.  To be sure, I was brought up somehow, till I was able to take myself up, but by whom, or where, is farther back than the story goes; all I know is, I found myself, at six years old, on the top of a London dust heap, taking a survey of the great metropolis.  Whether I was left there by the refuse gatherers, to come under the head of starved dogs, or whether I was accidentally dropped by my lawful owner, it don’t make much difference.  Well, I shook the dust out of my eyes, and made for the water, and I’ve lived on the water for the most part ever since.  But there’s one comfort about it, I’ve never been troubled with poor relations,” added he, jocosely.

“Mr. Sampson, yours is a strange history, and what is stranger still, that you have not, in all your yarns in the forecastle, spun us this one.  But have you never, in all your wanderings, met with those whom, you can call your friends?”

“A rough old tar like me, I must say, would not be the most inviting craft to interchange signals with, but, thank God, I have found one, in my long life of wanderings who was worthy the name of friend! but she, kind, beautiful lady, is gone;” and the rough tar drew his sleeve across his eyes, and turning toward the island, muttered,—­“twelve, yes, fifteen years ago this very month, and I the only one saved!  I worked hard, but it was of no use; it was to be.  I’d gladly have gone down to have saved her.”

“Well, Sampson, I think it is you who are losing your senses now,” said Harry, as he listened to his inaudible words; “but you shall not say you have not a friend so long as my craft sails the ocean, for I never shall forget your kindness to me and my faithful old Nep, while exposed to the harsh treatment of our former captain; and depend upon it, you will have made other true friends, when the dear ones at home shall have heard of your generous conduct.  I have one of the best of mothers, Mr. Sampson, and a sister who would make you a better man to look into her heaven-speaking eyes!  A likeness of her was among my valuables when I left home, but it has been by some means mislaid.”