“He looked sad when I spoke of his mother. I knew very well he must have run away from home, for a boy with such nice white hands as he had when he came aboard the ship, had no need to go to sea. He had never been brought up to work, but he never grumbled once at his duty, or the coarse food of the sailor.
“‘Ah, George,’ I said, ‘I am afraid you ran away from your mother.’
“‘I did, Ben.’
“‘Haven’t you sent her a letter, so that she may know where you are?’
“‘No; I would not have her know I am aboard a whale ship for all the world,’ said he; and I was sure by the sad look on his face that he was sorry for what he had done.
“‘But you must write to her, George, the very first chance you get.’
“‘I can’t do that, Ben. It would kill her to know where I am. I have heard her say a great many times that she had rather lay me in the grave than have me go to sea in a whale ship.’
“‘But only think of her living for two or three years without knowing where you are! No doubt she wets her pillow with tears every night as she thinks of you. No, George; you must write to her, and let her know that you are alive and well. You can say in the letter that you are in a good ship, among good friends, and promise her that you will be a good boy. Perhaps she will feel easier then.’
“‘I can’t write to her, Ben.’
“‘But you must, my boy. If you don’t, I shall write to her by the first return ship I can find.’