He is of particularly
quiet demeanor--but observant of all things, and reflective--a
philosopher in a check shirt and sail-cloth trousers. Giving an
impression of the strictest integrity--of inability not to do his
duty, and his whole duty. Seemingly, he does not take a very strong
interest in the world, being a widower without children; but he feels
kindly towards it, and judges mildly of it; and enjoys it very
tolerably well, although he has so slight a hold on it that it would
not trouble him much to give it up. He said he hoped he should die at
sea, because then it would be so little trouble to bury him. Me is a
skeptic,--and when I asked him if he would not wish to live again, he
spoke doubtfully and coldly. He said that he had been in England
within two or three years--in his native county, Yorkshire--and
finding his brother's children in very poor condition, he gave them
sixty golden sovereigns. "I have always had too many poor friends," he
said, "and that has kept me poor." This old man kept tally of the
Alfred Tyler's cargo, on behalf of the Captain, diligently marking all
day long, and calling "tally, Sir," to me at every sixth tub. Often
would he have to attend to some call of the stevedores, or wheelers,
or shovelers--now for a piece of spun-yarn--now for a handspike--now
for a hammer, or some nails--now for some of the ship's molasses, to
sweeten water--the which the Captain afterwards reprehended him for
giving. These calls would keep him in about movement enough to give
variety to his tallying--he moving quietly about the decks, as if he
belonged aboard ship and nowhere else.
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