count for my silence on the subject."

"You have spoken at times of a kind-hearted seaman who took care of you
as a child, and of having served as a ship's boy before you were placed
on the quarter-deck, and of other circumstances which have made me
suspect that your early history was not a little romantic. From
strangers being present, or from other causes, I have, however, always
been prevented from questioning you more particularly on the subject,
and even now, as I honour you for yourself, I would not ask you to tell
me anything, but that I believe it would be for your advantage, and
certainly, as I said before, not to satisfy my own curiosity."

"I am sure of that, my dear Harry," answered Headland, "and I will try
to give you as much of my early history as I possess myself. To do so I
must exert my memory, and help it out with the information I have
obtained from my early protector and devoted friend, Jack Headland,
whose name I bear, though I know from him that it is not my proper one.
I have no reason, however, to be ashamed of the name, and therefore
gladly retain it, hoping some day to make it known with honour. I
confess, however, did I possess any means of being recognised, my
earnest wish would have been to discover my parents and family, but as
you will learn, from what I am going to tell you, all possible clue that
would enable me to do so has been lost, and I have therefore made up my
mind to be content with my position, and to gain a name for myself."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A YARN AT SEA.

"If it gives you no painful recollections, my dear Headland, I shall
much like to hear your history," said Harry. "On this calm night the
thread of your narrative is not likely to be broken."

"I will try to go back, then, as far as my memory will help me," said
Headland.

I have a dim recollection of living in a large Eastern style of house,
with a number of black servants dressed in white, and a black woman who
spoke in a language which has now become strange, though I think I then
understood it. She attended especially on me. There was a tall
gentleman of a slight figure, and a very fair lady, who was, I am sure,
my mother. I have a faint recollection of her blue eyes and sweet smile
as she took me in her arms, or looked down upon me as I played at her
feet. Still, it is only now and then like the vision in a dream that
her countenance rises to my memory. After that there comes a blank, and
I found