had been
unable to prevail against circumstances in the one land, were now
fleeing pitifully to another; and though one or two might still succeed,
all had already failed. We were a shipful of failures, the broken men of
England. Yet it must not be supposed that these people exhibited
depression. The scene, on the contrary, was cheerful. Not a tear was
shed on board the vessel. All were full of hope for the future, and
showed an inclination to innocent gaiety. Some were heard to sing, and
all began to scrape acquaintance with small jests and ready laughter.

The children found each other out like dogs, and ran about the decks
scraping acquaintance after their fashion also. "What do you call your
mither?" I heard one ask. "Mawmaw," was the reply, indicating, I fancy,
a shade of difference in the social scale. When people pass each other
on the high seas of life at so early an age, the contact is but slight,
and the relation more like what we may imagine to be the friendship of
flies than that of men; it is so quickly joined, so easily dissolved, so
open in its communications and so devoid of deeper human qualities. The
children, I observed, were all in a band, and as thick as thieves at a
fair, while their elders were still ceremoniously manoeuvring on the
outskirts of acquaintance. The sea, the ship, and the seamen were soon
as familiar as home to these half-conscious little ones. It was odd to
hear them, throughout the voyage, employ shore words to designate
portions of the vessel. "Co' 'way doon to yon dyke," I heard one say,
probably meaning the bulwark. I often had my heart in my mouth,
watching them climb into the shrouds or on the rails, while the ship
went swinging through the waves; and I admired and envied the courage of
their mothers, who sat by in the sun and looked on with composure at
these perilous feats. "He'll maybe be a sailor," I heard one remark;
"now's the time to learn." I had been on the point of running forward to
interfere, but stood back at that, reproved. Very few in the more
delicate classes have the nerve to look upon the peril of one dear to
them; but the life of poorer folk, where necessity is so much more
immediate and imperious, braces even a mother to this extreme of
endurance. And perhaps, after all, it is better that the lad should
break his neck than that you should break his spirit.

And since I am here on the chapter of the children, I must mention one
little fellow, whose family b