You're just the very spit of one I served under when I was a man-o'-war's-man afore I got pensioned off, now ten year ago!" "My father was an officer in the Navy," I replied rather proudly.

"He lost his life, gallantly, in the service of his country." "You don't say that now ?" exclaimed my questioner, with much warmth, looking me earnestly in the face; "and what may your name be, if I may be so bold?
you haven't told it me yet." "Martin Leigh," I answered, promptly, a faint hope rising in my breast.
"Leigh ?--no, never, it can't be!" said the old fellow, now greatly excited.

"I once knew an officer of that very name--Gerald Leigh--and he was killed in action up the Niger River on the West Coast, while attacking a slave barracoon, ten years ago come next March--" "That was my father," I here interposed, interrupting his reminiscences.
"Your father?
You don't mean that!" "I do," I said, eagerly, "I was four years old when Uncle George received the news of his death." "My stunsails!" ejaculated the old fellow, dashing his cap to the ground in a fever of excitement; and, seizing both my hands in his, he shook them up and down so forcibly that he almost lifted me off the seat.
"Think of that now; but, I could ha' known it from the sort o' feeling that drew me to you when I saw you curled up here, all lonesome, like a cock sparrow on a round of beef! And so, Lieutenant Leigh was your father--the bravest, kindest officer I ever sailed under! Why, youngster, do you know who I am ?" He said this quite abruptly, and he looked as if he thought I would recognise him.
"No," I said, smiling, "but you're a very kind-hearted man.

I'm sure, to take such an interest in a friendless boy like me." "Friendless boy, be jiggered!" he replied--"You're not friendless from now, you can be sarten! Why, I was your father's own coxswain in the _Swallow_, off the coast, and it was in my arms he died when he received that murdering nigger's shot in his chest, right 'twixt wind and water.
Yes! there's a wonderful way in the workings o' Providence--to think that you should come across me now when you needs a friend, one whom your father often befriended in old times, more like a brother than an officer! I thank the great Captain above,"-- and the old fellow looked up reverently here to the blue heaven over us as he uttered these last words--"that I'm allowed this marciful chance o' paying back, in a poor sort o' way, all my old commander's kindness to me in the years agone! Yes, young gentleman, my name's Sam Pengelly, and I was your father's coxswain.

If he had ha' lived he'd have talked to you, sure enough, about me." "I'm very glad to hear this," said I; and so I was, for my hopeful surmise had proved true.
"Well, laddie--you'll excuse my speaking to you familiar like, won't you ?" "Call me what you please," I answered, "I'm only too proud to hear your kind voice, and see your friendly face.