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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
115
Monday
Morning.--We
sate
reading
the
poems,
and
I
read
a
little
German....
During
W.'s
absence
a
sailor
who
was
travelling
from
Liverpool
to
Whitehaven
called,
he
was
faint
and
pale
when
he
knocked
at
the
door--a
young
man
very
well
dressed.
We
sate
by
the
kitchen
fire
talking
with
him
for
two
hours.
He
told
us
interesting
stories
of
his
life.
His
name
was
Isaac
Chapel.
He
had
been
at
sea
since
he
was
15
years
old.
He
was
by
trade
a
sail-maker.
His
last
voyage
was
to
the
coast
of
Guinea.
He
had
been
on
board
a
slave
ship,
the
captain's
name
Maxwell,
where
one
man
had
been
killed,
a
boy
put
to
lodge
with
the
pigs
and
was
half
eaten,
set
to
watch
in
the
hot
sun
till
he
dropped
down
dead.
He
had
been
away
in
North
America
and
had
travelled
thirty
days
among
the
Indians,
where
he
had
been
well
treated.
He
had
twice
swam
from
a
King's
ship
in
the
night
and
escaped.
He
said
he
would
rather
be
in
hell
than
be
pressed.
He
was
now
going
to
wait
in
England
to
appear
against
Captain
Maxwell.
"O
he's
a
Rascal,
Sir,
he
ought
to
be
put
in
the
papers!"
The
poor
man
had
not
been
in
bed
since
Friday
night.
He
left
Liverpool
at
2
o'clock
on
Saturday
morning;
he
had
called
at
a
farm
house
to
beg
victuals
and
had
been
refused.
The
woman
said
she
would
give
him
nothing.
"Won't
you?
Then
I
can't
help
it."
He
was
excessively
like
my
brother
John.
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