The last place he had to visit was that at which he had the longest
task to perform. It was at a ship-chandler's in Tower Street, a large
and dingy house, the lower portion being filled with canvas, cordage,
barrels of pitch and tar, candles, oil, and matters of all sorts
needed by ship-masters, including many cannon of different sizes,
piles of balls, anchors, and other heavy work, all of which were
stowed away in a yard behind it. The owner of this store was a
one-armed man. His father had kept it before him, but he himself,
after working there long enough to become a citizen and a member of
the Ironmongers' Guild, had quarrelled with his father and had taken
to the sea. For twenty years he had voyaged to many lands,
principally in ships trading in the Levant, and had passed through a
great many adventures, including several fights with the Moorish
corsairs. In the last voyage he took, he had had his arm shot off by
a ball from a Greek pirate among the Islands. He had long before made
up his differences with his father, but had resisted the latter's
entreaties that he should give up the sea and settle down at the
shop; on his return after this unfortunate voyage he told him that he
had come home to stay.

"I shall be able to help about the stores after a while," he said,
"but I shall never be the man I was on board ship. It will be hard
work to take to measuring out canvas and to weighing iron, after a
free life on the sea, but I don't so much mind now I have had my
share of adventures; though I dare say I should have gone on for a
few more years if that rascally ball had not carried away my arm. I
don't know but that it is best as it is, for the older I got the
harder I should find it to fall into new ways and to settle down
here."