and men.
He's a terrible tyrant and brute, and if it had not been for Mark
Riddle--whom, wonderful to say, I found on board the ship--he and his
mates would have been knocked on the head and hove overboard.

"I would much rather be seated on the high stool in Mr Butterfield's
office than where I am. I wanted to return home, but the captain
wouldn't let me. I intend, however, to run on the first opportunity,
and to get back if I can. I tried to get away in the Falkland Islands,
but was prevented. Mark succeeded, and was left behind. Whether he'll
manage to live there I don't know, but I hope he will, and get back to
Sandgate one of these days, I have no time to write more; so with love
to mother, and my brothers and sisters, and even to Aunt Deb--

"I remain your affectionate son--

"Richard Cheveley."

"PS--Please tell old Riddle all about his son."

I hurriedly folded this letter, and addressed it to the Reverend John
Cheveley, Sandgate, England; and having no wax, I sealed it with a piece
of pitch which I hooked out of a seam in the deck. I rushed out,
intending to give it into the hands of the captain of the whaler; but
what was my dismay to see his boat pulling away from the ship. I
shouted and waved my letter, thinking that he would return; but at that
moment the third mate snatched the letter out of my hand, and waved to
the men in the boat to pull on. I turned round, endeavouring to recover
the letter, but instead got a box on the ear. I made another snatch at
it.

"What's this about, you young rascal?" shouted the captain; "give me the
letter, Simmons. You'll try next to take it out of my hands, I
suppose."

In spite of all my efforts to regain it, the mate handed the letter to
the captain, who, looking at the superscription, at once tore it open.
He glanced at the commencement and end.

"So you pretend to be a gentleman's son, you young scapegrace," he
exclaimed. "You'll not get me to believe such a tale. Why, bless my
heart, the last voyage I had a fellow who was always writing to the Earl
of Lollipop, and signing himself his son. The men called him My Lord.
He was made to black down the rigging, notwithstanding, and polish up
the pots and pans. He was found at last to be a chimney-sweeper's son."

I was convinced that the captain said this to be heard by the
passengers, and to try and throw discredit on me, as they were already
inclined to treat me kindly, through seeing that I was a