ess in the most touching terms, "for
the sake of our early days, the happy years of our boyhood." Those early
days--those happy days!--my heart softened towards him as I thought of
them. Sorely as he had wronged me, he was my brother still, and I felt
that I could, if permitted, clasp him to my heart once more.

Weary of life, and tired of the world, I dragged on a miserable
existence for some time, in a secluded situation on the shores of
Cornwall; but, by degrees, the monotony of my sedentary and recluse life
wearied me. I began to associate with the poor fishermen around me, and,
in a short time, became enthusiastically fond of their perilous and
exciting mode of life. The sea became to me quite a 'passion'--my mind
had found a new channel for its energies; and when, a short time
afterwards, I lost my little fortune through the mismanagement or
villany of my agent, I took staff in hand, and, hastening to Liverpool,
boldly launched into life again as a common seaman, on board a merchant
vessel bound to the West Indies.

I had toiled on for several years as a common seaman, during which time
I attracted the notice of my captain, by my indefatigable attention to
the duties of my station, and by the reckless indifference with which I
lavished my strength, and often risked my life, in the performance of
them.

"Douglas" (for that was the name which I had assumed), "Douglas," said
the captain to me one day, after I had been particularly active during a
heavy gale we encountered, "I must try if I cannot do something for you;
your activity and energy entitle you to promotion. I will speak to the
owners when we return, and endeavour to procure you a mate's berth." I
thanked him, and went forward again to my duty. A few days afterwards,
we were going along with a strong beaming wind; there was a high sea
running, every now and then throwing a thick spray over the weather
bulwarks; the hands were at dinner, and I was just coming up to relieve
the man at the wheel; there was no one on deck but the mate of the
watch, and the captain, who was standing on the weather bulwark, shaking
the backstays, to feel if they bore an equal strain: all at once the
ship gave a heavy weather lurch, the captain lost his footing, and was
overboard in a moment. I instantly sprang aft, cut away the life-buoy,
and knowing that he was but an indifferent swimmer, jumped overboard
after him. As I said before, the sea was running high, and a few minutes