for. My
father's voice summoned me. "Now, Jack," he said, "as you have chosen
your bed, you must lie on it. But remember--after a year's trial--if
you change your mind, let me know."

"No fear of that, sir," I answered.

"We shall see, Jack," he replied. He wrung my hand, and gave me his
blessing. "I have directed Mr Junk to provide your outfit, and you
will find it all right." Who Mr Junk was I had no conception; but as
my father said it was all right, I troubled my head no more about the
matter.

My father's old clerk, Simon Munch, was waiting for me at the door, and
hurried me off to catch the Newcastle coach. On our arrival there he
took me to the office of Junk, Tarbox and Company, shipbrokers.

"Here is the young gentleman, Mr Junk," he said, addressing a one-eyed,
burly, broad-shouldered personage, with a rubicund countenance, in a
semi-nautical costume. "You know what to do with him, and so I leave
him in your hands. Good-bye, Jack, I hope you may like it."

"No fear of that, Mr Munch," I answered; "and tell them at home that
you left me as jolly and happy as ever."

"So, Master Brooke, you want to go to sea?" said Mr Junk, squirting a
stream of tobacco-juice across his office, and eyeing me with his sole
bloodshot blinker; "and you expect to like it?"

"Of course I do; I expect to be happy wherever I am," I answered in a
confident tone.

"We shall see," he replied. "I have sent your chest aboard of the
_Naiad_. Captain Grimes will be here anon, and I'll hand you over to
him."

The person he spoke of just then made his appearance. I did not
particularly like my future commander's outside. He was a tall, gaunt
man, with a long weather-beaten visage and huge black or rather grizzled
whiskers; and his voice, when he spoke, was gruff and harsh in the
extreme. I need not further describe him; only I will observe that he
looked considerably cleaner then than he usually did, as I afterwards
found on board the brig. He took but little notice of me beyond a
slight nod, as he was busy with the ship's papers. Having pocketed
them, he grasped me by the hand with a "Come along, my lad; I am to make
a seaman on ye." He spoke in a broad Northumbrian accent, and in a
harsh guttural tone. I was not prepossessed in his favour, but I
determined to show no signs of unwillingness to accompany him.

We were soon seated in the stern of an excessively dirty boat, with
coal-dust-begrimed rowers, who pulle