“Of course I looked naturally to the water, and saw for the first time a prospect of gratifying my boyish longing for the sea.  My funds were sufficient to enable me to purchase a pretty staunch little barque and part interest in her cargo of Wedgwood and Sheffield ware, and I sailed in her as a passenger for Naples and a market.  It was a foolish venture, but my friends cared just enough about me to assist me in carrying out my plans, while none gave me serious advice.  It turned out well, however, and my profits were quite large.  Two other voyages, one to New York and the other to Valparaiso, turned out equally well, and meantime I was using my opportunities to study navigation practically under the direction of my master, an old and able seaman.  My ambition was to command my own ship and carry my own cargo, a common thing in those days, when the merchant marine of England was generally officered by men who were the peers in every respect of those who held her naval commissions.  I had some prudence, however, and therefore chartered my barque and sailed her as master two short voyages to Bremen and Amsterdam with the best under-officers I could secure.  Having now full confidence in myself, I sold out, bought a fine new American ship, filled her with an assorted cargo, and cleared for Rio and the South Pacific.  I was now twenty-six years old, and it was eight years since I had been at Liverpool, and ten since I had heard anything of John.  After my father’s death his old spirit had shown itself very offensively toward me, and we had parted in anger.”

I saw that my old friend was deeply moved by the memories recalled by this part of his story, and partly as a relief to him and partly to gratify my curiosity, I asked him if any of the articles which adorned the room were mementoes of these voyages.

“Every one of them has a story,” he replied.  “I myself caught that albatross in the Straits of Magellan with a dolphin-line trolling astern.  I should have let him go again, but he beat himself to death before we could get out the hook, and I amused myself by preparing and mounting the skin.  That paper-knife has a sad history.  I had it made in London.  The blade is cut from a walrus’s tooth given to me by a whaling-captain at Hawaii, and I bought the coral which forms the handle from a diver whom I saw bring it up on the Corsican coast.  He made a wager with one of my crew that he could bring up another piece of equal value by diving from the ship, went over, and was seized by a shark as he reached the surface.  I heard the cry of horror from the men, and rushed to the ship’s side just in time to see the water crimson with his blood.