I was the youngest.

The eldest was the son of a country parson, a mild, decent lad, who eventually deserted and became a house-painter in the South Island of New Zealand.

The next was washed overboard when we were rounding the Horn on our homeward voyage.

Poor lad, when all was said and done he could not have been much worse off, for his life on board was a disgrace to what is sometimes erroneously called, "Human Nature." In due course, as we cleared for San Francisco, and long before we crossed the Line, I was heartily tired of the sea.

In those days, few years ago as it is, sailors were not so well protected even as they are now, and on a long voyage aboard a sailing ship it was possible for a good deal to happen that was not logged, and much of which was forgotten before the vessel reached its home-port again.