uncle, taking the hint, I suppose, from the lid of his sea-chest, had me
called Bellophron Box. Bellophron being the name of the ship of which he
was sailing-master.

I sha'n't say anything about my education; though I was brought up in

[Illustration: A FIRST RATE BOARDING-SCHOOL.]

It's not much to boast of; but as soon as I could bear the weight of a
cockade and a dirk, uncle got me a berth as midshipman on board his own
ship. So there I was, _Mr._ Bellophron Box. I didn't like the sea or the
service, being continually disgusted at the partiality shown towards me,
for in less than a month I was put over the heads of all my superior
officers. You may stare--but it's true; for _I was mast-headed_ for a week
at a stretch. When we put into port, Captain ---- called me into his cabin,
and politely informed me that if I chose to go on shore, and should find it
inconvenient to return, no impertinent inquiries should be made after me. I
availed myself of the hint, and exactly one year and two months after
setting foot on board the Bellophron, I was _Master_ Bellophron Box again.

Well, now for my story. There was one Tom Johnson on board, a _fok'sell_
man, as they called him, who was very kind to me; he tried to teach me to
turn a quid, and generously helped me to drink my grog. As I was
unmercifully quizzed in the cockpit, I grew more partial to the society of
Tom than to that of my brother middies. Tom always addressed me,'Sir,' and
they named me Puddinghead; till at last we might be called friends. During
many a night-watch, when I have sneaked away for a snooze among the
hen-coops, has Tom saved me from detection, and the consequent pleasant
occupation of carrying about a bucket of water on the end of a capstan bar.