were suffocating in the "man-stifled towns," and it soon dawned upon
me that a twentieth century Ulysses required a corps of
stenographers to clear his correspondence before setting sail. No,
adventure is certainly not dead--not while one receives letters that
begin:

"There is no doubt that when you read this soul-plea from a female
stranger in New York City," etc.; and wherein one learns, a little
farther on, that this female stranger weighs only ninety pounds,
wants to be cabin-boy, and "yearns to see the countries of the
world."

The possession of a "passionate fondness for geography," was the way
one applicant expressed the wander-lust that was in him; while
another wrote, "I am cursed with an eternal yearning to be always on
the move, consequently this letter to you." But best of all was the
fellow who said he wanted to come because his feet itched.

There were a few who wrote anonymously, suggesting names of friends
and giving said friends' qualifications; but to me there was a hint
of something sinister in such proceedings, and I went no further in
the matter.

With two or three exceptions, all the hundreds that volunteered for
my crew were very much in earnest. Many of them sent their
photographs. Ninety per cent. offered to work in any capacity, and
ninety-nine per cent. offered to work without salary.
"Contemplating your voyage on the Snark," said one, "and
notwithstanding its attendant dangers, to accompany you (in any
capacity whatever) would be the climax of my ambitions." Which