“Very well,” said my father, when he realized that further argument was hopeless, “since you must go to sea, go to sea you certainly shall.  But you mustn’t blame me if you find that the life is not exactly what you anticipate, and that you would prefer to find yourself on dry land once more.”

I willingly gave this promise, and a month later left Liverpool as an apprentice on the clipper ship Maid of Normandy.  Appropriately enough the captain’s name was Fairweather, and he certainly was a character in his way.  In fact the whole ship’s company were originals.  Had my father searched all England through he could not have discovered a set of men, from the captain to the cook’s mate, who would have been better calculated to instil in a young man’s heart a distaste for Father Neptune and his oceans.  In the number of the various books of the sea I have encountered, was one entitled, A Floating Hell.  When reading it I had not expected to have the misfortune to be bound aboard a vessel of this type.  It was my lot, however, to undergo the experience.  We carried three apprentices, including myself, each of whom had paid a large sum for the privilege.  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.  When I returned from my first voyage, my family inquired how I liked my profession, and, with all truth, I informed them that I did not like it at all, and that I would be willing to have my indentures cancelled and to return to shore life once more, if I might be so permitted.  My father smiled grimly, and seemed to derive considerable satisfaction from the fact that he had prophesied disaster from the outset.

“No,” he said, “you have made your bed, my lad, and now you must lie upon it.  There is still a considerable portion of your apprenticeship to be served, and it will be quite soon enough for us at the end of that time to decide what you are to do.”

A month later I was at sea again, bound this time for Sydney.  We reached that port on my nineteenth birthday, and by that time I had made up my mind.  Articles or no Articles, I was determined to spend no more of my life on board that hateful ship.  Accordingly, one day having obtained shore leave, I purchased a new rig-out, and leaving my sea-going togs with the Jewish shopman, I made tracks, as the saying goes, into the Bush with all speed.  Happen what might, I was resolved that Captain Fairweather should not set eyes on George Fairfax again.