I had determined not to communicate my design of withdrawing from
the vessel to any of my shipmates, and least of all to solicit
any one to accompany me in my flight. But it so happened one
night, that being upon deck, revolving over in my mind various
plans of escape, I perceived one of the ship's company leaning
over the bulwarks, apparently plunged in a profound reverie. He
was a young fellow about my own age, for whom I had all along
entertained a great regard; and Toby, such was the name by which
he went among us, for his real name he would never tell us, was
every way worthy of it. He was active, ready and obliging, of
dauntless courage, and singularly open and fearless in the
expression of his feelings. I had on more than one occasion got
him out of scrapes into which this had led him; and I know not
whether it was from this cause, or a certain congeniality of
sentiment between us, that he had always shown a partiality for
my society. We had battled out many a long watch together,
beguiling the weary hours with chat, song, and story, mingled
with a good many imprecations upon the hard destiny it seemed our
common fortune to encounter.

Toby, like myself, had evidently moved in a different sphere of
life, and his conversation at times betrayed this, although he
was anxious to conceal it. He was one of that class of rovers
you sometimes meet at sea, who never reveal their origin, never
allude to home, and go rambling over the world as if pursued by
some mysterious fate they cannot possibly elude.

There was much even in the appearance of Toby calculated to draw
me towards him, for while the greater part of the crew were as