launched. So those women below didn't want us? Well, there were
other women, and other places, that did. And this was going to
be no scrambling raft-affair, but a full-blooded voyage of the
Man, equipped and purposeful, in search of what was his rightful
own.

Whither should I shape my course, and what sort of vessel should
I charter for the voyage? The shipping of all England was mine
to pick from, and the far corners of the globe were my rightful
inheritance. A frigate, of course, seemed the natural vehicle
for a boy of spirit to set out in. And yet there was something
rather "uppish" in commanding a frigate at the very first
set-off, and little spread was left for the ambition. Frigates,
too, could always be acquired later by sheer adventure; and your
real hero generally saved up a square-rigged ship for the final
achievement and the rapt return. No, it was a schooner that I
was aboard of--a schooner whose masts raked devilishly as the
leaping seas hissed along her low black gunwale. Many
hairbrained youths started out on a mere cutter; but I was
prudent, and besides I had some inkling of the serious affairs
that were ahead.

I have said I was already on board; and, indeed, on this occasion
I was too hungry for adventure to linger over what would have
been a special delight at a period of more leisure--the dangling
about the harbour, the choosing your craft, selecting your
shipmates, stowing your cargo, and fitting up your private cabin
with everything you might want to put your hand on in any
emergency whatever. I could not wait for that. Out beyond
soundings the big seas were racing westward and calling me,