trampled upon by half the starboard watch, and the breath completely jammed out of his body. Jack reeled to a carronade slide, when the officers, who had been laughing at the lark as well as the men, perceived his situation— among others, Mr. Sawbridge, the first—lieutenant.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Easy?” said he, kindly.

“A little,” replied Jack, catching his breath.

“You’ve had but a rough welcome,” replied the first—lieutenant, “but at certain times, on board ship, it is every man for himself, and God for us all. Harpur,” continued the first—lieutenant to the Doctor, “take Mr. Easy down in the gun—room with you, and I will be down myself as soon as I can. Where is Mr. Jolliffe?”

“Here, sir,” replied Mr. Jolliffe, a master’s mate, coming aft from the booms.

“There is a youngster come on board with the captain. Order one of the quarter—masters to get a hammock slung.”

In the meantime Jack went down into the gun—room, where a glass of wine somewhat recovered him. He did not stay there long, nor did he venture to talk much. As soon as his hammock was ready, Jack was glad to go to bed—and as he was much bruised he was not disturbed the next morning till past nine o’clock. He then dressed himself, went on deck, found that the sloop was just clear of the Needles, that he felt very queer, then very sick, and was conducted by a marine down below, put into his hammock, where he remained during a gale of wind of three days, bewildered, confused, puzzled, and every minute knocking his head against the beams with the pitching and tossing of the sloop.

“And this is going to sea,” thought Jack: “no wonder that no one interferes with another here, or talks about a trespass; for I’m sure any one is welcome to my share of the ocean; and if I once get on shore again, the devil may have my portion if he chooses.”

Captain Wilson and Mr. Sawbridge had both allowed Jack more leisure than most midshipmen, during his illness. By the time that the gale was over, the sloop was off Cape Finisterre. The next morning the sea was nearly down, and there was but a slight breeze on the waters. The comparative quiet of the night before had very much recovered our hero, and when the hammocks were piped up, he was accosted by Mr. Jolliffe, the master’s mate, who asked “whether he intended to rouse and bit, or whether he intended to sail to Gibraltar between his blankets.”

Jack, who felt himself quite another person, turned out of his hammock and dressed himself. A marine had, by the captain’s orders, attended Jack during his illness, and this man came to his assistance, opened his chest, and brought him all that he required, or Jack would have been in a sad dilemma.

Jack then inquired where he was to go, for he had not yet been in the midshipmen’s berth, although five days on board. The marine pointed it out to him, and Jack, who felt excessively hungry, crawled over and between chests, until he found himself fairly in a hole infinitely inferior to the dog—kennels which received his father’s pointers.

“I’d not only give up the ocean,” thought Jack, “and my share of it, but also my share of the Harpy, unto any one who fancies it. Equality enough here! for every one appears equally miserably off.”

As he thus gave vent to his thoughts, he perceived that there was another person in the berth—Mr. Jolliffe, the master’s mate, who had fixed his eye upon Jack, and to whom Jack returned the compliment. The first thing that Jack observed was that Mr. Jolliffe was very deeply pockmarked, and that he had but one eye, and that was a piercer; it appeared like a little ball of fire, and as if it reflected more light from the solitary candle than the candle gave.