CHAPTER I.
Fortune, the great commandress of the world,
Hath divers ways to enrich her followers:
To some, she honor gives without deserving;
To other some, deserving without honor;
Some wit—some wealth—and some wit without wealth;
Some, wealth without wit—some, nor wit nor wealth.
Chapman.
“Rouse up, rouse up, my hearty! Bear a hand and be lively for that little devil-skin abaft, has been hailing for you this five minutes.”
Thus spoke, with a rough voice, but in a kind tone, a tall and powerfully built sailor, as he descended the forecastle-ladder, to a boy of some ten years of age, who, lying stretched upon his back on a mess-chest, was fast asleep. Loud as were the tones of the speaker, they made no impression upon the boy. Wrapped in the deep, sweet slumber of childhood, his body fatigued, his conscience clear, and his mind at ease, he was enjoying one of those refreshing rests that are only permitted to the young and contented—the sleep that manhood longs after but seldom experiences.