of fairy castles in the distance, hastened to join the
brig, which was destined to bear Caesar and his fortunes.

This may have been the wisest step I could have taken. It is not likely
I should have been long reconciled to any other occupation than that
of a mariner. When a boy's fixed inclinations in the choice of an
occupation are thwarted, he is seldom successful in life. His genius,
if he has any, will be cramped, stunted, by an attempt to bend it in the
wrong direction, and will seldom afterwards expand. But when a person,
while attending to the duties of his profession or occupation, whether
literary, scientific, or manual, can gratify his inclinations, and thus
find pleasure in his business, he will be certain of success.

It was at the close of January, 1811, that the brig Clarissa was cast
loose from Derby's Wharf in Salem, and with a gentle south-west breeze,
sailed down the harbor, passed Baker's Island, and entered on the broad
Atlantic. Our cargo was of a miscellaneous description, consisting of
flour and salt provisions, furniture, articles of American manufacture,
and large assortment of India cottons, which were at that time in
general use throughout the habitable parts of the globe.

The Clarissa was a good vessel, and well found in almost every respect;
but like most of the vessels in those days, had wretched accommodations
for the crew. The forecastle was small, with no means of ventilation or
admission of the light of day, excepting by the fore-scuttle. In this
contracted space an equilateral triangle, with sides of some twelve or
fifteen feet, which was expected to furnish comfortable accommodations
for six individuals, including a very dark-complexioned African, who
filled the respectable and responsible office of cook were stowed
six large chests and other baggage belonging to the sailors; also two
water-hogsheads, and several coils of rigging.

The deck leaked badly, in heavy weather, around the bowsprit-bitts,
flooding the forecastle at every plunge; and when it is considered that
each inmate of the forecastle, except myself, was an inveterate chewer
of Indian weed, it may be imagined that this forecastle was about as
uncomfortable a lodging place, in sinter's cold or summer's heat, as a
civilized being could well desire. It undoubtedly possessed advantages
over the "Black Hole of Calcutta," but an Esquimaux hut, an Indian
wigwam, or a Russian cabin, was a palace in comparison. And this was a