listened with much interest.
The slide of the scuttle was removed, and orders given for one of
the "strangers" to come on deck and be shaved. Anxious to develop
the mystery and be qualified to bear a part in the frolic, I pressed
forward; but as soon as my head appeared above the rim of the scuttle I
was seized, blindfolded, and led to the main deck, where I was urged,
by a press of politeness I could not withstand, to be seated on a plank.
The process of shaving commenced, which, owing to the peculiar roughness
of the razor and the repulsive qualities of the lather, was more painful
and disagreeable than pleasant, but to which I submitted without a
murmur. When the scarifying process was finished, I was told to hold up
my head, raise my voice to its highest pitch, and say, "Yarns!" I obeyed
the mandate, as in duty bound; and to give full and distinct utterance
to the word, opened my mouth as if about to swallow a whale, when some
remorseless knave, amid shouts of laughter from the surrounding group,
popped into my open mouth the huge tar brush, well charged with the
unsavory ingredients for shaving.

I now thought my trials were over. Not so. I was interrogated through a
speaking trumpet on several miscellaneous subjects; but suspecting some
trick, my answers were brief and given through closed teeth. At length,
Captain Page exclaimed, "Old Neptune, this will never do. Give him a
speaking trumpet also, and let him answer according to rule, and in
shipshape fashion, so that we can all hear and understand him."

I put the trumpet to my mouth, and to the next question attempted to
reply in stunning tones, "None of your business!" for I was getting
impatient, and felt somewhat angry. The sentence was but half uttered
when a whole bucket of salt water was hurled into the broad end of the
speaking trumpet, which conducted it into my mouth and down my throat,
nearly producing strangulation; at the same time, the seat was pulled
from beneath me, and I was plunged over head and ears in the briny
element.

As soon as I recovered my breath, the bandage was removed from my eyes,
and I found myself floating in the long boat, which had been nearly
filled with water for the occasion, and surrounded by as jovial a set
of fellows as ever played off a practical joke. Old Neptune proved to be
Jim Sinclair, of Marblehead, but so disguised that his own mother
could not have known him. His ill-favored and weather-beaten visage was
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