Her stern gallery was upheld by a row of gilt figures representing that hero of mythology, Master Atlas, of whom my father used to speak; while over the gallery towered three enormous lanterns, and above everything was a maze of spars and rigging that confused me not a little, though before long I was well acquainted with the names of all of them. This much did I see from the dockyard wall, for the _Gannet_ was lying at anchor in the harbour. One of the seamen on the quay hailed her through a speaking-trumpet, and presently a longboat came off for us, manned by ten lusty rowers, while a boy of about my own age sat in the stern-sheets steering the boat and giving orders to the men as if the commanding of the boat had been his life-long business. Directly we embarked--that is, my uncle, my cousin Maurice, and myself--the boat pushed off, and urged by long strokes soon covered the distance betwixt the shore and the ship. As she neared the latter the youngster shouted: "Oars!" in such a loud voice that I thought something had happened. The rowers immediately tossed their oars, while the boat ran alongside the _Gannet_. We climbed by a steep ladder up the rounding side of the ship, my uncle performing the feat with surprising agility, though he was puffing heartily when he gained the deck and took off his hat to the royal arms that graced the quarterdeck at the break of the poop. We were received by the captain, one Adrian Poynings, said to be a descendant of the fiery governor of Portsmouth who bore the same name, and whose will was the terror of the inhabitants of Portsmouth in the days of Queen Bess. The captain did not appear to bear the same reputation as did his ancestor. He seemed, for a king’s officer, a very mild-mannered gentleman, for when speaking to his subordinates he would say: "Desire Master So-and-so to do this", or "Desire the bos’n to be sent to me"; and so on. Having been introduced to him, I was sent off in charge of a midshipman to be shown round the ship. This youngster, whose name was Greville Drake (a remote relation of the immortal Sir Francis Drake), was one of the six gentlemen midshipmen serving on the ship. He appeared to be a keen young officer, knowing the ins and outs of everything, yet withal he was of a roguish disposition, and given to skylarking. Before long we were excellent friends. Having inspected the waist of the ship, the main and upper gundecks, he led me below to the orlop deck, where right aft was situated the gunroom or midshipmen’s mess. Here, illuminated by the glimmer of a couple of purser’s dips, or tallow candles, was the place where for the next two or three years I was to live and sleep--otherwise my floating home. The heavy beams were so low that I was obliged to stoop when passing underneath them. Innumerable cockroaches crawled across the floor or attempted to climb the sides of the cabin, till pinked by a well-directed thrust with a sail-needle.