According to rules, the novices were kept in strict confinement, till the performance was ready to commence. The little captain stood looking on, impatiently waiting for the opening ceremonies. At eight bells, all was ready. Neptune was in his throne, with a beard as blue as the sea, and with a great crown of shells and sea-weed strung round his brows. He had a conch-shell for a breast-pin, and each of his shoes, or, rather, slippers, were surmounted with a large, brilliant-hued bivalve. Amphitrite sat by his side, with her flowing locks--constructed of oakum--spangled with many varieties of weeds and shells and her long beard (think of a sea queen with a beard!) daintily braided and plaited into grotesque ringlets, while her long, blue paper-muslin robe was intended to have a resemblance to the sea she ruled. The Nereids were grouped around, looking excessively feminine and bewitching (to a sailor), with their long hair, and sea-green garments; while we merry Tritons were rigged in a little more convenient costume, as our work was to be heavy; but, rely on it, we looked hideous enough. As the ship's bells struck eight, three of us, at a signal from the Ruler of the Waves, dove down below, and appeared, a moment afterward, with Dicky Drake, our first victim. The poor fellow was almost scared to death. He eyed the various contrivances, which had been prepared for his benefit, and shuddered from his cap to his boots. "Bring forth the culprit!" roared Father Neptune, in a voice of thunder; and we led the trembling victim before the throne. "What is his crime?" was the lofty question of the ocean king. "I ain't done nothin', yer Honor," began Dicky, thinking he might get off by an eloquent appeal. "Yer see, I was brought up in Salem, I was--a place as has furnished a great many sailors for yer Majesty's dominions. It's true I never crossed the line, yer know, but yer see, I almost did it onc't. It all as happened in this 'ere way. Ole Si Jinkins and I, we started out on a mackerel fishin' an' got driv' away down south, almost onto the equator, when a sou'east storm springs up, and sends us back a joe-kiting. Well, as I was about ter say--" "Peace!" roared Neptune in a voice of thunder. "Yes, your Majesty, but yer see--" "Peace!" "Oh, yes! Wery good! but, as I was about ter say, the--" "Peace, or I'll kick yer inter Davy Jones's locker!" was the dignified interruption, and Dicky stopped short. "Lead the prisoner to the plank!" was the final order of Neptune. Visions of "walking the plank" immediately rose up before the wretched youth, and he began to appeal in heartrending accents. "But I didn't go an' do nothin', yer know. I was allers exceedingly respectful and perlite. Onc't on a time, I see'd a feller spit inter the sea, an' I remonstrated with indignation, because I thought yer Honor might be averse to tobacco. Yer see--" "Silence! Lead him to the plank and shave him!" roared the implacable sea-god, and we led him away.