I was now sent to H.M.S 'Circe,' the outfitting ship for young recruits, to get my uniform. On reaching the top of the companion ladder a ship's corporal (i.e. a naval policeman) approached me and asked, "Had I any money or jewellery?" If so, it must be kept in his custody until such time as I should be prepared to join the mother-ship, the 'Impregnable.' I handed him the eight pence which I carried in my pocket. After being ordered to read from a board certain rules and digest them, then came the bath, followed by the dinner, which latter consisted of a piece of fat pork (called 'dobs,' I afterward learned, in the training-ship) and a thick piece of bread, neither of which tempted my appetite. I ate nothing that day, and when a fortnight later my civilian's suit was sent home, the sausage rolls which I carried on board with me were discovered in my pocket. I cannot hope to describe the feelings through which I passed on this first day. My poor little heart nearly broke--it was my first lesson in the school of sorrowful tears. "Oh that I had listened to my parents' advice this morning," was what I whispered to myself a hundred times before closing my eyes in sleep that night. The day wore away slowly--oh, so slowly! I became homesick, and ran from one port-hole to the other watching the Millbrook steamers pass to and fro, endeavouring thereby to persuade myself into the belief that after all I was in touch with home. This gave me a kind of satisfaction, as it seemed to sever my thoughts, or rather to loose them, from the floating cage, and link them and my love to home, yea, and even to the passing steamers. Just as when a traveller in a foreign land meets with a friend of his native town, and is filled with delight and fond memories of the home-land by such an event, in like manner did I regard those steamers--they were connecting links uniting my heart to my home. Nor is this comparison overdrawn, for my readers must bear in mind that I was only a little boy. And how very natural homesickness was, amidst such strange surroundings, and, with no liberty, only they who have passed through a similar experience know. Then came the hour for 'turning in.' As I lay in the hammock that night I could not but contrast this birthday with my last. The last represented sunshine, joy, merry laughter and freedom; this, darkness sorrow, tears and confinement. The tears began to flow, and I wept myself to sleep. More than once during my subsequent visits to Devonport have I stood on Mutton Cove pier gazing intently on groups of boys gathered thereon waiting for the ship's boat to bear them over to the 'Impregnable' with a view of joining the navy. Standing there, my sympathy has gone out toward them as a flood and I have prayed that their first night's experience afloat might not be a repetition of mine.