Now this, that my companion threw on my foot, was a fish known as a Portuguese man-of-war--at least, that is the name by which naval men know it. When floating on the water it resembles a glass bottle, but under the surface it has long fangs several inches in length, and it was these which stung me. He was very sorry that he did such a stupid act, but I suppose having read or heard about this class of fish, he thought he would put to an experimental test the power of its sting, and chose my foot for that purpose. The Second Newfoundland Cruise. The 'Bellerophon' left for Plymouth the day after. Whilst all the crews cheered her from aloft she steamed amongst the ships, her band playing meantime 'Auld Lang Syne' and 'Home Sweet Home.' There was more than one on the 'Emerald' who desired to be on the flag-ship that day. We left Bermuda shortly after the 'Bellerophon' for another fishery cruise, calling at the Port of Sausages for warm clothing-- yes, and for more sausages. At this time I was rated an O.D., which meant that I was regarded as a man. The dish-cloth was hung up in the mess as an outward and visible sign that we had parted company--for I may say until a boy is rated ordinary seaman, he is a slave to domestic work in his mess. Another change was made with this rating-- I was transferred from the quarter-deck part of the ship to a flying-jib stower. A word of explanation here. The flying-boom is the furthermost pole projecting from the ship's bow, and the sail which is furled upon it is called the flying jib. Many narrow escapes had I on the flying-boom, having to cling to it for dear life when the ship dipped in the trough of the sea, causing me to be drenched through and through; then like a fearless bird she would rise quickly toward the sky, only to descend just as rapidly in the hollow of the next oncoming wave. Giddy, sick, and faint have I furled with my mate the flying jib, pinched with the cold and wet. It is impossible for me to put down on paper what the bitterness of my life then was--it cannot be reduced to writing. Often I found relief by stealing away to the topgallant forecastle, and on the wash-deck locker lay with my face buried in my arms and sob, praying to God to deliver me. A very monotonous cruise was this one. Anticipating as much, I bought a melodeon at Halifax, and in my evening watch below would play some of Sankey's hymns. The men were only too glad to sing, and presently the whole mess deck would ring with bright and hearty singing. This was as a tonic to me then, and is now, for nothing, to my mind, is so inspiring as music accompanied with powerful song.