Early in the year 1863 there was brought into the little harbour of Margate a vessel called the _Figaro_ of Narbonne, a small craft with a cargo of wine. She had got into trouble on one of the many outlying sandbanks which make the entrance to the Thames a problem of considerable difficulty for any vessel not thoroughly qualified to meet any emergency that may arise through wind or weather. What the precise cause of this accident was escapes my memory, but whatever its origin, it was instrumental in sending me to sea, for it brought me into close contact with a London merchant, Mr. Trapp, who was interested in her cargo and who had come down to supervise her repairs. This merchant was also a shipowner, and had been at sea during the French wars in the early part of the century. He was good enough to tell me many stories relating to privateering and the customs of the sea, to all of which I listened greedily, for I was born with the sound of the sea in my ears and from my earliest recollections had made up my mind that the sailor’s life was the only one worth living. Unfortunately this view was not shared either by my father or my mother, both of whom had set their minds upon making me a civil engineer. My head master was of the same opinion as myself as regards my future, but we reached the same conclusion by somewhat different roads, as will be seen. I scarcely think I was tractable as a school-boy. I can distinctly remember that from the age of ten until I was fourteen I was always the “awful example,” and my impression is that the cane was administered thrice daily with great regularity. At the age of fourteen there was a serious difference of opinion between the head master and myself; he suggested that my conduct in class was beyond his endurance, and I, considering his was also objectionable, expressed my view by launching a book at his head. When I turned to make my escape, there was no escape for me; I was headed off and cornered by masters lower down the room. And face downwards on a desk I both heard and felt the best arguments that can be used in such circumstances. When I got home, these arguments were only too palpable, and my indulgent parents brought my career at that school to a summary conclusion. Nevertheless, I bore the old boy no malice, for he was a good judge of a human boy’s nature. When he asked me one day what I was going to be, I replied, “Civil engineer,” to which he retorted, “A soldier or a sailor is all they will ever make of you,” and it must be confessed that it was a fairly accurate forecast, though the prophecy was evidently not intended as a compliment to either army or navy.