Neptune then said: "You may now become an able seaman. You may rise to boatswain and to captain. If you are killed or drowned, you will be turned into a sea-horse, and will be my subject. You may now eat salt pork, mush, and weevilly bread. Do it without grumbling. I now depart!" Samuel was again blindfolded. When the bandage was removed, Neptune had disappeared. It was told Samuel that he had dashed over the bow into his sea-chariot. "I know better now," Samuel explained to me. "Neptune was impersonated by Jim Thorn, our oldest sailor. His long beard was made of unraveled rope and yarn. He perched under the bow and climbed aboard by the chains." My first turn at the wheel, with Samuel standing by, was a curious experience. Told to steer southwest, I found that I swung the wheel too far, and that the direction was south southwest. When I tried to swing back to southwest I went too far in the other direction, and was steering southwest by west. In a few hours, however, I had mastered the trick. I loved to steer. It enabled me to escape the dirty work of tarring, painting and cleaning. Yet I never took the helm without thinking of how my father had been killed at the wheel of the _Hyder Ally_. Whistling aboard ship was a custom disliked by the old sailors. They entertained a superstition that he who whistled was "whistling for the wind." On one of my first nights at sea, feeling lonesome, I puckered my lips and began to blow a tune. Along came Samuel. He paused beside my berth. "My boy," said he, "there are only two kinds of people who whistle. One is a boatswain. The other is a fool. You are not a boatswain." He passed on. I never whistled again aboard ship. When we were within the vicinity of the capes, there came a calm spell in which our schooner barely moved. While we were fretting at this snail's pace, a frigate, enjoying a wind that had not come our way, overhauled us and hove to across our bows, displaying the British flag. "Have your protections ready, lads," the mate said, squinting across the water, "that ship is looking for men to impress!" A boat put out from the frigate's side and came towards us. "On board the cutter, there," called our mate, "what do you want with us?" "On board the schooner," came the reply, "we're looking for deserters from the British navy. Let drop your ladder!" We obeyed. A spruce, slender, important, yet surprisingly youthful lieutenant came over the side. "Compliments of Captain Van Dyke, of His Majesty's ship _Elizabeth_," he said to the skipper and the mate, "we desire to inspect your crew." "It's a high-handed proceeding," said Murad, his black eyes snapping, "but since we are only slightly armed, I suppose we must submit. My men are all American citizens. Each has proof of it." He turned to the mate, "Mr. Bludsoe, have the men lined up."