So he pointed out a place, and I knew then that my friend was Coster Lakeum. Pretty soon I began to feel a little sick. It was a don’t-care feeling, and it made the other sickness—the longing for home—all the more intense. Why did I ever leave my father’s house? Why did I abandon my mother’s love and care? I kept back the tears and I kept out of the way. When night came I stretched out in the place which had been pointed out and began to feel a little better. The air was bracing and the thought of home did quite as much to keep me from sleeping as the tossing of the ship. There was no one now to see the tears which ran down my cheeks. Sleep stole on, and, when morning came, I felt somewhat restored. I looked about for a place to wash in, and for a basin, but saw none. I came to the conclusion that sailors didn’t wash unless they let themselves down into the sea. It was not long before I found out that water at sea was a luxury. It was kept in a scuttle butt by the cabin door, where a drink might be taken, but there was none for washing. The sailors had to depend on rain and the sea. The cook, who was at the galley, called to me, “Come here, Sonny.” I started, but the ship gave a lurch and down I went. He gave a loud laugh, but there was something in the tone which showed that he wasn’t making fun of me. I picked myself up, steadied my body, and at the right moment covered the distance without further mishap. “Look here, boy,” he said, “you’re startin’ out rather young, but you must be twenty.” This touched my pride. “Why, I am only fifteen.” “Only fifteen? Well, I suppose you didn’t have a very good home, so you were glad to go to sea.” “Yes, I had a good home.” I felt uncomfortable. The cook continued pleasantly, “The sailor’s life is a hard one, but there are bright spots. Let me tell you to do as you are told to do and do your best. Feel a little squeamish, eh?” “Not very much now, but I did, yesterday.” “And you will again, if you go down this mornin’ into that old forecastle, so I’ll give you a little breakfast here, if you can hold on with one hand while you use the other. Eat little to begin with.” He gave me some coffee and a couple of pieces of bread soaked in something. I held the cup containing the coffee in one hand and the hard bread in the other, and, although more than once I thought they would slip from my hands, I managed to make my repast without accident. It wasn’t long before all hands were ordered aft. I was now feeling pretty good, but I pitied the greenies who had passed the night in the forecastle—they looked so forlorn. They had evidently been sick and gave little appearance of being able to work.