I chose the navy. I am not at all certain what it was that determined my choice; probably this--I have a mole on my left arm, which my gossiping old nurse (rest the old lady's soul!) used to assert was a sure sign that I was born to be a rover. Then I had been several voyages to the Arctic regions, and therefore knew what a sea-life meant, and what it didn't mean; that, no doubt, combined with an extensive acquaintance with the novels of Captain Marryat, had much to do with it. Be this as it may, I did choose that service, and have never yet repented doing so. Well, after a six weeks' preparatory read-up I packed my traps, taking care not to forget my class-tickets--to prove the number of l…
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