My father, being so prominent and well-known all over England, the mate knew that he would have done quite the right thing for himself in acting as he threatened.
I promised him, however, to return home at once, and I left the docks with a sad heart, but more determined than ever to go to sea.
Next day was a terror. My father had been making all sorts of search for me, as I did not get home until four in the morning, having walked all the way from the docks.
I arrived tired out—dirty and hungry.
I shall never forget my dear old dad in his night shirt opening the door. He simply said "Go to your room. I'll talk to you to-morrow."
That to-morrow!
I told him the truth—got a hiding for running away—but with it such a salve as I never hoped for, in his promise to let me go to sea.
I didn't care for anything on earth. I didn't feel the hurt when I sat down in silence and disgrace at breakfast. I was completely, ecstatically happy, and in a few weeks found myself alongside the gangway of H. M. S. Conway, with my cadet's kit in my regulation chest, with my name in big letters painted across the front, and my uniform on in which I felt as if I owned the earth Poor dear old dad! A tear rolled down his cheek as he kissed me and said: "God bless you, boy—I wanted you at home with me."
Well, I went to sea,—and years after I left it. I travelled the world over. I became a gold-miner in Australia, a newspaper man, reporter, editor, even a dramatic critic—out in that great country. I wandered about as a stockman, a station hand, everything a man can be in the bush. I saw life in every phase, until at last chance brought me to the stage. There let me stop. Some of the incidents of my life I have jotted down in the following pages.
