Call me Arafon.  Some years ago-never mind how long precisely-having little or
no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I
thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It
is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp,
drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing
before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet;
and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it
requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping
into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off-then, I account
it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.