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When I arrived in Dover I already had my assignment as cabin boy to Captain Waterhouse on the barque HMS Esperanza. Most boys looking to get into the service had to go about it the hard way. They had to find a sailor to sponsor them and then had the worst duties aboard the ship. I had lodging arranged at the Three Daggers Inn. Since I wore decent clothing, the locals took me for the son of nobility and treated me with respect.

Of course, I had sipped a bit of my father's personal brew from time to time, but I had never before consumed an entire pint. And the rough crowd at the Inn seemed to think it funny to watch a young, well-dressed lad drink one after another. I only paid for the first one and then it seemed everyone wanted to buy me a drink. I remember telling lots of stories about home and dancing a bit with one of the serving girls. (Which made me feel a bit anxious, since I knew father totally eschewed dancing of all sorts as sinful expressions of lust.)

As the evening wound down, the sailors still sober enough to talk started telling tales that would turn a pagan pale and having him ask for the saving grace of Christ. I know they wanted to put a scare in me, and I tried my best not to show that I was scared out of my wits. The stories of men freezing to the rails and ships sailing back with nothing but bones put images in my head that I can still bring forth today.

I think the innkeeper must have carried me to my bed -- more of a pallet with a thin layer of straw that for my meager fee required that I share the same quarters with three other men. But with the amount of ale in my stomach, the only time I stirred was to lean off the palate, vomit up the contents of my stomach, and fall back unconscious.