There leviathan,
  Hugest of living creatures, on the deep,
  Stretch’d like a promontory, sleeps or swims. 
  MILTON.

Congratulate me, Reader, that, notwithstanding I have been beating against wind and tide, that is to say, writing this book, through all the rolling and pitching, headache and indigestion, incident to the confined and unnatural life of a sailor, I have arrived at my last chapter.  You may be surprised at this assertion, finding yourself in the middle of the third volume; but such is the fact.  Doubtless you have imagined, that according to the usual method, I had begun at the beginning, and would have finished at the end.  Had I done so, this work would not have been so near to a close as, thank Heaven, it is at present.  At times I have been gay, at others, sad; and I am obliged to write according to my humour, which, as variable as the wind, seldom continues in one direction.  I have proceeded with this book as I should do if I had had to build a ship.  The dimensions of every separate piece of timber I knew by the sheer-draught which lay before me.  It therefore made no difference upon which I began, as they all were to be cut out before I bolted them together.  I should have taken them just as they came to hand, and sorted them for their respective uses.  My keel is laid on the slips, and my stern is raised; these will do for futtocks ­ these for beams.  I lay those aside for riders; and out of these gnarled and twisted pieces of oak, I select my knees.  It is of little consequence on which my adze is first employed.  Thus it was that a fit of melancholy produced the last half of the third volume; and my stern-post, transoms, and fashion-pieces, were framed out almost before my floor-timbers were laid.  But you will perceive that this is of no consequence.  All are now bolted together; and, with the exception of a little dubbing away here and there, a little gingerbread work, and a coat of paint, she is ready for launching.  Now all is ready. ­Give me the bottle of wine ­and, as she rushes into the sea of public opinion, upon which her merits are to be ascertained, I christen her “THE KING’S OWN.”

And now that she is afloat, I must candidly acknowledge that I am not exactly pleased with her.  To speak technically, her figure-head is not thrown out enough.  To translate this observation into plain English, I find, on turning over the different chapters, that my hero, as I have often designated him, is not sufficiently the hero of my tale.  As soon as he is shipped on board of a man-of-war, he becomes as insignificant as a midshipman must unavoidably be, from his humble situation.  I see the error ­yet I cannot correct it, without overthrowing all “rules and regulations,” which I cannot persuade myself to do, even in a work of fiction.  Trammelled as I am by “the service,” I can only plead guilty to what it is impossible to amend without commencing de novo ­for everything and everybody must find their level on board of a king’s ship.  Well, I’ve one comfort left ­Sir Walter Scott has never succeeded in making a hero; or, in other words, his best characters are not those which commonly go under the designation of “the hero.”  I am afraid there is something irreclaimably insipid in these preux chevaliers.

But I must go in search of the Aspasia.  There she is, with studding-sails set, about fifty miles to the northward of the Cape of Good Hope; and I think that when the reader has finished this chapter, he will be inclined to surmise that the author, as well as the Aspasia, has most decidedly “doubled the Cape.”  The frigate was standing her course before a light breeze, at the rate of four or five knots an hour, and Captain M –­ was standing at the break of the gangway, talking with the first-lieutenant, when the man stationed at the mast-head called out, “A rock on the lee-bow!” The Telemaque shoal, which is supposed to exist somewhere to the southward of the Cape, but whose situation has never been ascertained, had just before been the subject of their conversation.  Startled at the intelligence, Captain M –­ ordered the studding-sails to be taken in, and, hailing the man at the mast-head, inquired how far the rock was distant from the ship.

“I can see it off the fore-yard,” answered Pearce, the master, who had immediately ascended the rigging upon the report.

The first-lieutenant now went aloft, and soon brought it down to the lower ratlines.  In a few minutes it was distinctly seen from the deck of the frigate.

The ship’s course was altered three or four points, that no risk might be incurred; and Captain M –­, directing the people aloft to keep a sharp look-out for any change in the colour of the water, continued to near the supposed danger in a slanting direction.

The rock appeared to be about six or seven feet above the water’s edge, with a base of four or five feet in diameter.  To the great surprise of all parties, there was no apparent change in colour to indicate that they shoaled their water; and it was not until they hove-to within two cables’ length, and the cutter was ordered to be cleared away to examine it, that they perceived that the object of their scrutiny was in motion.  This was now evident, and in a direction crossing the stern of the ship.

“I think that it is some kind of fish,” observed Seymour; “I saw it raise its tail a little out of the water.”

And such it proved to be, as it shortly afterwards passed the ship within half a cable’s length.  It was a large spermaceti whale, on the head of which some disease had formed an enormous spongy excrescence, which had the appearance of a rock, and was so buoyant that, although the animal made several attempts as it approached the ship, it could not sink under water.  Captain M –­, satisfied that it really was as we have described, again made sail, and pursued his course.

“It is very strange and very important,” observed he, “that a disease of any description can scarcely be confined to one individual, but must pervade the whole species.  This circumstance may account for the many rocks reported to have been seen in various parts of the southern hemisphere, and which have never been afterwards fallen in with.  A more complete deception I never witnessed.”

“Had we hauled off sooner, and not have examined it, I should have had no hesitation in asserting, most confidently, that we had seen a rock,” answered the first-lieutenant.

Captain M –­ went below, and was soon after at table with the first-lieutenant and Macallan, who had been invited to dine in the cabin.  After dinner, the subject was again introduced.  “I have my doubts, sir,” observed the first-lieutenant, “whether I shall ever venture to tell the story in England.  I never should be believed.”

“Le vrai n’est pas toujours lé vraisemblable,” answered Captain M –­; “and I am afraid that too often a great illiberality is shown towards travellers, who, after having encountered great difficulties and dangers, have the mortification not to be credited upon their return.  Although credulity is to be guarded against, I do not know a greater proof of ignorance than refusing to believe anything because it does not exactly coincide with one’s own ideas.  The more confined these may be, from want of education or knowledge, the more incredulous people are apt to become.  Two of the most enterprising travellers of modern days, Bruce and Le Vaillant, were ridiculed and discredited upon their return.  Subsequent travellers, who went the same track as the former, with a view to confute, were obliged to corroborate his assertions; and all who have followed the latter have acknowledged the correctness of his statements.”

“Your observations remind me of the story of the old woman and her grandson,” replied the first-lieutenant.  “You recollect it, I presume.”

“Indeed I do not,” said Captain M –­; “pray favour me with it.”

The first-lieutenant then narrated, with a considerable degree of humour, the following story: ­

“A lad, who had been some years at sea, returned home to his aged grandmother, who was naturally curious to hear his adventures. ­`Now, Jack,’ said the old woman, `tell me all you’ve seen, and tell me the most wonderful things first.’

“`Well, granny, when we were in the Red Sea, we anchored close to the shore, and when we hove the anchor up, there was a chariot wheel hanging to it.’

“`Oh!  Jack, Pharaoh and his host were drowned in the Red Sea, you know; that proves the Bible is all true.  Well, Jack, and what else did you see?’

“`Why, granny, when I was in the West Indies, I saw whole mountains of sugar, and the rivers between them were all rum.’

“`True, true,’ said the old woman, smacking her lips; `we get all the sugar and rum from there, you know.  Pray, Jack, did you ever see a mermaid?’

“`Why, no, mother, but I’ve seen a merman.’

“`Well, let’s hear, Jack.’

“`Why, mother, when we anchored to the northward of St. Kitt’s one Sunday morning, a voice called us from alongside, and when we looked over, there was a merman just come to the top of the water; he stroked down his hair, and touched it, as we do our hats, to the captain, and told him that he would feel much obliged to him to trip his anchor, as it had been let go just before the door of his house below, which they could not open in consequence, and his wife would be too late to go to church.’

“`God bless me!’ says the old woman; `why, they’re Christians, I do declare ­And now, Jack, tell me something more.’

“Jack, whose invention was probably exhausted, then told her that he had seen hundreds of fish flying in the air.

“`Come, come, Jack,’ said the old woman, `now you’re bamming me ­don’t attempt to put such stories off on your old granny.  The chariot wheel I can believe, because it is likely; the sugar and rum I know to be true; and also the merman, for I have seen pictures of them.  But as for fish flying in the air, Jack ­that’s a lie.’”

“Excellent,” said Captain M –.  “Then the only part that was true she rejected, believing all the monstrous lies that he had coined.”

“If any unknown individual,” observed Macallan, “and not Captain Cook, had reported the existence of such an animal as the ornithorhynchus, or duck-billed platypus, without bringing home the specimen as a proof; who would have credited his statement?”

“No one,” replied Captain M –.  “Still, such is the scepticism of the present age, that travellers must be content with having justice done to them after they are dead.”

“That’s but cold comfort, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, rising from the table, which movement was immediately followed by the remainder of the guests, who bowed, and quitted the cabin.