Medical Life in the Navy

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 lectures attended each course-a certificate of age and another of virtue, my degree in surgery (M.Ch.), and my M.D. or medical degree; and with a stick in my hand, and a porter at my side, I set out for the nearest railway station.