one on each side of her.
You observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are white. She
is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much more
lumbered up. She has no haunches of venison hanging over the stern, but
I think there is a leg of mutton and some cabbages hanging by their
stalks. But revenue cutters are not yachts. You will find no turtle or
champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint to carve
at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome.

Let us go on board. You observe the guns are iron, and painted black,
and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour, but
then it lasts a long while, and the dockyard is not very generous on the
score of paint--or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare
cash. She has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red
flannel shirts and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their
canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they
are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. But we will at once
go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who commands
her, a master's mate, and a midshipman. They have each their tumbler
before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar--capital gin,
too, 'bove proof; it is from that small anker standing under the table.
It was one that they forgot to return to the custom-house when they made
their last seizure. We must introduce them.

The elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale
face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the
nose red, and this old officer is very often 'in the wind,' of course,
from the very nature of his profession), is a Lieutenant Appleboy. He
has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of
first lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion--that is to
say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be
rewarded with his rank as commander. It is a pity that what he takes
inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night.
He is just filling his fourteenth glass: he always keeps a regular
account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen;
then he is exactly down to his bearings.

The master's mate's name is Tomkins; he has served his six years three
times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for
him, as his chances of promotion are small.