or
subtraction. Upon the berth-deck he has a chest, in which to keep his
pots, pans, spoons, and small stores of sugar, molasses, tea, and flour.

But though entitled a cook, strictly speaking, the head of the mess is
no cook at all; for the cooking for the crew is all done by a high and
mighty functionary, officially called the "_ship's cook_," assisted by
several deputies. In our frigate, this personage was a dignified
coloured gentleman, whom the men dubbed "_Old Coffee;_" and his
assistants, negroes also, went by the poetical appellations of
"_Sunshine_," "_Rose-water_," and "_May-day_."

Now the _ship's cooking_ required very little science, though old
Coffee often assured us that he had graduated at the New York Astor
House, under the immediate eye of the celebrated Coleman and Stetson.
All he had to do was, in the first place, to keep bright and clean the
three huge coppers, or caldrons, in which many hundred pounds of beef
were daily boiled. To this end, Rose-water, Sunshine, and May-day every
morning sprang into their respective apartments, stripped to the waist,
and well provided with bits of soap-stone and sand. By exercising these
in a very vigorous manner, they threw themselves into a violent
perspiration, and put a fine polish upon the interior of the coppers.

Sunshine was the bard of the trio; and while all three would be busily
employed clattering their soap-stones against the metal, he would
exhilarate them with some remarkable St. Domingo melodies; one of which
was the following:

"Oh! I los' my shoe in an old canoe,
Johnio! come Winum so!
Oh! I los' my boot in a pilot-boat,
Johnio! come Winum so!
Den rub-a-dub de copper, oh!
Oh! copper rub-a-dub-a-oh!"

When I listened to these jolly Africans, thus making gleeful their toil
by their cheering songs, I could not help murmuring against that
immemorial rule of men-of-war, which forbids the sailors to sing out,
as in merchant-vessels, when pulling ropes, or occupied at any other
ship's duty. Your only music, at such times, is the shrill pipe of the
boatswain's mate, which is almost worse than no music at all. And if
the boatswain's mate is not by, you must pull the ropes, like convicts,
in profound silence; or else endeavour to impart unity to the exertions
of all hands, by singing out mechanically, _one_, _two_, _three_, and
then pulling all together.

Now, when Sunshine, Rose-water, and May-day have s