ers. But it having been rumoured
abroad that this journal was to be ominously entitled "_The Cruise of
the Neversink, or a Paixhan shot into Naval Abuses;_" and it having
also reached the ears of the Ward-room that the work contained
reflections somewhat derogatory to the dignity of the officers, the
volume was seized by the master-at-arms, armed with a warrant from the
Captain. A few days after, a large nail was driven straight through the
two covers, and clinched on the other side, and, thus everlastingly
sealed, the book was committed to the deep. The ground taken by the
authorities on this occasion was, perhaps, that the book was obnoxious
to a certain clause in the Articles of War, forbidding any person in
the Navy to bring any other person in the Navy into contempt, which the
suppressed volume undoubtedly did.

CHAPTER XII.

THE GOOD OR BAD TEMPER OF MEN-OF-WAR'S MEN, IN A GREAT DEGREE,
ATTRIBUTABLE TO THEIR PARTICULAR STATIONS AND DUTIES ABOARD SHIP.

Quoin, the quarter-gunner, was the representative of a class on board
the Neversink, altogether too remarkable to be left astern, without
further notice, in the rapid wake of these chapters.

As has been seen, Quoin was full of unaccountable whimsies; he was,
withal, a very cross, bitter, ill-natured, inflammable old man. So,
too, were all the members of the gunner's gang; including the two
gunner's mates, and all the quarter-gunners. Every one of them had the
same dark brown complexion; all their faces looked like smoked hams.
They were continually grumbling and growling about the batteries;
running in and out among the guns; driving the sailors away from them;
and cursing and swearing as if all their conscience had been
powder-singed, and made callous, by their calling. Indeed they were a
most unpleasant set of men; especially Priming, the nasal-voiced
gunner's mate, with the hare-lip; and Cylinder, his stuttering
coadjutor, with the clubbed foot. But you will always observe, that the
gunner's gang of every man-of-war are invariably ill-tempered, ugly
featured, and quarrelsome. Once when I visited an English
line-of-battle ship, the gunner's gang were fore and aft, polishing up
the batteries, which, according to the Admiral's fancy, had been
painted white as snow. Fidgeting round the great thirty-two-pounders,
and making stinging remarks at the sailors and each other, they
reminded one of a swarm of black wasps, buzzing about rows of white
headstones