e situation among us. When
Dick Dobbs is frying the onions for dinner, he is the person most
respected in the ship, and Mr. Migott and myself are his faithful and
expectant subjects. When grog is to be made, or sauces are to be
prepared, Mr. Jollins becomes in his turn the monarch of all he surveys.
When musical entertainments are in progress, Mr. Migott is vocal king,
and sole conductor of band and chorus. When nautical talk and
sea-stories rule the hour, Bob Dobbs, who has voyaged in various
merchantmen all over the world, and is every inch of him a thorough
sailor, becomes the best man of the company. When any affairs connected
with the internal management of the vessel are under consideration, Sam
Dobbs is Chairman of the Committee in the cockpit. So we sail along; and
such is the perfect constitution of society at which we mariners of
England have been able to arrive.

Our freedom extends to the smallest details. We have no stated hours,
and we are well a-head of all rules and regulations. We have no
breakfast hour, no dinner hour, no time for rising or for going to bed.
We have no particular eatables at particular meals. We don't know the
day of the month, or the day of the week; and never look at our watches,
except when we wind them up. Our voice is frequently the voice of the
sluggard; but we never complain, because nobody ever wakes us too soon,
or thinks of interfering with our slumbering again. We wear each other's
coats, smoke each other's pipes, poach on each other's victuals. We are
a happy, dawdling, undisciplined, slovenly lot. We have no principles,
no respectability, no business, no stake in the country, no knowledge of
Mrs. Grundy. We are a parcel of Lotos-Eaters; and we know nothing,
except that we are poking our way along anyhow to the Scilly Islands in
the Tomtit.

We rise when we have had sleep enough--any time you like between seven
and ten. If I happen to be on deck first, I begin by hearing the news of
the weather and the wind, from Sam, Dick, or Bob at the helm. Soon the
face of Mr. Migott, rosy with recent snoring, rises from the cabin, and
his body follows it slowly, clad in the blue Jersey frock which he
persists in wearing night and day--in the heat of noon as in the cool of
evening. He cannot be prevailed upon to give any reason for his violent
attachment to this garment--only wagging his head and smiling
mysteriously when we ask why, sleeping or waking, he never parts with
it. Well, b