eck, giving orders to the mates, who are tearing about,
bawling and swearing like demons; while the 'idlers'--that is to say,
the carpenter, steward, cook, and boys, who keep no regular
watch--have all been roused up, to bear a hand, and 'pull their
pound.' Halliards are let go, reef-tackles hauled chock-a-block, and
we lay aloft helter-skelter, best man up first, and bend over the
yard, till the weather-earing is secured; and then comes the welcome
cry: 'Haul to leeward!' It is done, and then we all 'knot-away' with
the reef-points. The reef having been taken (or two, perchance), we
shin down again to mast-head the topsails, and get all in sailing
trim. A grog is now served out, and we go below, to sleep out the rest
of our four hours, one of which we have been deprived of by this
reefing job. Sometimes it happens, however, that we lose three, or all
four, when there is absolute necessity for all hands on deck.

Here, we pause a moment, to say a word on the serving of grog--a
composition of rum and water. The use of this stuff is of old date in
the navy, and would seem to be considered essential to navigation. In
what are called temperance ships, no grog is served, neither after
reefing topsails, nor at any other time; but what is very shameful, in
many instances no substitute is allowed. If sailors might have coffee
instead of rum, they would thankfully accept the substitute, for
coffee is incomparably a better stimulant. The invigoration from rum
is only momentary, and afterwards is perhaps rather pernicious; but
the wholesome effect of coffee is felt for an hour. So they very
excusably observe, 'Better grog than nothing!'

To resume the tenor of our narrative: at eight bells (8 A.M.) we are
summoned on duty again, and find that the squall has passed over, and
that it is now a fine sunshiny morning, with all available sail set,
and only a heavy swell of the sea to tell what the night has been. We
now get our breakfast (half an hour allowed for that), and the other
watch, which has been eight hours up to our four, gets a forenoon
watch below (8 A.M. to 12 A.M.) Alterations of sails and rigging, and
no end of small jobs, keep us hard at work till eight bells (noon)
once more strike, and we then get our luxurious dinner of a pound and
a half of salt junk, with biscuits. But junk is capital stuff for
sheathing material, when it _is_ good: unfortunately, however, it too
frequently is 'old horse;' and whatever its quality