matter how roughly orders are issued; they must be implicitly obeyed.
'D'ye murmur? Hold your tongue, you rascal, or I'll put you in irons!'
Such is not a particularly uncommon form of address to the sailor, who
so far forgets his position as to even hint a difference of opinion.
Possibly, it is quite right, for the sake of discipline, and the
safety of all concerned, that severity should be employed. We merely
note the circumstance.

In the very best conducted ships, however, there must necessarily be
toils and trials of temper. The most tormenting thing in a sailor's
profession, is the want of that regular alternation of work through
the day, and repose through the night, which is enjoyed by ordinary
mortals. This is a matter on which so little is known, that we are
induced to expatiate upon it. Dear landsmen! would you like to know
how idly and jovially a foremast Jack gets through his twenty-four
hours at sea? Listen; and when we have 'said our say,' envy poor Jack
his romantic calling, and begrudge him his L.2, 10s. or L.3 per month,
as much as you can find in your hearts.

We are in the chief mate's watch (the larboard), and come on deck for
the middle watch--that is, at 12 P.M.--having had our spell below of
four hours during the first night-watch (8 P.M. to 12 P.M.) It is a
cold, dark, squally night, with frequent heavy showers of rain--in
fact, what seamen emphatically call 'dirty' weather, and our
pea-jackets and sou'-westers are necessary enough. Hardly have we got
on deck, ere the mate, who is a bit of a 'driver,' begins to order
this brace to be pulled, that yard to be squared, this sheet to be
belayed, that sail to be clewed up, and t'other set. The wind howls,
the rain beats, the ship staggers, the salt spray flies over us from
time to time. During the space of three bells, we have our hands
pretty full, and then the mate bawls: 'For'ard there! In with jib; lay
out, men!' The vessel is buried to her bight-heads every plunge she
takes, and sometimes the solid sea pours over her bowsprit as far as
the but-end of the flying jib-boom. But to hear is of course to obey;
and while some of our messmates spring to the downhaul of the jib, and
rattle it down the stay, we and another man get out along the
bowsprit, and with our feet resting on the slippery, knotted footrope
to windward, we clutch hold of the jib, which is hanging down and
lashing over to leeward. Pitch, pitch--splash, dash, go the bows; at
one m