"
for September, 20th, 1880, lies before me, wherein the writer, in a
leading article, after giving a description of the combined squadron at
Gravosa, goes on to say, "It is amusing to find that the traditional
impression of an Englishman prevails so largely at Gravosa, Ragrusa,
&c., namely, that he is always drunk, or has just been drunk, or is on
the point of being drunk." Great, though, was the surprise of the honest
Ragusans when they discovered that their estimate of that erratic
creature was at variance with the testimony of their experience of him;
for the writer further adds, "The conduct of our men ashore, the neat,
clean appearance they present, and their orderly and _sober_ behaviour
has been much commented on."

But this is a digression--let me bring to the wind again. At the time of
our arrival on board neither the captain nor the commander had joined.
The first lieutenant was, however, awaiting us on the quarter-deck, and
who, with the promptness of an old sailor, allowed no time to be
wasted, but proceeded at once with the work of stationing his crew.

At length every man knows his place on the watch-bill, and we hurry off
to the lower deck to look after our more private affairs.

It needs not that I enter into a long and dry description of the
peculiar construction of our ship, of the guns she carries, or how she
is fitted out. You yourselves are far more qualified to do that than I
am. After just a cursory glance at these particulars we see about
getting some "_panem_," especially as a most delectable odour from the
lower regions assails our nostrils, betraying that that indispensable
gentleman, the ship's cook, has lavished all his art on the production
of a sailor's dinner. "Man is mortal," so we yield to the temptation,
especially as we are awfully hungry--when is a sailor not so? Few meals
present so much food for wonderment to the landsman as does a sailor's
first dinner on board a newly-commissioned ship; all is hurry, bustle,
and apparently hopeless confusion. Bags and hammocks lie about just
where they ought not to lie; ditty boxes are piled anywhere, and
threatening instant downfall; whilst one has to wade knee-deep through a
whole sea of hats to reach a place at the tables.

A jostling, animated, good-natured throng is this multitude of seamen,
intent on satisfying nature's first demand; for dinner is the only meal,
properly so called, a sailor gets. Nor does it matter much, though the
shi