man, your hand a little higher on the barrel of your musket. As
you were; support--the word support is only a caution--arms,--too--too."

"Two and two make four," observed one of the seamen.

Lieutenant Winterbottom had another party on the lee-side of the
quarter-deck. "Ram down--cartridge.--Number 12, slope your musket a
little more--_too--too_--only two taps at the bottom of the barrel.
Return--ramrods. Number 4, why don't you draw up the heel of your right
leg level with the other? Recollect now, when you shoulder arms, to
throw your muskets up smartly.--Shoulder--as you were--the word shoulder
is only a caution; shoulder--arms. Dress up a little Number 8, and
don't stick your stomach out in that way."

Mr Ansell and Mr Petres had two fatigue parties on the poop, without
muskets. "To the right--face--to the right face. To the right--face--
to the right--face."

"It's a dead calm with them soldiers--head round the compass," said one
of the seamen to another.

"To the left--face--quick march, to the left--turn--to the right--turn--
close files--mark time--right--left--right--left--forward."

"Them ere chaps legs all going together put one in mind of a centipee--
don't they, Tom?"

"Yes, but they don't get on quite so fast. Holloh, what pipe's
that?--`All hands, air bedding.'"

The ship was hauled close to the wind, which was light. At the pipe,
the sailors below ran up the hatchway, and those on deck threw down
their work. In a minute every hammock was out of the netting, and every
seaman busy at unlashing.

"Now, major, we had better go into the cabin," said Captain Oughton,
laughing. "I shall, I can assure you."

Beds and blankets which are not aired or shook more than once a month,
are apt to be very full of what is termed _fluff_ and blanket _hairs_,
and they have a close smell, by no means agreeable. The sailors, who
had an idea that the order had been given inconsiderately, were quite
delighted, and commenced shaking their blankets on the forecastle and
weather gangway, raising a cloud, which the wind carried aft upon the
parties exercising upon the quarterdeck.

"What the devil is all this?" cried Captain Majoribanks, looking forward
with dismay. "Order--arms."

Lieutenant Winterbottom and half of his party were now seized with a fit
of coughing. "Confound it!--shut--pans--handle--upon my soul I'm
choked."

"This is most excessively disagreeable," observed Mr Petres; "I made up
my