ning to
get over-brown."

Upon this welcome summons, if you are not sea-sick, which Heaven forbid!
or insensible to the goods here by the gods provided for you, you will
bounce or creep out of your crib, according as the waves and your
agility may determine; and popping your head out of window, loudly bawl
"Thomas!" or plain "Tom!" or "Steward!" according to the terms of
friendship and familiarity on which you may stand with this dignitary,
who, by the way, has a vote on board worth canvassing for;--I say bawl
out, because, firstly, your mincing and Clarendon-like lisp of "Waiter!"
would not be heard by one used to listen to the rush of the tempest and
the shriek of the scourged Atlantic; also, for that your stirring call
may remind some wretched skulker of a circumstance which he is miserably
dozing out of remembrance, viz. that breakfast is under weigh. "Yes,
sir!" is the prompt response from the larboard corner of the cabin,
where the steward and his gang are installed with all their appointment
of glass and crockery ranged neatly within reach. Your next call will
be, "Bring me a bottle of Saratoga water"--a chalybeate, cool and brisk
on the palate as soda water, a commendable morning draught, and such a
trumpet to appetite!--well, having swallowed of this, your pint or so,
dress, mount the deck, and inquire "how she heads," and what she has
done during the long hours of night whilst you lay sleeping like a
sea-bird in your wave-borne nest.

You next take a look over the weather quarter, sweep the horizon
knowingly with your best eye, and after, walk forward towards the galley
or kitchen, pricking your ears at certain sputtering and hissing sounds,
the which, backed up by sundry savoury sniffs caught under the tack of
the main-sail, give you foretaste of broiled ham, spitch-cock, eggs,
frizzled bacon, and mutton cutlets.

One by one your messmates tumble up the companion, or cabin-stair; some
hungry and blooming as sound stomachs and clear consciences can make
them, others showing a _leetle_ blue and bilious-like; but each and all
resolute to essay the onslaught, which the train of polished covers,
making rapid transit from the caboose down the steward's hatchway,
proclaim about to begin.

Tinkle, tinkle, ting! again sounds the steward's bell; and, without any
pauses of ceremony, down dive the _convives_, turning _en que_ the foot
of the stair, some to windward, others to leeward, but all facing right
aft--a dou