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 happens to be, all
the nice juicy pieces are invariably picked out for the cabin table.
Anything will do for poor Jack. His biscuits, too, are sometimes quite
alive with weevils, especially on a long voyage in hot latitudes.

After dinner, all hands are on deck, and kept there till dark. In very
large merchantmen, and all warships, this rule is departed from, and
the watch is not so torturing--so true is it that the servants in
small establishments, whether on sea or land, are always the worst
treated. However, we suppose that the hands are on deck. The breeze