. . . . . . . . . .
‘Make it eight bells! Go below, the starboard watch!’
The same eight men sat on their respective sea-chests.
Between them stood their allowance of beef and biscuit. But it was untouched. Yet the meal had been in progress an hour.
Alongside of him every man had one or more tins of some kind of preserved provisions, out of which he was keeping his plate supplied to an accompaniment of plain and fancy biscuits.
‘Try a little o’ this ’ere fresh herrin’, Jim,’ said one to his neighbour very politely; ‘I kin recommend it as tasty.’
‘Thank ye, Billy (looking at the label, and passing his own tin), and ’ere’s some sheep’s tongues with tomaty sauce, which p’raps ’ll remind you on the Bush of Australier.’
[34]
]‘Ah, if we’d only a drop o’ good stuff now, to wash these ’ere tiddlewinks down with,’ exclaimed Nestor, ‘I’d feel happy as a king—an’ as full!’
‘All in good time, dad,’ remarked Billy; ‘this ’ere’s only what the swells’d call a hinstalment—a triflin’ hinstalment o’ what the Sardinapples owes us for a whole month’s out-an’-out starvin’. Just wait awhile till we gets to the bottled ale an’ porter, which’ll likely be in the lower tiers, an’ then we’ll begin to live like gentlemen-shellbacks oughter.’
‘I votes as how we should let on to the port watch,’ presently said a man, as he finished off his repast with a handful of muscatels and blanched almonds.