"Jellaby is my name, sir," said the lieutenant, filling up the hiatus in his speech and bowing politely. "Joe Jellaby, at your service. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr --?" "Smythe, sir, is my name," replied the other. "I am the ah--chaplain." "So I see, sir," said Joe, drily, glancing at his canonicals. "Glad to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Mr Smith." "`Smythe,' that is `Smith' with a final `e,' if you please," corrected the reverend gentleman in a plaintive tone. "My name is not `Smith,' Mr Jellyboy." "Nor is mine Jellyboy, Mr Smythe," retorted "Joe," laughing outright at the comical situation. "We've both made a mistake, Mr Smythe; and I apologise for mine. But, is there anything I can do for you, sir?" "Well," hesitated the other, "I want, you know, to hold a service, you know--ah, and--" "You'll have to ask the captain after divisions, sir," put in "Joe" anxious to close the interview, for the drums had begun to beat the Retreat for the men to return their arms. "Excuse me, though, please, Mr Smythe, I've got to go on deck now." With that he vanished up the hatchway after Mr Gilham; and, thereupon the unhappy Mr Smythe found himself, with his "final e," in the midst of a seething mass of men racing along the deck to put their rifles and cutlasses back in the racks, being finally compelled to beat a retreat himself to the wardroom, while the boatswain and his mates were piping and shouting all over the ship for the hands to clean themselves and dress for "Divisions." A quarter-of-an-hour later, both watches were mustered, all decently dressed, like "Sally in our Alley," in their Sunday best, according to their respective stations; the first and second divisions on the upper deck and forecastle, under the first lieutenant and Mr Jellaby; the third and fourth divisions on the main deck, with Mr Gilham and Mr Bitpin at the head of the men; and the fifth and sixth on the lower deck, in charge of "Gunnery Jack," in lieu of one of the regular lieutenants, and the second mate, the fat Plumper, bursting out of his buttons as usual, who was at the head of the after-guard, among whom I recognised the ex-gravedigger, "Downy." This worthy, I noticed, looked quite smart and seaman-like in the dungaree suit he had purchased from Mrs Poll Nash, the bumboat woman, which his messmates had taught him to rig up in proper man-o'-war fashion, the good-hearted chaps also supplying whatever other necessaries were required for his wardrobe, such as the black silk handkerchief, tied in a loose knot round his neck, and the knife and lanyard without which no bluejacket's toilet is complete.