Suppose, in the first place, that the captain comes upon deck just before noon, and, on seeing something wrong—the main-yard not braced up enough, the lee foretop-gallant sheet not home, or the jib not quite hoisted up; and suppose that, as these are points upon which, whether whimsically or not, he is very particular, he express himself to the officer in terms rather too strong for the occasion. Without reflecting upon the injustice he is guilty of, the captain may perhaps, in this way, be punishing a zealous and hard-working man, for a mere trifle, almost as severely as if he had been found sleeping on his watch, or was guilty of some offence caused by wilful neglect. The officer, however, who can say nothing, bows and submits. In a few minutes, the sun comes to the meridian, and it is made twelve o’clock. The boatswain pipes to dinner, the deck is relieved, and the lieutenant of the forenoon watch goes down below, in a high state of irritation with his captain at what he conceives the undue severity of the reprimand. The first thing he does, on entering the ward-room door, is to fling his hat the whole length of the apartment; so that, unless it be adroitly caught by the marine officer, who is generally playing the flute on the lockers abaft, it would stand a chance of going out of the stern windows. The soldier, of course, thus called upon to look up, stops in the middle of the second bar of ‘God save the King,’ or ‘Robin Adair,’ at which he has been hammering, in company with the master of the band, for the last three months, and says, “Holla! man—what’s the matter?” “Matter!” cries the other. “I’ll be shot if it is not enough to make a man run stark staring mad!” “What is the matter, I ask you?” begs the marine, preparing to recommence the eternal tune. “Why, there have I been working, and slaving, and wearing my life and soul out, all the forenoon, to please that ill-tempered, snappish, ill-to-please knob of a skipper of ours; and what do I get? Why, he takes mighty good care to shut his eyes to all the good a fellow does, but catches hold eagerly enough of the smallest omission in his thousand-and-one whims (none of which are of any consequence!) in order to indulge himself in one of his reprimands. It’s quite clear,” adds the officer, warmed by this explosion of his own passion, “that the captain has a spite at me, and is determined to drive me out of the ship, to make way for some follower of his own.” “Stuff and nonsense!” exclaims the peace-making man of war; “the captain is the best friend you have.” “Friend!” roars the other; “I tell you what——” But just at this moment the captain’s steward enters the ward-room, and going up to the enraged officer of the forenoon watch, says mechanically to him— “The captain’s compliments, sir, and will be glad of your company to dinner.” To which the officer replies, quite as mechanically— “My compliments, and I’ll wait on him.”