“Indeed!” exclaims the youth. “I never knew any thing of it. I never was called.” “Oh yes, you were, sir. The man I relieved said you asked him what sort of weather it was, and whether we should have to take in a reef.” “I ask about the weather? That’s only one of the lies he always tells, to get me into a scrape.” While they are speaking, the bell strikes one, indicating that half an hour has elapsed since the first conversation took place, touching the weather; and presently, before Mr. Doughead has got his second foot over the side of his hammock, the mid who is to be relieved by him comes rattling down the cock-pit ladder, as wet as a shag, cold, angry, and more than half asleep. “I say, Master Doughy, do you mean to relieve the deck to-night? Here it’s almost two bells, and you have hardly shewn a leg yet. I’ll be hanged if it is not too bad! You are the worst relief in the whole ship. I am obliged to keep all my own watch, and generally half of yours. I’ll not stand it any more; but go to the first lieutenant to-morrow morning, and see whether he cannot find ways and means of making you move a little faster. It’s a disgrace to the service!” To all this Duffy has only one pettish, dogged reply— “I tell you again, I was not called.” The appeal to the first lieutenant, however, is seldom made; for all the parties concerned are pretty much alike. But the midshipmen are not slow at times to take the law of these cases into their own hands, and to execute summary justice, according to their own fashion, on any particularly incorrigibly ‘bad relief,’ as these tardy gentlemen are aptly termed.