The men trudged forward. I could not but notice how eloquent of grumbling their postures were as they walked. Experience has long since assured me that no man can so perfectly make every limb and lineament of him look his grievance as the sailor. They presently returned, bearing a dish: Captain Burke stooped to it and sniffed. 'You are right,' he exclaimed. 'Overboard with it, my lads. This should never have been served out to you. 'Tis the cook's fault to boil such offal. Mr. Green, see that the starboard watch have some canned mutton for their dinner at once.' The men emptied the contents of the kid over the side, looking very well pleased, and then went forward. 'They have no champions, my wife says,' exclaimed Captain Burke to me with a smile. 'Poor fellows! But I'll tell you what, Miss Otway: you'll never find Jack's rights wrong for the want of Jack taking the trouble to keep them right.' CHAPTER V THE HIDDEN LIFE OF THE SHIP I devoted the afternoon of the first day of my recovery from sickness to a journal which I meant should serve as a letter both for my father and Mr. Moore, to be transmitted home in sheets as the opportunity occurred. My old nurse told me that her husband had written to my father whilst in the Channel, and had sent the letter ashore at Plymouth by a smack; so they would have news of me at home down to two days before. I was so much interested in the little incident of the tainted meat I have told you of, that I asked Captain Burke this day to let me taste a specimen of the beef sailors were fed on. He laughed and said: 'Miss, your teeth are too little and white for such beef as that.' 'I'll try a cut, too, with your leave, captain,' said Mr. Owen. The captain grinned at his wife, but complied nevertheless, and when we sat down to supper, the steward placed a cube of forecastle beef before us. There were plenty of good things on the table: my father had half filled the lazarette, or after-hold, with delicacies, and we carried an abundance of live stock: everything in that way, perhaps, but a cow, for which no room could be made; but the steam of the sailors' beef filled the atmosphere; the smells of all the other dishes yielded to it. And yet it was good meat of its sort. Mrs. Burke wrinkled her nose, and said, 'Miss Marie, please do not touch it.' 'Captain Burke, I will taste a piece,' said I. 'And I will thank you for a slice, captain,' said Mr. Owen. The captain made a great business of sharpening a carving knife, all the while glancing from me to his wife with a laughing eye. The stuff yielded to the sharp blade in a curled shaving: it was like cutting a block of wood, that part I mean where the heart is. 'Don't put it to your lips, my dear,' cried Mrs. Burke.