‘No, no,’ said I, ‘but if you will be kind enough to open my chest, you will find a cake of gingerbread in it—I will thank you to hand it to me.’ While he was searching for the gingerbread, he cast his eyes on a large case bottle, filled with whisky, which Mr C. had given me when I parted with him. He immediately gave up his search for the gingerbread, and hauling out the bottle and holding it up, he cried, ‘D——n my eyes, messmates, if I ha’n’t found a prize.’ ‘Here with it,’ cried a dozen voices at once, and in spite of my remonstrances, they deliberately handed it round until there was not above a glass left. ‘Oh shame,’ said one of them, ‘give the boy a drop of his own grog;’ but I could not look at it—the smell was sickening. ‘No, no,’ said I, ‘send that after the rest.’ ‘Right,’ said one of them, ‘boys have no use for grog.’ ‘Will you give me the gingerbread now?’ said I. ‘Oh, by the by, I had forgot that, here it is for you, my hearty.’ The most of them went on deck, and left William and I to reflect on the justice of their appropriation of my property. However, the liquor was a thing I cared little about, and it gave me the less uneasiness. We were now allowed to lie quietly enough until night, when those whose watch was below came down to go to bed—one of them came to the berth, where William and I were lying, and seizing him by the neck, cried out, ‘Hollo, who the devil’s this in my berth?’ ‘It is two of the Johnnie-raws that are sick,’ replied one of them. ‘Johnnie-raw or Johnnie-roasted, they must get out of that, for I want to turn in.’ Out we were bundled, and during the whole course of that night we were knocked about from one place to another, by each succeeding watch.