‘I had a yarn along with Bob this morning,’ said one of them. ‘Them gallus sentries are made up of eyes. Fust time I’ve been able to speak to him.’ ‘What’s he lagged for?’ said the other man. ‘Buzzlement. I knew it ’ud happen. He grew too confident and was ate up with pride. He might be helping himself now, theayters and dancin’ kens as often as you like, lush to swim in and quids for his piece. But the gallus fool must grow greedy; he takes too big a handful, and now he’s outward-bound. But twelve bob a week and find himself! A covey with Bob’s tastes, too, mind ye, and one of your gallus high-flyers to rig out. But he says he ain’t sorry it’s over. He never felt comfortable. His piece was always a-scolding and threatening to split if the swag warn’t forthcoming; and, blow me, she stumped him, after all, for split she did, but not afore she’d got another cully, in tow, unbeknown to Bob, you take your oath.’ ‘I heard Micky Volkins,’ said the other, ‘a-telling Bill Flanders that he squeezed in a yarn with his old chum when they was washing down. They scrubbed side by side. Micky says the old chum’s glad to be going abroad. The shore-work took it out of him, but the hulk gave satisfaction. The feeding was beef, soup, mutton, spuds, bread, porridge, and treacle. I recollect the boiling. If a man’s sick, they put him on sheep’s head, eggs, soft puddens, tea and butter, along with brandy and wine, which they sarve out by the hounce. Is that sailors’ fare? Strike my eyes if it ain’t good enough to go into irons for!’ ‘There’s only one sailor-man among ’em, Bob was a-saying,’ said the first sailor. ‘Who’s he?’ ‘Didn’t hear his name. Lagged for scuttling a vessel. Gallus good job if the old man tried it on with this ship. Everything’s blooming wrong. All the work comes upon a few. What’s good goes below; what’s stinking’s sent for’ard. Well, I never shipped expecting to see Bob, and I’m game to swap places, if they’ll consent. Look what’s done for ’em! Prayer-meetin’s, eddication up to the knocker, a doctor to physic ’em! If a man growls, he’s spoke to as a man. One of the convicts complained to the doctor of the cooking. The gent sniffed and tasted, said the man was right and winged the gallus cook. Let e’er a one of us lay aft, and what’s a-goin to happen?’ The conversation was at this point interrupted by the second sailor beginning to sneeze. He sneezed at least twenty times with a great roaring noise. Mr. Balls came to the edge of the forecastle and cried down: ‘Withered if there ain’t a grampus jumped aboard!’ The fit of sneezing passed, and the fellow lighted his pipe afresh, and the men resumed their conversation. ‘It’s gallus queer,’ said the first speaker, ‘that there should be only one sailor among ’em.’ ‘One navigator, perhaps,’ said the other.