First, then, the mate of a sailing ship must keep his charge in order aloft; next, he must see that every working hour of every day is fully occupied. There is no more certain proof of something being wrong with the mate than the sight of men standing about waiting for a job. The men are quickest at noticing this. Not that they love to be kept at work, but it is so generally accepted as an axiom that there is always work to be done on board ship, that they pounce upon any unusual lapse of the kind on the part of a mate as proof that they have a duffer to deal with. He must see that she is kept clean, for cleanliness at sea is indispensable, as are order and regularity. Even here it will sometimes be found that, although the men are kept pottering around continually, the ship never looks smart, owing to a lack of method on the mate's part. I have been in a ship twenty years old that looked as if she were on her first voyage; not a rope-yarn out of place, not a streak of rust on the bulwarks, no unsightly stains on masts and yards, or dirty corners. And I have sailed in another on her second voyage that looked as if she had been lying up in dock with only a doddering old ship-keeper in charge of her for months, weather-worn, dilapidated, and miserable. Everybody on board discontented, because such a ship _works_ hard. Whenever a ship is carefully looked after, you may be sure that the ropes run cheerily through the blocks with a merry rattle, and the great sails go up or the massy yards swing to and fro easily. But in a neglected ship those blocks will be found with their pins rusted in their sheaves (the wooden wheels upon which the ropes travel), moving reluctantly, so that it is often the work of one man to pull a loose rope through them. And that means a great deal of hard swearing upon the part of the men, who are thus laden far beyond what there is any necessity for.