When I went down to dinner, the scene was extremely good. Old Yerk, the first lieutenant, was in the chair--one of the boys was jammed at his side, with his claws fastened round the foot of the table, holding a tureen of boiling pease-soup, with lumps of pork swimming in it, which the aforesaid Yerk was baling forth with great assiduity to his messmates. Hydrostatics were much in vogue--the tendency of fluids to regain their equilibrium (confound them, they have often in the shape of claret destroyed mine) was beautifully illustrated, as the contents of each carefully balanced soup-plate kept swaying about on the principle of the spirit level. The Doctor was croupier, and as it was a return to dinner to the captain, all hands were regularly figged out, the lieutenants, with their epaulets and best coats, and the master, purser, and doctor, all fittingly attired. When I first entered, as I made my obeisance to the captain, I thought I saw an empty seat next him, but the matter of the soup was rather an engrossing concern, and took up my attention, so that I paid no particular regard to the circumstance; however, when we had all discussed the same, and were drinking our first glass of Tenerife, I raised my eyes to hob and nob with the master, when ye gods and little fishes--who should they light on, but the merry phiz merry, also! no more--of Aaron Bang, Esquire, who, during the soup interlude, had slid into the vacant chair unperceived by me. “Why, Mr Bang, where, in the name of all that is comical, where have you dropped from?” Alas! poor Aaron--Aaron in a rolling sea was of no kindred to Aaron ashore. His rosy gills were no longer rosy, his round plump face seemed to be covered with parchment from an old bass drum, cut out from the centre where most bronzed by the drumstruck--there was no speculation in his eyes that he did glare withal--and his lips, which were usually firm and open, disclosing his nice teeth, in frequent grin, were held together, as if he had been in grievous pain. At length he did venture to open them--and, like the ghost of Hamlet’s father, “it lifted up its head and did address itself to motion, as it would speak.” But they began to quiver, and he once more screwed them together, as if he feared the very exertion of uttering a word or two might unsettle his moniplies.