The life of a boy on board a ship isn't one to be envied, I can tell you; he is at every one's beck and call, and gets more kicks than halfpence.

Besides, what comes of it?
You get to be a sailor, and, as far as I can see, the life of a sailor is the life of a dog.

Look at the place where he sleeps--why, it ain't as good as a decent kennel.

Look at his food--salt meat as hard as a stone, and rotten biscuit that a decent dog would turn up his nose at; his time is never his own--wet or dry, storm or calm, he's got to work when he's told.

And what's he got to look forward to?
A spree on shore when his voyage is done, and then to work again.