At night, when the cooking-fire was lighted on the deck, and the driving sparks that flew among the rigging, and the clouds of sails, seemed to menace the ship with certain annihilation by fire, in case the elements of air and water failed to compass her destruction; there, again, was Mr Tapley, with his coat off and his shirt-sleeves turned up to his elbows, doing all kinds of culinary offices; compounding the strangest dishes; recognized by every one as an established authority; and helping all parties to achieve something which, left to themselves, they never could have done, and never would have dreamed of.

In short, there never was a more popular character than Mark Tapley became, on board that noble and fast-sailing line-of-packet ship, the Screw; and he attained at last to such a pitch of universal admiration, that he began to have grave doubts within himself whether a man might reasonably claim any credit for being jolly under such exciting circumstances.
'If this was going to last,' said Tapley, 'there'd be no great difference as I can perceive, between the Screw and the Dragon.

I never am to get credit, I think.

I begin to be afraid that the Fates is determined to make the world easy to me.' 'Well, Mark,' said Martin, near whose berth he had ruminated to this effect.

'When will this be over ?' 'Another week, they say, sir,' returned Mark, 'will most likely bring us into port.