On descending a ladder to the lower deck, I looked about for the mess, or midshipmen's berth, as it was then called.

In one corner of this deck was a dirty little hole about ten feet long and six feet wide, five feet high.

It was lighted by two or three dips, otherwise tallow candles, of the commonest description--behold the mess! In this were seated six or seven officers and gentlemen, some twenty-five to thirty years of age, called mates, meaning what are now called sub-lieutenants.

They were drinking rum and water and eating mouldy biscuits; all were in their shirtsleeves, and really, considering the circumstances, seemed to be enjoying themselves exceedingly.
On my appearance it was evident that I was looked upon as an interloper, for whom, small as I was, room must be found.

I was received with a chorus of exclamations, such as, 'What the deuce does the little fellow want here ?' 'Surely there are enough of us crammed into this beastly little hole!' 'Oh, I suppose he is some protege of the captain's,' &c.
&c.
At last one, more kindly disposed than the rest, addressed me: 'Sorry there is no more room in here, youngster;' and calling a dirty-looking fellow, also in his shirtsleeves, said, 'Steward, give this young gentleman some tea and bread and butter, and get him a hammock to sleep in.' So I had to be contented to sit on a chest outside the midshipmen's berth, eat my tea and bread and butter, and turn into a hammock for the first time in my life, which means 'turned out'-- the usual procedure being to tumble out several times before getting accustomed to this, to me, novel bedstead.