Washes myself deal more than some o' my mates as calls me dirty.

Strange and curious how a name o' that kind sticks." "Oh, I say, don't talk so," said the lad by the rough sailor's side; and after another yawn he began to stride up and down the deck of His Majesty's cutter _White Hawk_, lying about a mile from the Freestone coast of Wessex.
It was soon after daybreak, the sea was perfectly calm and a thick grey mist hung around, making the deck and cordage wet and the air chilly, while the coast, with its vast walls of perpendicular rocks, looked weird and distant where a peep could be obtained amongst the wreaths of vapour.
"Don't know when I felt so hungry," muttered the lad, as he thrust his hands into his breeches pockets, and stopped near the sailor, who smiled in the lad's frank-looking, handsome face.
"Ah, you always were a one to yeat, sir, ever since you first came aboard." "You're a noodle, Dick.

Who wouldn't be hungry, fetched out of his cot at this time of the morning to take the watch.

Hang the watch! Bother the watch! Go and get me a biscuit, Dick, there's a good fellow." The sailor showed his white teeth, and took out a brass box.
"Can't get no biscuit yet, sir.

Have a bit o' this.