Even the Commodore has only one suit which can at all distinguish him, not to say from the officers, but from the men.

The filth and confusion of their meals was terrible.

A chorus of boys usher in the dinner with the Marseilles hymn, and it finishes in the same way.

The enthusiasm of all ranks among them is astonishing, but not more so than their blindness.

They talk with ecstasy of their revolutionary government, of their bloody executions, of their revolutionary tribunal, of the rapid movement of their revolutionary army with the Corps of justice and the flying guillotine before it; forgetting that not one of them is not liable to its stroke on the accusation of the greatest vagabond on board.