As is frequently the case in histories strides have to be taken, and bridges have to be made over the river of time, so that we may walk over in ease and comfort from one age to another.

At the time of which we now wish to speak, the Starboard watch was in charge of the old Ship of State. The captain of this watch was one William Dogvane, a celebrated sailor, and as shifty a salt—so it was said—as ever trod a plank. His first lieutenant was one Harty, as fine a sailor as ever chewed a quid, or drank a tot of grog. A good hand all round and a thorough gentleman. Then there were the other officers and petty officers, of whom it is not necessary to make particular mention. Strange as it may appear, some of the foremost hands will play a conspicuous part in this history. To begin with, there was Pepper, the cook of the Starboard watch, a great admirer, and supporter, of Captain Dogvane's. Then there was Billy Cheeks, the burly butcher, Joseph Chips the carpenter, and Charlie Chisel his mate, all of the same watch. Pepper was a merry clever little fellow, full of quips, jeers, and jokes, but like most cooks he was a bit uncertain in his temper. Put him out, and stand clear, or you would have a bucket of water over you, either hot or cold, dirty or clean, just whichever happened to be nearest, before you knew where you were, and from his language, a stranger might infer that he had taken high honours at the university of Billingsgate. He was a great admirer of the Ojabberaways.

The cook had a keen eye for the failings of others, but he was a merry fellow with all, and excellent company, and though no one really believed in him, all were ready enough to laugh, either with him, or at him. It is true that such people do not, as a rule, figure in history, but such things have been known. A dancer was once made prefect of Rome. Besides your cook is no ordinary individual, for indirectly he rules the universe. He is the foundation of peace and happiness, and the cause often of strife, sorrow, and great suffering. A bloody war even may be indirectly the consequence of the indiscretion, carelessness, or want of skill on the part of some cook who has to prepare the food for some kingly stomach. A little too much of one thing, or a little skimpiness in another, brings on a fit of indigestion, accompanied by mental irritation, and general loss of temper. Ministers are abused, and have to bow their heads before the fury of the royal anger. The bearing of some rival potentate assumes an altogether offensive aspect. Heads are cut off; the prison opens its gates, and many poor subjects are thrust in to contemplate in silence the fickleness of fortune, or their own sins. Wars are declared. Battalions are ranged against battalions, and human blood flows like water, and all this commotion springs, may be, from the kitchen, where the cook sits calmly; bakes, stews, and fries as if nothing had happened.

Most assuredly the cook holds a most responsible position in the world, and it is not too much to say that the safety, honour, welfare, and integrity, yes, and even the happiness and intelligence of a people, depend in a great measure upon the head of the kitchen. The cook should, therefore, take his place amongst the high ministers of every state, for it is in his power to do far more good, and to give far greater pleasure to the many, than your prating philanthropist, who with meddling and muddling manners, large heart, but, generally speaking, small head, tries his best to make paupers of a people, and do harm generally. Your cook is the prime minister to the greatest potentate in the whole world, namely, king stomach, and therefore your cook, if he be a wise, skilful, and virtuous cook, should hold a high place in every community. My lord bishop do you cavil at my statement about his majesty, king stomach? Does he not dwell in the monastery? Does he not sit even at the priest's table, and say to the company, eat, drink, and be merry? Does the priest more than the layman turn his back upon the succulent oyster, the truffled turkey, the barded quail, the plover's egg, which may have cost a shilling, though the honest tradesman only perhaps gave a penny for the rook's egg, which he substitutes for it? Is the voice of our mighty potentate never heard in the bishop's palace? The priest is but a man. True, but too often he looks upon himself as the Lord's anointed who is to be approached with respect, and listened to with reverence, when from his throne, the pulpit, he preaches a self denial to others, that he does not find it convenient to practice himself.

As the Port watch were not on deck at the time of which we are speaking, it is not necessary to say much about the men that composed it, further than to mention that Bob Mainstay was the captain, and a most experienced seaman, quite equal, many thought, to old Bill Dogvane, and very much more certain, though he had not Bill's command of language. Indeed, few had, for Bill could spin a yarn many fathoms long. The first lieutenant of the Port watch was Ben Backstay, a safe steady going seaman, universally respected, and both he and his captain had had no finishing touches put on by the university of Billingsgate, and in consequence they were courteous gentlemen. The captain was perhaps a little imperious and keen of speech. Then, of course, there were all the other officers and able seamen, and there was a merry, clever little fellow, who though only a middy, must not be lost sight of: for he was destined to rise step by step, and even jumps to a high position in the old Ship of State. And he will play no mean part in our present history. Random Jack as he was called, delighted annoying old Dogvane, in fact, he buzzed about the whole of the Starboard watch like a mosquito, and was the merriest, and most cheery little devil that ever put on a sailor's jacket. People at first laughed and jeered at the middy, but he cared not. Only those laugh in the end who win, and he was contented to bide his time, and through fair weather and foul, in ups and downs, he never lost confidence in himself, and herein lies the mainspring of greatness and very much of the world's success.

It has been shown that the old fighting instinct of the Buccaneer was present amongst all his children, and that it was not absent even on board of the Church Hulk. No wonder then that it showed itself to a marked degree amongst his ship's crew, which, however, had not as yet advanced so far as to run an opponent through with three feet of cold steel or plug him with an ounce of lead, like some of his neighbours; nor was his ship's deck strewn about with spittoons, like, it was said, Jonathan's at one time was. In a matter of expectoration Jonathan was great. A spittoon, if properly aimed at the head of an antagonist, political or otherwise, might bring a debate to a speedy, and perhaps a satisfactory conclusion.

Though Captain William Dogvane swore he was essentially a man of peace, his life proved him to be a man of war, and he displayed a marvellous aptitude for getting into rows and then swearing that they were none of his making. Then if he found that he was getting the worst of a fight he would at once give in; own himself in the wrong, and apologize all round, and sometimes tread on peoples' toes in doing so, and consequently getting more abuse than thanks for his disinterestedness. Dogvane said it was a noble and magnanimous thing to own oneself in the wrong, and so save bloodshed; but his enemies said it was generally due solely to cowardice, and they had some reason for saying this, as far as Dogvane was concerned, for he never owned himself wrong until he had been two or three times beaten in the open, and then the enormity of the action—not the beating—became apparent to him. This shifty old salt would at once ware ship, and put all the blame for everything upon the other watch, the members of which, if they only did a half of what old Dogvane accredited them with, deserved to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. This skilled old sailor could sail on any tack and before any wind. In his lifetime he had been many things and had served in both watches; but there was nothing out of the way in this, as it was no unusual thing for a man to commence in the Starboard watch and finish up in the Port, and the reverse. Then old Dogvane could do almost anything. There was nothing too great for him to tackle. He could talk for hours upon the Mosaic Cosmogony. Science would try to knock him over with facts; but Dogvane would, to his own entire satisfaction, prove that science was altogether wrong. He would discuss religion, philosophy, ethics, in fact, anything, with any past master in the craft, and he had the quality, said to be peculiar to the race from which he sprang, of never knowing when he was beaten.

The Ojabberaways who served on board the old Ship of State were for the most part in the Starboard watch, and if by any chance they changed over to the other side to serve their purpose, the alliance was never of long duration nor was it altogether of an honourable kind.