It may be said, without fear of contradiction, that in time of peace the only vessels which are engaged in services involving any real hardship or danger are those employed upon the various surveys; and yet the men of easy routine—­harbour heroes—­the officers of regular men-of-war, as they delight to be called, pretend to think surveying a kind of shirking—­in sea-phrase, “sloping.”  It is to be regretted that the officers of the surveying vessels themselves are too often imbued with the same spirit; and though, for shame’s sake, they can but stand up for hydrography, they are too apt to think an alliance with other branches of science as beneath the dignity of their divinity—­the “Service.”

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Any adventures ashore were mere oases, separated by whole deserts of the most wearisome ennui.  For weeks, perhaps, those who were not fortunate enough to be living hard and getting fatigued every day in the boats were yawning away their existence in an atmosphere only comparable to that of an orchid-house, a life in view of which that of Mariana in the moated grange has its attractions.

For instance, consider this extract from the journal of one of the officers, date August 1849:—­

“Rain! rain! encore et toujours—­I wonder if it is possible for the mind of man to conceive anything more degradingly offensive than the condition of us 150 men, shut up in this wooden box, and being watered with hot water, as we are now.  It is no exaggeration to say hot, for the temperature is that at which people at home commonly take a hot bath.  It rains so hard that we have caught seven tons of water in one day, and it is therefore impossible to go on deck, though, if one did, one’s condition would not be much improved.  A hot Scotch mist covers the sea and hides the land, so that no surveying can be done; moving about in the slightest degree causes a flood of perspiration to pour out; all energy is completely gone, and if I could help it I would not think even; it’s too hot.  The rain awnings are spread, and we can have no wind sails up; if we could, there is not a breath of wind to fill them; and consequently the lower and main decks are utterly unventilated:  a sort of solution of man in steam fills them from end to end, and surrounds the lights with a lurid halo.  It’s too hot to sleep, and my sole amusement consists in watching the cockroaches, which are in a state of intense excitement and happiness.  They manifest these feelings in a very remarkable manner—­a sudden unanimous impulse seems to seize the obscene thousands which usually lurk hidden in the corners of my cabin.  Out they rush, helter-skelter, and run over me, my table, and my desk; others, more vigorous, fly, quite regardless of consequences, until they hit against something, upon which, half spreading their wings, they make their heads a pivot and spin round in a circle, in a manner which indicates a temporary aberration of the cockroach mind.  It is these outbreaks alone which rouse us from our lassitude.  Knocks are heard resounding on all sides, and each inhabitant of a cabin, armed with a slipper, is seen taking ample revenge upon the disturbers of his rest and the destroyers of his body and clothes.”