Once, on a particularly bad-weathery bow watch on a well-outfitted full-rigged movie prop, a hand of the third watch, about fifteen years of age, grumbled to me in a cranky clench-jawed growl from under a miserably soggy rain bonnet:
* Yes, I did correct her. "You mean you want to go 'below' to your 'bunk.'" And she did just that, shouting "Aye-aye, sir!" on her way. And I bet that she stopped in the kitchen before going to the bathroom, too.