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_ I MIGHT as well give some idea of the place in which the doctor and I
lived together so sociably.
Most persons know that a ship's forecastle embraces the forward part
of the deck about the bowsprit: the same term, however, is generally
bestowed upon the sailors' sleeping-quarters, which occupy a space
immediately beneath, and are partitioned off by a bulkhead.
Planted right in the bows, or, as sailors say, in the very eyes of the
ship, this delightful apartment is of a triangular shape, and is
generally fitted with two tiers of rude bunks. Those of the Julia
were in a most deplorable condition, mere wrecks, some having been
torn down altogether to patch up others; and on one side there were
but two standing. But with most of the men it made little difference
whether they had a bunk or not, since, having no bedding, they had
nothing to put in it but themselves.
Upon the boards of my own crib I spread all the old canvas and old
clothes I could pick up. For a pillow, I wrapped an old jacket round
a log. This helped a little the wear and tear of one's bones when the
ship rolled.
Rude hammocks made out of old sails were in many cases used as
substitutes for the demolished bunks; but the space they swung in was
so confined that they were far from being agreeable.
The general aspect of the forecastle was dungeon-like and dingy in the
extreme. In the first place, it was not five feet from deck to deck
and even this space was encroached upon by two outlandish
cross-timbers bracing the vessel, and by the sailors' chests, over
which you must needs crawl in getting about. At meal-times, and
especially when we indulged in after-dinner chat, we sat about the
chests like a parcel of tailors.
In the middle of all were two square, wooden columns, denominated in
marine architecture "Bowsprit Bitts." They were about a foot apart,
and between them, by a rusty chain, swung the forecastle lamp,
burning day and night, and forever casting two long black shadows.
Lower down, between the bitts, was a locker, or sailors' pantry, kept
in abominable disorder, and sometimes requiring a vigorous cleaning
and fumigation.
All over, the ship was in a most dilapidated condition; but in the
forecastle it looked like the hollow of an old tree going to decay.
In every direction the wood was damp and discoloured, and here and
there soft and porous. Moreover, it was hacked and hewed without
mercy, the cook frequently helping himself to splinters for
kindling-wood from the bitts and beams. Overhead, every carline was
sooty, and here and there deep holes were burned in them, a freak of
some drunken sailors on a voyage long previous.
From above, you entered by a plank, with two elects, slanting down
from the scuttle, which was a mere hole in the deck. There being no
slide to draw over in case of emergency, the tarpaulin temporarily
placed there was little protection from the spray heaved over the
bows; so that in anything of a breeze the place was miserably wet.
In a squall, the water fairly poured down in sheets like a cascade,
swashing about, and afterward spirting up between the chests like the
jets of a fountain.
Such were our accommodations aboard of the Julia; but bad as they
were, we had not the undisputed possession of them. Myriads of
cockroaches, and regiments of rats disputed the place with us. A
greater calamity than this can scarcely befall a vessel in the South
Seas.
So warm is the climate that it is almost impossible to get rid of
them. You may seal up every hatchway, and fumigate the hull till the
smoke forces itself out at the seams, and enough will survive to
repeople the ship in an incredibly short period. In some vessels, the
crews of which after a hard fight have given themselves up, as it
were, for lost, the vermin seem to take actual possession, the
sailors being mere tenants by sufferance. With Sperm Whalemen,
hanging about the Line, as many of them do for a couple of years on a
stretch, it is infinitely worse than with other vessels.
As for the Julia, these creatures never had such free and easy times
as they did in her crazy old hull; every chink and cranny swarmed
with them; they did not live among you, but you among them. So true
was this, that the business of eating and drinking was better done in
the dark than in the light of day.
Concerning the cockroaches, there was an extraordinary phenomenon, for
which none of us could ever account.
Every night they had a jubilee. The first symptom was an unusual
clustering and humming among the swarms lining the beams overhead,
and the inside of the sleeping-places. This was succeeded by a
prodigious coming and going on the part of those living out of sight
Presently they all came forth; the larger sort racing over the chests
and planks; winged monsters darting to and fro in the air; and the
small fry buzzing in heaps almost in a state of fusion.
On the first alarm, all who were able darted on deck; while some of
the sick who were too feeble, lay perfectly quiet--the distracted
vermin running over them at pleasure. The performance lasted some
ten minutes, during which no hive ever hummed louder. Often it was
lamented by us that the time of the visitation could never be
predicted; it was liable to come upon us at any hour of the night, and
what a relief it was, when it happened to fall in the early part of
the evening.
Nor must I forget the rats: they did not forget me. Tame as Trenck's
mouse, they stood in their holes peering at you like old grandfathers
in a doorway. Often they darted in upon us at meal-times, and nibbled
our food. The first time they approached Wymontoo, he was actually
frightened; but becoming accustomed to it, he soon got along with
them much better than the rest. With curious dexterity he seized the
animals by their legs, and flung them up the scuttle to find a watery
grave.
But I have a story of my own to tell about these rats. One day the
cabin steward made me a present of some molasses, which I was so
choice of that I kept it hid away in a tin can in the farthest corner
of my bunk.. Faring as we did, this molasses dropped upon a biscuit
was a positive luxury, which I shared with none but the doctor, and
then only in private. And sweet as the treacle was, how could bread
thus prepared and eaten in secret be otherwise than pleasant?
One night our precious can ran low, and in canting it over in the
dark, something beside the molasses slipped out. How long it had been
there, kind Providence never revealed; nor were we over anxious to
know; for we hushed up the bare thought as quickly as possible. The
creature certainly died a luscious death, quite equal to Clarence's
in the butt of Malmsey. _
Read next: PART I: CHAPTER XI. DOCTOR LONG GHOST A WAG--ONE OF HIS CAPERS
Read previous: PART I: CHAPTER IX. WE STEER TO THE WESTWARD--STATE OF AFFAIRS
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