10. CHAPTER X.
A SEA-PARLOR DESCRIBED, WITH SOME OF ITS TENANTS.
I may 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 discolored,
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 cleets, 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 any thing 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 besides 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.
