University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.

While now running rapidly away from the bitter coast of
Patagonia, battling with the night-watches—still cold—as
best we may; come under the lee of my white-jacket, reader,
while I tell of the less painful sights to be seen in a frigate.

A hint has already been conveyed concerning the subterranean
depths of the Neversink's hold. But there is no time
here to speak of the spirit-room, a cellar down in the afterhold,
where the sailor “grog” is kept; nor of the cable-tiers,
where the great hawsers and chains are piled, as you see them
at a large ship-chandler's on shore; nor of the grocer's vaults,
where tierces of sugar, molasses, vinegar, rice, and flour are
snugly stowed; nor of the sail-room, full as a sail-maker's
loft ashore—piled up with great top-sails and top-gallant-sails,
all ready-folded in their places, like so many white vests in a
gentleman's wardrobe; nor of the copper and copper-fastened
magazine, closely packed with kegs of powder, great-gun and
small-arm cartridges; nor of the immense shot-lockers, or
subterranean arsenals, full as a bushel of apples with twenty-four-pound
balls; nor of the bread-room, a large apartment,
tinned all round within to keep out the mice, where the hard
biscuit destined for the consumption of five hundred men on a
long voyage is stowed away by the cubic yard; nor of the
vast iron tanks for fresh water in the hold, like the reservoir
lakes at Fairmount, in Philadelphia; nor of the paint-room,
where the kegs of white-lead, and casks of linseed oil, and all
sorts of pots and brushes, are kept; nor of the armoror's smithy,
where the ship's forges and anvils may be heard ringing at

times; I say I have no time to speak of these things, and
many more places of note.

But there is one very extensive warehouse among the rest
that needs special mention—the ship's Yeoman's store-room.
In the Neversink it was down in the ship's basement, beneath
the berth-deck, and you went to it by way of the Forepassage,
a very dim, devious corridor, indeed. Entering—
say at noonday—you find yourself in a gloomy apartment, lit
by a solitary lamp. On one side are shelves, filled with balls
of marline, ratlin-stuff, seizing-stuff, spun-yarn, and numerous
twines of assorted sizes. In another direction you see
large cases containing heaps of articles, reminding one of a
shoe-maker's furnishing-store—wooden serving-mallets, fids,
toggles, and heavers; iron prickers and marling-spikes; in a
third quarter you see a sort of hardware shop—shelves piled
with all manner of hooks, bolts, nails, screws, and thimbles;
and, in still another direction, you see a block-maker's store,
heaped up with lignum-vitæ sheeves and wheels.

Through low arches in the bulk-head beyond, you peep in
upon distant vaults and catacombs, obscurely lighted in the
far end, and showing immense coils of new ropes, and other
bulky articles, stowed in tiers, all savoring of tar.

But by far the most curious department of these mysterious
store-rooms is the armory, where the pikes, cutlasses, pistols,
and belts, forming the arms of the boarders in time of action,
are hung against the walls, and suspended in thick rows from
the beams overhead. Here, too, are to be seen scores of Colt's
patent revolvers, which, though furnished with but one tube,
multiply the fatal bullets, as the naval cat-o'-nine-tails, with
a cannibal cruelty, in one blow nine times multiplies a culprit's
lashes; so that, when a sailor is ordered one dozen lashes,
the sentence should read one hundred and eight. All these
arms are kept in the brightest order, wearing a fine polish, and
may truly be said to reflect credit on the Yeoman and his mates.

Among the lower grade of officers in a man-of-war, that of
Yeoman is not the least important. His responsibilities are

denoted by his pay. While the petty officers, quarter-gunners,
captains of the tops, and others, receive but fifteen and eighteen
dollars a month—but little more than a mere able seaman
—the Yeoman in an American line-of-battle ship receives forty
dollars, and in a frigate thirty-five dollars per month.

He is accountable for all the articles under his charge, and
on no account must deliver a yard of twine or a tenpenny nail
to the boatswain or carpenter, unless shown a written requisition
and order from the Senior Lieutenant. The Yeoman
is to be found burrowing in his under-ground store-rooms all
the day long, in readiness to serve licensed customers. But
in the counter, behind which he usually stands, there is no
place for a till to drop the shillings in, which takes away not
a little from the most agreeable part of a storekeeper's duties.
Nor, among the musty, old account-books in his desk, where
he registers all expenditures of his stuffs, is there any cash or
check book.

The Yeoman of the Neversink was a somewhat odd specimen
of a Troglodite. He was a little old man, round-shouldered,
bald-headed, with great goggle-eyes, looking through
portentous round spectacles, which he called his barnacles.
He was imbued with a wonderful zeal for the naval service,
and seemed to think that, in keeping his pistols and cutlasses
free from rust, he preserved the national honor untarnished.

After general quarters, it was amusing to watch his anxious
air as the various petty officers restored to him the arms
used at the martial exercises of the crew. As successive
bundles would be deposited on his counter, he would count
over the pistols and cutlasses, like an old housekeeper telling
over her silver forks and spoons in a pantry before retiring for
the night. And often, with a sort of dark lantern in his
hand, he might be seen poking into his furthest vaults and
cellars, and counting over his great coils of ropes, as if they
were all jolly puncheons of old Port and Madeira.

By reason of his incessant watchfulness and unaccountable
bachelor oddities, it was very difficult for him to retain in his

employment the various sailors who, from time to time, were
billeted with him to do the duty of subalterns. In particular,
he was always desirous of having at least one steady, faultless
young man, of a literary taste, to keep an eye to his account-books,
and swab out the armory every morning. It was an
odious business this, to be immured all day in such a bottomless
hole, among tarry old ropes and villainous guns and pistols.
It was with peculiar dread that I one day noticed the
goggle-eyes of Old Revolver, as they called him, fastened upon
me with a fatal glance of good-will and approbation. He
had somehow heard of my being a very learned person, who
could both read and write with extraordinary facility; and,
moreover, that I was a rather reserved youth, who kept his
modest, unassuming merits in the background. But though,
from the keen sense of my situation as a man-of-war's-man,
all this about my keeping myself in the back ground was
true enough, yet I had no idea of hiding my diffident merits
under ground. I became alarmed at the old Yeoman's goggling
glances, lest he should drag me down into tarry perdition
in his hideous store-rooms. But this fate was providentially
averted, owing to mysterious causes which I never could
fathom.