 CHAPTER 6 A STARVING HOLIDAY LIME JUICER During my few visits to the ruby with ironwork from the blacksmith's shop, I had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the crew. The captain, a native of Norway whose name was Olsen, wore a large piece of blue ribbon in the buttonhole of his coat. He was known to be a temperance man, and for being so strict and abstainer was nicknamed Joe Water. Mr. Moor, the mate, was a rugged old chap with gray curly locks and beard resembling Santa Claus. He was a true shell-back. He had followed the sea all his life, and had served in every position on board ship. He had seen better days. So for years master of large East India men, he was now in old age glad to make the best of it as mate on an old hooker like this. The collared cook, who was both cook and steward with the captain and mate, were the only occupants of the after-end of the ship. Three able seamen, Mike, a native of Ireland, Frank, who hailed from Germany, and Edgar, a negro from the west coast of Africa, with Harry and Moses, two strapping young ordinary seamen, comprised the whole of the forward crowd. As soon as I reached the deck, the old mate came up to me, and in a fatherly way advised me to go on shore again. Look at me, he said. See what an old sailor is like, an old sailor, an old dog! Seeing that I was not willing to take his advice, he jumped on the wharf, and seizing one into my closed chest, which was on a cart there, called me to get hold of the other end. He got the chest aboard, and all the way to the folksal door, this ancient mariner, mumbling in an undertone, repeated to himself these two lines. Rattle his bones all over the stones, he's only a popper that nobody owns. Once in the folksal, I slipped into a suit of working clothes, and went below into the hold of the ship, where I found the mate and sailors trimming the stone ballast which had been dumped down the main hatch. My work of moving the stones from the heap and the hatchway, and carrying them out to the wings of the ship, was interrupted by the darky cook, who, bending his head over the hatch comings, shouted, DINNER BELOW! I had always eaten in the cabin, during my few trips to sea, where the food had been served in a reasonably clean manner. But now on reaching the deck, I saw Moses go to the galley, and take two large pans to the folksal. One pan contained junks of boiled beef, the other soup. On placing the pans on the floor of the folksal, the men formed a circle around him, each man taking his turn, at holding the beef with one hand, while with the other he cut off what he wanted with his sheath knife. Then bailing the soup from the large pan with a small tin spoon, he filled his tin dish, and moved away to eat his meal. In a locker in one corner of the folksal, a square box, known as the bread barge, was kept. It was filled with hard biscuit, and of all the biscuits I have seen aboard ships, these were certainly the hardest. They were about four inches in diameter, and fully an inch thick, and almost as hard as a bit of soft pine wood. So full of weevils were they, that when soaked in the soup, or in the bootleg coffee served us, we could skim the former off the top by the spoonful. The comings of the main hatch were used by the men as their dining-place, and as each man made his way on deck, he would help himself to the bread in the barge, then taking a spare belaying-pin, or using the corners of the hatch, he would break the liver-pool pentiles into bits. It had not occurred to me that a pot, pan, and spoon were the principal articles of a sailor's outfit. Therefore I waited until the first man had finished, and then borrowed his. So I ate my first meal on board this ship. The tow-boat was waiting to take hold of us, and thus there was no time for me to buy these much-needed articles. We let go our lines, and in about an hour's time dropped anchor in the sound at the mouth of the channel awaiting a favourable wind. The cook of the ruby had died at sea on the way to Bermuda, and the present cook had been taken from the folk-soul to do the duties of cook, which consisted in keeping a fire in the galley as there was very little to cook. We, hearing that I was in need of a pot, pan, and spoon, and also that I had forgotten to provide a donkey's breakfast, came forward and bargained to sell me his folk-soul outfit for one pound and ten shillings. I had only eighteen shillings, so as though he were doing me a special favour, he sold me his donkey's breakfast, a leather belt, a sheath and knife, and a pot, pan, and spoon for my little store of money. I believe I could have bought a new outfit in Hamilton for half the sum, but not knowing the ropes I must pay for experience. For two days we waited for a favourable wind. At last it came, a stiff norwester. The windlass breaks were shipped, up one side and down the other, and the slack chain was gathered in. She's short, sir, brought the captain's command to loose the top-sales and fore-sale. Here was my opportunity to show what I could do aloft. Up I went on the main mast, and from yard-arm to yard-arm. I cast off the gaskets as quickly as Moses did on the fore-mast, and won the admiration of all. The lower top-sales were sheeded home, the upper ones mast-headed, a few more heaves on the old windlass breaks, and we were running with square yards along the north shore of Bermuda, bound out to sea. During the two days we had been at anchor in the sound, we were visited twice by two corporals of an English regiment. They came alongside in a government steam-launch and desired to search our vessel. A soldier was missing, and he was suspected of being hidden in our ship. They overhauled every part of the vessel, and after a second search left, convinced that he was not on board. We were no sooner clear of the pilot than a wretched-looking mortal made his appearance on deck. He was not only miserable from the effects of sea-sickness, but was almost black with dirt from the bottom of the ship, where he had been hiding for three days under the stone ballast. Until the cold dust had been brushed from his clothes, you could not have dreamed he had on the uniform of an English soldier. Mike and the two ordinary seamen were responsible for his being on board. They had met the soldier while on a visit to the barracks, and had promised to conceal him. On the night they dug an opening in the forward end of the ballast, and placed by the side of the Kielsen two empty beef barrels. Taking the heads out of the barrels, they made a tunnel into which the soldier crawled feet foremost. Then placing a bottle of water and a few pentiles in his safe retreat, they barricaded the entrance so that it looked like other parts of the ballast. But the stones were so thrown together that a current of air might pass through them. The corporals had walked over his hiding place without suspecting that he was buried beneath their feet. He had expected to be in concealment one day only, but unfortunately the adverse winds kept him cramped and hungry for three. As the pilot left the ship, Mike went below and, removing the stones from the mouth of the barrel, set the soldier free. Captain Olsen appeared as though he were annoyed, but we knew he was glad to have the man on board. We were then one hand short, and here was an opportunity to have the labor of a man for nothing. Still the English soldier worked hard, but with the exception of a few old clothes the old man gave him, left the ship at Antwerp Destitute. We welcomed him, for after his sea sickness left him, his Irish wit made him the life of the ship, and brought him into favor with all on board. There were two empty bunks against the side of the partition dividing the galley from the folksel. I had the upper and Bill the lower one. He had no bed, but with a coil of old junk for a pillow and the contents of the shaking's barrel spread out on his bunk boards he made a comfortable dos for himself. The ruby had been in cold weather crossing the Atlantic and also in Bermuda, but now that we were away to the southward where it was warmer the night disturbers began to annoy us. The second night it was impossible for me to sleep. I thought the small things crawling over me were water-bugs, but no longer able to endure the misery of being eaten alive I lighted the folksel lamp. Come to my horror not only were my clothes and bed alive with bed-bugs, but they seemed to play peek-a-boo in the cracks of the wooden partition. Far preferable is the death of being torn quickly to pieces by tigers, to being slowly eaten alive by bed-bugs. That night Bill and I slept on deck, and our bunks were too warm for us. The rest of the men were too far from the heated partition of the galley to be disturbed. But the next night all hands slept on deck and gave the bugs full control of the place. In the morning every donkey's breakfast was taken out of the folksel and the place given a thorough cleaning with pot-ash and hot water. My donkey's breakfast, bought of the colored cook, had to be thrown over the side. I hated to part with it till upon opening the tick I saw the wood shavings with which it was filled alive with vermin. Then I gladly committed them to the deep. Though we scrubbed and cleaned, still there were vermin. They were in the clothing and beds, they were everywhere. Until weeks afterward, when we sailed into cooler weather, there was no rest inside the forward house. On the eighth day out we sighted the coast of Haiti, and the following afternoon brought our ship to anchor in Aquin Bay. This is a mere anchorage. The town is situated about two miles from the sea at the end of a V-shaped bay. There are no docks or wharves. Along the shore stacks of logwood were piled up ready to be conveyed in lighters to the ships. Three French barks were riding at anchor, loading logwood. These seemed clean and neat aloft, very different from our old poverty-stricken, patched up, washed up. Shortly after coming to anchor the boat was lowered, and Moses and I were detailed by the mate to row the old man on shore. As we neared the shore we jumped aft at the last stroke of the oars, which raised her bow and let her slide well up on the mud. While the captain was gone in search of his agents, we had a chance to see the town. Three or four pathways between rows of native huts, plenty of half-naked negroes speaking a dialect which was a mixture of French and Spanish, and an open square where the natives sold their produce. This was the town of Aquin. Small herds of huge black pigs that had no visible owners could be seen in every so-called street. Grunting and squealing they ran from place to place for filth to eat, for they were the scavengers of the place. Near our landing-place was a wooden house filled with soldiers who were continually beating a drum. It matters not where a sailor may be. There will also be someone to sell him rum. Those had eight shillings belonging to the old mate who wanted liquor in exchange. These native soldiers soon understood what he meant when he showed them the money and raised his hand to his mouth as though in the act of drinking. For in a few moments they returned with four filled bottles. We shoved the boat off and pulled for the ship, hoping to return before the captain wanted us. But on reaching her the mate began to drink freely, and in a short time mate, cook, and all hands had emptied the bottles and were forgetful of all troubles and cares. I confessed that I joined in and forced myself to drink with them and to accept the gift of the mate. I knew it was wrong, but it seemed that the more I could drink and swear like the others, the more of a sailor I would be. Next morning I listened to the men relating to each other, the story of the old man's coming aboard in a boat belonging to a French bark and finding all hands drunk. If there was any real goodness in our captain it was in keeping sober. But everybody thought him too stingy to drink. It was known that he owned the greater part of the vessel and to be saving kept her in a wretched state besides half-starving his men. The mate seemed much depressed. He had been severely censured for his night's debauch, and tried with a will to redeem the past by working like a slave, getting the stone ballast into the lighters alongside the ship. At breakfast the cook told me the captain wanted me aft. On reaching the cabin I received a lecture on temperance and the meaning of the blue ribbon in his coat. I felt ashamed while in his presence, but forward among the men all feelings of shame left me, and I again fell in with my surroundings. In less than a week the ballast was gone, and the ships hauled ready for logwood. Saw horses and buck-saws, which had been bought in Bermuda, were brought on deck, a stage was rigged over the side, and the work of loading began. Water was cheap, and for a small sum natives could easily have been hired to load the ship. The crew might have been well employed in the rigging, but no. The captain was too mean to hire, so we were forced to do the loading. Two men in the lighter passed up the sticks of logwood to the two on the stage. These in turn passed them on the rail for the two ordinary seamen and myself to carry to the main hatch and drop below. Whenever we came to a crooked stick it was laid on deck, and during the time there was no lighter alongside we were busy sawing these crooked pieces and stowing the cargo below. The straighter the sticks, the more the ship could hold. From the time we took on board our first lighter of logwood, until about half across the western ocean, we were forever in fear of being bitten by the many scorpions, centipedes, and tarantulas which had been brought in the decayed sticks of logwood. They got into the folksal, and the running rigging which was stopped to the shrouds. Indeed, they were in every corner of the ship. No one, not even Edgar the Colored Sailor, who did not mind a few bedbugs, could sleep in the folksal. Bill the Stowaway, with the three A-Bs, slept on the folksal head, while Harry, Moses, and I bunked on top of the forward house. For six weeks we rode out anchor in Aquin Bay, sleeping on deck and finding in the morning the only dry spots where those where our bodies had rested. The heavy dew wet our dungarees through. At half-past five we were called. We would then wring out our clothes, drink a pot of colored water called coffee, have a smoke, and wait for four bells to strike. This was followed by the word, turn to, from the mate. At breakfast time our clothes had become partly dry, but as soon as we began to handle the logwood sticks, passed up from the bottom of the lighter, where they had rested in a foot of water, they of course would be as wet as ever again. When I think of those days it seems a mystery that no one was made sick. For we spent them wet through by the water dripping from the logwood, and at night we were covered with the heavy dew. One night, shortly after I had stretched myself on the forward house, I heard Mike shouting, Oh, kill me before I die. He ran aft, and walking abaff the cabin, I saw the mate quieting him by giving him the contents of a bottle. It must have been the worst kind of chain-lightning rum, for Mike drank, choked, fell, and groaned himself to sleep. He had been bitten by a scorpion. Next day his arm was swollen, but with warm applications he was soon able to resume his work. Shortly before we sailed, Edgar began to shout and yell with pain, howling like a dog who had seen a ghost. He too had felt the piercing needle in a scorpion's tail, and again the old mate's rum proved a ready relief. Every night we swept the decks and made a careful search for insects before lying down to sleep. After we had reached cool weather, on the mid-Atlantic we got into a heavy gale and shoveled the dead insects which had been washed out of the logwood secured on the top of the main hatch into the sea. Even then, on going below, we turned over our beds and hunted for scorpions and centipedes. The grub, or food, on ship-board is one of the chief factors in a sailor's life. The saying is, an old sailor, an old growl. Well, I believe a sailor has a right to growl, and as a rule, the more he growls, the more he will work. It makes no difference how wretched his last ship may have been, what poor food or how much abuse he may have received. His conversation at every growl is a eulogy on the virtues of that last ship and the good times he had on her, this even though she may have been a Yankee slave-driver or a starving lime juicer. The few months I was on this ship, I existed on the bare pound and pint of the British board of trade. At almost every meal I joined in with the crew in a good all-round growl. Not only was the captain blessed to the skies, but the whole board of trade, every ship-owner and every man who owned a nail in a ship. Every Sunday morning we were mustered aft to the cabin door. There the captain watched the cook as he weighed to each man a separate pound of sugar and a pound of butter, his whack for a week. Our allowance of tea and coffee was weighed in one lot and kept by the steward, who had to use ingenuity to make it last the week. Pea soup and salt-pork, and very little of it, was our bill of fare one day. The next we had salt horse and duff, flour boiled in grease skimmed from the meat. Our breakfast consisted of a Liverpool hookpot, of black coffee, and a good supply of pentiles. At night more pentiles with a pot of tea was all we were given for supper. You could have seen our anchor in fifteen fathoms of this tea. No meat for breakfast or supper, the allowance for the day was barely enough for the noonday meal. My teeth were strong, so having an abundance of Liverpool pentiles I grew fat and strong. A sailor's bunk is his sanctum sanctorum. He not only sleeps there, but puts up shelves and nails canvas pockets to the head or foot of it, where he keeps his fork, spoon, pot, and pan, and whatever trinkets he may possess. It is the only place on board ship where he can feel absolutely out of the way of others. The crew of the ruby kept their sugar and butter in their bunks, and woe to the man caught stealing his shipmate's whack. My butter and sugar never lasted longer than Wednesday. Frank could make his hold out till Friday, but during the last two days of the week everyone was forced to drink the bootleg coffee and wretched tea without sugar and eat the pentiles without a taste of butter. There was no milk on board, not even in the cabin, and although the mate and cook were not on their allowance, still, too, they growled for more food. It may seem strange to some seamen when I tell of our freedom with the mate. He was a fatherly old fellow, whose weakness was drink. We all liked and respected him, and we knew he could not help us or himself. Being well on in years, he did what he must to hold his position and made the best of a bad matter. I came to consider it a treat, if at the close of a day's work the colored cook gave me some skimmed pork grease. I would put a layer of this between two pentiles and bake them in the galley oven to eat with my tea. Our ship was not only parish-rigged, but fed far worse than a parish arms-house. I remember one evening I saw a part of a loaf of bread floating past. It had drifted down from a French bark, and heedless of sharks or anything else, I was over the side and swam for it. Though soaked with salt water, it tasted heavenly to me. It was the first bit of soft bread I had eaten since coming on board. We had very little salt, beef, or pork, and as none could be bought in Equin, our stock had to be preserved for sea use. Captain Olsen saved considerable in this boat, for he fed us on shin bones from the Haitian market. Boiled bones, with a bit of the very toughest beef attached, made our diet. And except on Sundays and Thursdays, when a few yams or sweet potatoes were served in lieu of duff, there was no change in the miserable board of trade scale. We got what the articles called for, the allowance of beef, pork, peas, flour, tea, coffee, pepper, salt, and vinegar. But having no scope for variety, nor skill in cooking, our diet was not only meager, but wretchedly monotonous. This treatment culminated in a mutiny, the story of which I will leave for another chapter. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of DOG WATCHES AT SEA This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. DOG WATCHES AT SEA by Stanton H. King. CHAPTER 7 FISHING FOR SHARKS At last our hold was filled, the seams of the hatches cocked, the tarpaulins hauled over, and securely batten down. Only a few more lighters of logwood to be stowed on deck, and we would be ready for sea. It was a great relief to know we were drawing near the day when we should steer our course to another port. The only break in the monotony of work and sleep was the recreation of sailing around the bay on Sunday afternoons. The captain gave us the use of the ship's boat to go where we pleased. He knew there was no danger as he had stubbornly refused to advance a scent to anyone on board. Although the old mate had no money, after spending his eight shillings, he still found means of having a supply of liquor on hand. No one knew how we did it until we were some days at sea when we discovered that he hadn't a change of clothing. The lighter men in Aquinn had taken his clothes in exchange for liquor. Every man forward had shared his rum, and all therefore willingly allowed him to use their clothes. Our water supply had to be replenished. The two large iron tanks secured to the deck were empty. And as I was the smallest person on board, it was my lot to go feet first through the manholes in the top of the tanks and clean them out. With an old corn broom, I stirred up the rusty water from the bottom and sluiced and scrubbed vigorously to get the thick coating of rust off the sides. Then bailing out the dirty water, I gave the tanks a liberal coat of whitewash. This took all my strength. I had just finished the second tank. When feeling that I was losing consciousness, I put both hands up through the manhole and begged the mate to haul me out. I could stand it no longer. The hot sun pouring upon the tanks had made them like two heated ovens. Wet through with rusty water and whitewash, I crawled forward under the folksal head, too sick to do any more work that day. Next morning I was myself again, and at turn two, helped to get our large clinker-built boat over the side. We were making preparations to water the ship. The midship thwarts were taken out, and two large casks lowered into the boat. Frank, Moses, Bill, and I were told to get in and drop down to the gangway. With a jug of water, a can of roast beef which was kept for the cabin's Sunday dinner, and plenty of pentails, we hoisted our mainsail and shoved off with Mr. Moore on board in search of water. Our captain had told Mr. Moore to keep close to the land, or he would miss the small inlet where the spring of water was to be found. Unfortunately, the mate had a bottle of rum, and no sooner were we clear of the ship than he shared it with us. The effect of the liquor was to make each man desirous of singing a song. The old mate finished his diddy, then keeled over and fell asleep in the stern sheets while we kept running on before the breeze. We must have been sailing for fully three hours when we saw a cluster of houses and huts on a projecting part of the coast. We roused the mate from his stupor and steered for the beach. When we were about a quarter of a mile from the village, a boat filled with soldiers armed with rifles rode off and met us. Jabbering away in their distracting lingo, they ran their boat against ours, and jumping aboard made us their prisoners. At first it seemed a huge joke. The scarecrow uniforms of the soldiers caused Bill's Irish wit to flow freely and we roared with laughter at the queer remarks he made. But when we were brought before a negro dressed in an old black suit, a faded, well-worn cocked hat with a band of dirty gold lace on it, and felt the handcuffs on our wrists, we ceased our rybaldry and tried to explain who we were. When we said we were English, they would sneer, shrug their shoulders, and yell, Americano. A guard marched us through the streets to the house of an old black man who we afterwards learned was a general. He gave orders to his men who marched us to the Calabozo. It was well for us. It was not the hottest season, or I believe we would never have left this lock-up alive. The miserable hole, a prison for men, was teeming with filth and vermin. It was a mere enclosure of stone walls, with no covering to protect us from the heat of the sun or the dew at night. As we reached the door, the soldiers on guard began their jabbering. They slapped their hands, shrugged their shoulders, twisted their bodies, and carried on a full Portuguese argument, while they exultantly examined our clothes and removed our tobacco and knives. In the Calabozo the irons were removed from our hands, and we were prisoners with about a hundred poor, unfortunate blacks. For three nights and two days we lived in this pest-hole on cornmeal mush. It was impossible to rest. The incessant tum-tum of a drum and the shouting of the guard would have kept us awake if the place had been most comfortable. On the second morning we were taken to the foot of a hill near the marketplace. Again they called us Americano. And standing a number of the black prisoners in a row, the soldiers fired and shot them dead. We felt shaky. It seemed as if our return was next, and we were greatly relieved when they marched us back to the lock-up. On the third morning a wrinkled Mexican came in, walked up to the corner where we were huddled together, and said, Good morning, you English eh? We gladly told him our story. Then we learned that we were supposed to be the crew of an American filibuster who had been secretly selling arms to the rebels. The republics of Haiti and San Domingo were at war, and this American steamer had been successful in landing arms. They thought that we were the crew of this ship and were seeking a landing-place on the coast, using our search for water as an excuse. This old Mexican was very friendly. He could speak English enough to make himself understood. He had been a sailor in his younger days, but now was settled about four miles outside this town of Saint Louis. That morning he had heard of our plight. He cheered us up and left us, promising to be back soon. Hardly an hour had passed when back he came and told us to follow him, for we were free. We walked with him to the general's house. The old soldier, through our benefactor, told us how sorry he was for causing us so much distress, and asked what he could do for us. We expressed the desire for a bath and some clean clothes. Water was plentiful, but clothes were scarce, so we offered us each a dungaree soldier's suit, which we accepted, and, throwing our filthy garments on the beach, we enjoyed a splash in the sea. After scrubbing each other with sand, we got into the scarecrow's suits of the Haitian soldiers. The old soldier was more than kind. He forced upon us all we could eat, fruits of every kind, and all the liquor we wanted. The sneers and jeers of the soldiers and natives were changed into expressions of kindness. We could do as we pleased. Our water-casks had been filled by them, plenty of fruit stowed in our boat, and late that night we were able to throw off the debauch of the day and make for our ship. All that night we rode, relieving each other at the oars, and shortly after daybreak we reached the ship to be the laughing stock of the rest of the crew. Our shipmates had been anxious about us. At first they thought we were on a spree on shore. But when the third day passed, with no tidings of our whereabouts, the captain had decided to make a search for us. We quickly shifted into our own clothes, and after a pot of coffee were ready to help hoist the water-casks on board. Not a word of the old mate's drinking and how we came to miss the watering-place was ever divulged to the cook or captain. We kept our secret forward where it belonged. For a few days our experience in the calabozo was kept fresh in our minds by the painful itching of the shigos which infested our feet. It seems strange to me that neither Mr. Moore nor the other men knew about them. As soon as I felt the itching harassing sensation in my toes I examined them for shigos. Although we had been going barefoot for weeks and our feet were hard and rough as an alligator's hide, these tropical sand fleas penetrated the flesh and made their nests. I was the doctor, for I had seen the negroes in Barbados remove these insects from their feet. I once saw a boy thrown in his back by the village constable while another man removed the host of shigos from his feet with a sharp pen-knife. I alone knew it was necessary to make sure of getting out the black flea with the bag of eggs, or next day there would be another installment in the same place. I knew that after extracting the shigos you must fill the cavity with snuff, a harsh remedy, but a sure cure. Therefore as doctor I ground some bits of tobacco to dust and rubbed it into the sore spots till my shipmates and I fairly yelled with pain. We needed more water, so the next day Captain Olsen hired four natives to row him to the watering-place, towing behind him a lighter with three empty water casks. He returned that night with his casks filled, but had to make another trip before we had enough. The day before sailing the mate told me to get into the boat with Harry and Moses and row the captain to shore. Instead of steering for our usual landing-place in the mud he kept across and made a landing in the small bushes on the side of the bay. Harry and Moses went with the old man while I was left to watch the boat. In a little while they hove in sight leading a cow along. How were they to get that stubborn animal into the boat? She seemed large enough to fill all space. The thwarts were unshipped. The boat turned stern into the bushes, and the four legs of the cow were placed in the stern sheets. I hauled on the rope round her neck while the captain and two ordinary seamen pushed behind, and so we made her land with a thump on her belly in the bottom of the boat. The weight of the animal sunk the boat deep into the mud, and to get her afloat we had to dismiss our fear of alligators and wade in up to our wastes. Then we shoved and pulled with all our strength, while the captain stood on a stump and shoved with an oar. An inch, then another, and gradually we floated. Now came the time to get the captain into the boat. The two ordinary seamen formed a chair with their hands, and the captain sat between them, putting his arms around their necks. Whether it was intentionally done or not, I cannot say, but Moses slipped, and with a splash the old man was buried in mud and water. Oh, how he raged! All four of us, soaking wet, got in, and with some pushing and shoving on the oars, started for the ship. There was no room to row, and no clutch aft for sculling, so we were forced to stand up and paddle. The water was as quiet as a mill pond, and it was not far to the ship. We should have reached there safely, but for a ripple caused by an empty lighter rowing ashore from a French bark. As soon as we reached the ripple, the boat began to rock. The cow got on her feet, stumbled, and fell with a splash into the bay. As soon as she came to the surface, we hauled her head up to the stern of the boat, and shipping the oars hastily made for the ship. A stout strap was sunk, and the bite hauled up with the boat hook under the cow. The fish tackle lowered over the bow, and hooked on. Then with a few lively heaves around the capstan, we lifted her dangling in the air, and landed her on deck. I shall not jar the sensibility of my readers by relating the cruel way in which the cow was killed. It is enough to say that penal servitude should be inflicted in any community for such cruelty to a dumb beast, even though it was done in ignorance. Captain Olsen did the butchering. He kept everyone busy, some cleaning empty beef barrels, others with coarse salt and water, making the pickle. It was, cook, do this, and somebody else do the other thing. I do not remember how many barrels there were, but with the exception of the few pieces for immediate use, the whole cow was pickled and stowed in the lazarette. Our ship was loaded. The logwood piled high on the main hatch, and lasts securely to the ring bolts in the deck. Our sailing day had come. It was good Friday. The two remaining French vessels and a Spanish brig cock-billed their yards in honor of the day. Their yards and mast formed an X, which was meant to represent the Cross. It was a dead calm, not a breath of air was stirring. While we were at breakfast, an officer in a boat, the only one in equine, came off to us and requested our captain to cock-bill our yards. If there had been any wind I think we should have had to man the windlass. It was so calm we tipped our yards and remained at anchor till early the following morning, when we were called to turn to and man the windlass. The clock and bang of the windlass pawls heave, heave my hearties from the mate, down our side, lift her out of the mud, and many such expressions from the men, and our anchor was lifted to the haw's pipe before a sail was touched. The head sails were run up and away we headed before the breeze for the open sea. All sail was made, the yards trimmed, and at daylight we were steering to the westward, making a course for the windward passage between Haiti and Cuba. The next morning, Easter Sunday, we were in the passage. I was at the wheel from eight o'clock until ten. I saw the cook come aft with a pan of meat, which he held at arm's length. Moving along he reached the cabin door and shouted, Cap'n, this meat has an obnoxious odour, sa. Sure enough, not only that piece, but every bit of the pickled cow had to be thrown over the side. As the first bit struck the water, there was a splash and an upheaval, and it disappeared. In a very few moments we were surrounded by a school of man eating sharks. The only benefit we derived from the cow was amusement for Easter Sunday for noon and one meal of fried shark. We baited the shark hook a hook about ten inches long and a quarter of an inch thick, with about three feet of chain attached. As fast as we could put it overboard we had hold of a shark. A tail block was made fast to the backstays, a rope roved through it, a running bow line slipped down over the hook and around the shark, and hand over hand we flopped them on deck. Oh, the superstition of an old shell-back! It was the first time I had been in such close quarters with sharks, and with the others I enjoyed the fun of belaboring them with capstan bars and belaying pins until we thought them dead. The barbarism and superstition of sailor's hatred for sharks was cruelly manifested in this slaughter. Pieces of wood were pierced through the jaws of some so that they could not open their mouths no more, and they were thrown over the side to have their misery prolonged. Others were cut open and cast overboard to suffer until death should end their fate. Many were cut to pieces and their backbones hung up to dry. These were afterwards polished to be used as walking sticks. The four noon watch below remained on deck and joined in the sport until dinner time. Then having had enough shark-fishing we threw the remaining lot of meat over, cleaned up the mess of blood and skins, and washed down the decks. We must have been out about two weeks when the small supply of salt, beef, and pork was all eaten. For days we had been beating against the strong easterly wind, but were now well to the eastward and northward of Bermuda steering for the English Channel. From the day we threw the beef overboard we had been on short allowance. The captain had promised to buy provisions from the first vessel we met. We had passed close to two steamers and a schooner, but he had made an excuse of holding on till we sighted Bermuda. Then he would signal for a tug to bring off some provisions. In some way the men knew we were far to the eastward of Bermuda. So all hands went aft and demanded the equal use of the canned roast beef and good hard bread which were kept for cabin use. The captain showed signs of fear. The mate and cook remained neutral listening to our heated conversation. I do not know who struck the first blow, but everyone rushed for the captain as he and Mike rolled over on deck, clenched in each other's arms. A word from Mr. Moore, who had power to control us even with a look, released the captain from Mike's embrace. We gained this victory as it was agreed that we should have our share of the cabin beef and biscuits. The days trouble did not end then, however. Late that afternoon we sighted a bark steering westward. As we drew near she hoisted a Norwegian ensign. Without any warning we jumped to the braces and threw the main yard aback, shouting to the captain to signal and buy some food. He threatened to log us all and ordered the yards braced round again. I felt afraid. The captain had lectured me for being led into wrongdoing by the men, but what was I to do? I did what I considered right. I stood by the forward end where I belonged. Anyway, I was glad to do anything that would give us something to eat. In the strongest of sailor language, Mike told Joe Water that not another rope would be touched by any of us. Furthermore, he was given to understand that he would have to pay us for the food which was due us and that he would be reported for not carrying side lights at night. Several nights we had passed close to vessels and they had not seen us till we were very near. There was kerosene oil on board, but the captain was too stingy to use it. He would have the side lights put in their boxes ready for use in an emergency. He therefore risked the lives of several men to save a few gallons of oil. To save himself he yielded. We signaled the bark, lowered a boat, and the two ordinary seamen rode the captain to the Norwegian who had brought his vessel to the wind and was head-reaching, waiting for a boat to come alongside. No one knew what arrangement had been made, but soon the Norwegian filled away and our boat returned well laden. A barrel of beef, a barrel of pork, two barrels of flour, a small sack of coffee beans, and a barrel of tar. We welcomed the provisions, but hated to see the tar. There had been very little work to do. Most ships, making a port of discharge, would be all-day painting, cleaning, and making the ship respectable for entrance into harbor. With us there was no such work. There were no stores, hardly enough old rope-yarns to make a roving for the head of a sail. We passed the watches, trimming the yards, a spell at the pumps, a trick at the wheel, and a look out at night, and we had a very easy time. The sea-loya's forward were too many for the captain. Though fear of our demanding money for the food do us, or for some reason unknown to us, he gave us full and plenty. The troubles of that day, however, had not yet ended. Frank, Moses, and I, with the mate, made up the port watch. It was our watch below from eight to twelve that night. We had hardly gone to our bunks when we were called to get on deck and reef the top sails. The wind had hauled due east and was blowing a heavy gale. The light sails were hauled down and clued up, and away we went to stow the top-gallant sails before we began to reef. On reaching the four top-gallant cross-trees, I saw that Frank had taken the lead top-gallant yard-arm. As I lifted myself into the weather-foot-rope, I heard a scream, and, looking a-baffed, the top-gallant mast saw Frank falling to the deck. I quickly made my way below and found Mr. Moore weeping over the bruised and bleeding body of our dead shipmate. With the help of the cork, we carried it to the cabin and hastened on deck to help get the canvas off our ship. It was midnight when the old hulk was huffed to, under reef's top sails. It makes no difference how much a man is liked or hated on board a ship. When death comes, all wrongs and grievances are forgotten. A gloom is cast over all. Frank had been well-liked, and every soul on board was disturbed and grieved. It had been only a few days since we had begun to feel safe in the folk-soul, and now we discovered a half-crushed, dead scorpion between the folds of Frank's shirts. Meeting cooler weather, we had moved into the folk-soul, thinking the scorpions were all dead. Frank had hurried on deck, and, leaning against the yard, trying to gather up the sail, his body had pressed the scorpion against the yard. It turned its tail and stung him. And with pain and fright he fell to the deck. This was the verdict on finding the scorpion. Frank's body was too bruised to find the mark of a sting, and it may have been heart failure. At all events we were on the watch for the logwood pests, the rest of our voyage. The next morning the body was brought on deck, sewn in a tarpaulin with some old stove-grates at the feet, and while we stood with caps raised, the captain read from a testament. Then to the roaring waves of the Atlantic we committed the body of our shipmate. His clothes were taken aft and stowed in the lazarette. Bill kept his bid. If I had been strong enough to contend with the Irishman for Frank's donkey's breakfast I should have done so. I had been sleeping on the top of the forward house, and this lump of straw on the bunk boards would have made me a luxurious couch. I had been told I was a cheeky boy, and had had several scuffles with Moses about his cleaning the folk-soul and bringing the food from the galley. He had whipped me more than once, but now I was able to hold my own, and he had to do his share of cleaning. Bill was in the starboard watch. I kept friendly with him, and in my watches below he allowed me to share Frank's bed with him during the rest of the voyage. CHAPTER 8 Ordinary Seaman After the gale we had fair winds and fine weather the rest of the voyage. The tar barrel was opened and the work of blackening the bleached and rotten rigging was begun. There was no material for repairs, not even enough seizing stuff to straighten the old rat lines. This was my first experience of tarring down. I rather enjoyed it. The very fact of having my hands black made me feel I was a sailor. The foot ropes on the forward yards and the head stays were my portion. As soon as I came on deck, if it was not my wheel, I would sling the tar pot around my neck, and up I'd go and straddle the yards. Beginning at the end of each yard, I would hold on to the jack-stay, and with my foot get the foot ropes on the yards and give them a rub of tar. Right on the yards I could look the ship over from the man at the wheel to the shark's tail on the end of the flying-jib boom. At times the old mate's voice calling me to wake from my dreams would rouse me from my reverie and bring my mind back to my work. The port watch had finished forward and the starboard watch had completed the work on the main. It was decided that both watches should blacken the mizzen. I was at the wheel from twelve to two one afternoon enjoying a hearty laugh at the captain's expense when he landed a cuff on the side of my head which changed my joy into grief. When in at Quinn Frank had exchanged a pair of trousers for a large black ring-tail monkey. He was really more tailed than monkey. At first the old man objected to having him on board, but when made to understand that Jacko should be fed from our pound and pint and would therefore cost him nothing he allowed the monkey to remain. Jacko and the captain were sworn enemies, and many a time the old man had applied a rope-send while chasing him forward. He seldom went to bath the main mast. It was his delight to be around the folk-soul and galley catching the myriads of cockroaches that swarmed there. I have noticed that most Scandinavian and Dutch seamen who have but lately left their homes have two feather-beds. They sleep on one and use the other as a covering. Captain Olsen had two feather-beds, and on this day had taken advantage of the fine weather to give them an airing. Occasionally a few drops of tar would fall from the hands of the men in the mizzen rigging, so he spread his beds on the fife-rail around the main mast out of reach of any falling drops of tar. I could not see the beds, but noticed a host of feathers ascending and lodging on the freshly tarred shrouds and rat-lines of the main lower rigging. I let go the wheel and took a few steps forward on the top of the cabin and saw Jacko pulling the feathers from the old man's bed. He had discovered a hole in the tic which he had enlarged till he could get his paw inside. The mate was forward, giving the anchors a coat of coal tar. Moses was in the mizzen rigging and joying the fun, and I took an occasional run from the wheel to watch Jacko in his glory. The old man came up while I was away, and when he saw what caused so much laughter gave me the blow on the side of my head. Walking forward to the folksal where Jacko had found a refuge, he coaxingly called, "'Hey, Jacko, boy, hey, Jacko!' till he was near enough to catch him. Then with a pounce he grabbed poor Jacko by the back of the neck, got him under the folksal head, dipped him in the tar barrel, and started aft with him. It was not so easy a task as the captain thought, squealing, squirming, and twisting himself about. Jacko managed to get a turn with his tail around the captain's neck, besmearing his face and clothes with tar. To release himself he inflicted several blows on the monkey's head. Then, opening the bed-tick, he jammed Jacko in amongst the remaining feathers, and swinging the bed over his head gave it a lively shake. Oh, what fun! I had enjoyed anything like it for a long time. When Jacko was finally shaken out he resembled a Thanksgiving turkey. At four bells the wheel was relieved and I went forward for my tar-pot. There I saw Mike with a slush-pot giving Jacko a bath of grease to remove the tar and feathers. By dinnertime the monkey was himself again ready, if need be, to empty another bed. A few more days in old England was in sight. I had heard so much about her. Now I could see the soil which my Barbadian countrymen considered sacred, next to heaven. The pilot boarded us as we entered the channel, and the third night after making the land we were crossing the North Sea, leaving the four land-lights astern. We entered the river shelled, and put the channel pilot ashore at flushing. Taking the river pilot on board we proceeded to Antwerp. With a fair wind we moved briskly along and dropped anchor at the quarantine station some twenty miles from the city. No sooner had the doctor left us than fully a dozen men from the small boats waiting alongside boarded our craft and formed our acquaintance. I soon learned that there were runners from the sailor's boarding houses, and each man brought a good supply of rum which was readily consumed. I accepted a drink from a runner who represented a house called The Prince of Wales, which I promised to patronize. I remembered no more till I awoke from my stupor in the sailor's boarding-house. I felt somewhat uneasy, but seeing Mr. Moore and the cook near me regained my usual fearlessness. I then learned that the runners had furled the sails and docked the ship so that they might be sure of their prey. Late in the evening we obtained a few francs from Mr. Murphy, the boarding-master, and went in search of our other shipmates. Of all seaports there is none more vile and demoralizing than the sailor's district, the rag of Antwerp. The Prince of Wales was a liquor saloon and boarding-house, situated between two dance halls where seamen caroused all the night. Mr. Murphy was proprietor of these as well as of the boarding-house. A continual stream of humanity of the most degraded kind flowed between these places. It was the resort of the greater number of the seamen entering the port. I stop here. I want to cast from my mind the memory of the time spent in these places while waiting an official discharge from the ship. On the third morning Mr. Murphy accompanied us to the British Consul's office. The place was crowded with boarding-masters, runners, tailors, and shoemakers, every one of whom had a bill awaiting settlement. As soon as each man was paid, these land sharks demanded payment of their bills. When a bill was repudiated, the reply was that the coat or shoes were bought and the money loaned while we were drunk. Where are these things? Oh, you lost them, or sold them for rum. Mike was the first to question the bills. A blow from his boarding-house bully and the advance of others to render this one aid revealed to us that our best policy was to submit to this wholesale robbery. When we left the Consul's office the men had very little money. I was in debt to the boarding-master. The three-pound two-shillings due me from the Ruby was not sufficient to cancel my bills of forty-eight hours. My shipmates soon forgot their troubles for that night and threw away their remaining francs in the liquor saloon and dance halls. I was then in my sixteenth year. My greatest desire was that the seamen should think me a full-fledged sailor. With this thought in my mind I joined in the reckless carousel. A kind-hearted lady once asked me, Why do sailors frequent such places? Why? Because the humdrum monotony, the misery, and wretched surroundings on ship-board create a desire for some exciting change. The restraint of ship discipline is removed. The man does not appreciate liberty, unsuspicious and unfamiliar with the ways of a foreign shore he puts his trust in others, believing them to be friends. He is robbed, both of soul and body. Why doesn't he associate with the right kind of people? Because the right kind of people will not associate with him. He is a stranger to everybody, known only as a common sailor which means banishment from respectability. This kind-hearted woman, of whom I spoke, opened her doors in welcome to a few respectable mariners and the neighbors threatened to move away. Why doesn't he attend sailors' missions and make his headquarters there? Well, in a way sailors do. Missions are not what they were twenty years ago. When they were tame and unattractive, places where semen thought men were made goody-goody. Seamen steered clear of them then. Today the missions have excellent concerts, full of healthy fun and frolic, to influence the sailor and to satisfy his social nature, pool and billiard tables, games, and a smoking-room. All these things are as good there as in a barroom. He meets women of good character who occasionally admit him to the sweet, helpful atmosphere of their homes. Next to an evening in a Christian home in the refining influence of the women workers in a seaman's mission. I speak from experience. I believe I should still be at sea today, but for the help given me when a sailor in being allowed to visit a Christian home. I rejoice that many good people are now inviting the semen who desire to live and do better to enjoy an hour of real home life with them. I remained in the boarding house for two weeks, the target of curses, cuffs, and kicks. Not only from the boarding master, but from the drunken seaman. One afternoon some homeward bounders came in. They had arrived that day from San Francisco on the ship Three Brothers. Every attention was paid them. I was called on to lend a hand in getting their bags upstairs. While trying to carry a bag much larger than myself up the flight, I stumbled, the bag rolled to the bottom step, and knocked a half-drunk homeward bounder over. There was a scramble to get at me, but I was out of the door and away down the street, leaving my clothes behind me. Once free, I resolved never to lodge in a sailor's boarding house again, and I have kept my resolution. Passing the cathedral, I noticed a company of ladies and gentlemen entering. They were conversing in English. I went behind the group and with them to the top of the high steeple. It was a magnificent view. As far as my sight could reach, I could see the distant fields and the winding river covered with craft of every description. The large granite docks seemed nearby, as though I could reach out and touch the forest of vessels' masts. I took advantage of the chance given me to escape to the street while the guide continued his explanations to the tourists. I could speak no Flemish, so wandering from street to street I made a long journey before reaching the docks. Then I gazed in astonishment at what seemed a floating world, a full-rigged her hull high out of the water and her mass towering in the air. I examined her rig closely, five top-gallant yards, double on the fore in Maine and single on the mizzen, and a Maine sky-sail yard, which was as large as the Maine top-gallant yard of the ruby. She seemed a wonder to me. I drew close to the stern and read the name Hagerstown Richmond. I did not know where Richmond was, but could tell by her fine lines and rig that she was a yank. I had heard stories of the brutal treatment of sailors on a yanky deep-water man and was somewhat timid, but necessity compelled me to mount the gangway. As soon as I spoke to an elderly gentleman who was walking the half-deck, my fear and timidity were dispelled. I meekly inquired if the captain was on board. He kindly replied, I'm the captain. What can I do for you? He listened attentively to my story, then running his fingers through his hair, said, My boy, stay right here. We sail for Philadelphia in the morning. I'll put you on the articles as an ordinary seaman at ten dollars a month. The mate, a long, wiry gant line, came along just then, and Captain Boyd turned me over to him, saying, Here's an ordinary seaman for you. The Hagerstown had been in port several weeks. She had brought a cargo of green from San Francisco and was now loaded with empty kerosene oil barrels. The rigors had bent the sails, and everything was ready for our departure. The jib-boom was in on the folksal head, and all the headgear seemed an inextricable mass. There was a large forward house on deck. About half of it was used for two folksals, one for each watch. The other half was divided into rooms for the galley, carpenter shop, donkey engine room, boson's locker, and boswain's room. The cabin was large and spacious. A partition divided it into the after-part elegantly furnished for the captain's use, and the forward the dining room. The mate's room was at the port, and the second mate's at the starboard entrance to the cabin. As no work had been given me, I passed the time looking the ship over. What a size! I longed for the hours to go by that I might be at sea and witness this monster fill her sails and speed along. I felt proud of being an ordinary seaman on so fine a ship. No notice was taken of me till the mate spied my antics at the wheel. I was moving it back and forth, imagining we were at sea. Put that wheel back amid ships, and get forward and sweep the folksals out, was his command. Forward I went, and swept out the two dens, old worn shoes, tin pots and pans, and some well-used donkey's breakfasts left by the last crew. I selected the best bed from the lot, and then tumbled the accumulated rubbish on the deck. It was supper time, and I ate the leavings of the cabin, dainties of several kinds, the most enjoyable meal for months. That evening the mate, Mr. Montauk, told me that a young friend was joining the ship as ordinary seaman. He was to be in his watch, and I in the second mate's watch. Knowing this, I put the second-hand donkey's breakfast in the best top bunk of the starboard folksal, and there past the night. Next morning a shake and a rough coarse voice calling, Come, get out! Do you think you're in a hotel? Made me jump from my bunk. It was Mr. Cain, the second mate, a blue-nosed bucko greaser. He, the boatswain, and the carpenter, had brought their things on board the previous day, but had returned on shore as their duties did not begin till a sailing day. They had come on board in the night to be ready to receive the crew on their arrival in the morning. Next was just over when the crew landed on deck. Eighteen men, a motley crowd of all nationalities, some stupidly drunk, others drunk enough to be noisy. They came swearing and cursing the boarding-masters, tumbled their dunnage on board, and lugged it forward to the folksal. I saw Mr. Murphy, my boarding-master, on the wharf. Some of the crew were from his house, so I hid myself till we were away from the dock. When the last man was forward, Mr. Addersley, our red-headed yank from the state of Maine, better known as Boson, began to exercise his lungs. The first yell I thought a thunder-clap, such a voice, enough to raise the crown of my head. It took most of his time to get the men from the folksal. It was the 4th of July, and they were finishing the rum they had brought on board. One man seemed to laud it over all the rest. He had cleaned out the dives on shore, and had a fighting record. He claimed to be an American from San Francisco. While they were on deck getting the hozzer up from the forepeak, a mate and second mate went through their donnage, and cleaned out the rum. I heard the mate say to the boatswain, Take it easy, Boson, just humor them. We'll soon be clear of the dock gates. I had every opportunity to imbibe with the men, but as the drink-habit had not yet fastened its grip upon me, I refused the liquor. I went after relieve the man at the wheel who was glad of the chance to go forward. There was another large American ship, the patrician, following close behind us. She was bound to Australia. On her folksal head, hustled around with the rest of her crew, was my old friend, the mate of the ruby. I shouted, Mr. Moore! He saw me, and in a drunken brawling voice replied, So long, King! Rattle his bones all over the stones! I heard no more, for he was pushed roughly off the folksal head. All the way through the docks, these half-crazed creatures had things their own way. The large towboat had hardly tautened our hozzer when the music began. It was the time for the after-end to assert its authority. Every man, with the exception of the captain, a quiet fatherly gentleman, who, on seeing I was a proficient helmsman, had gone below to transact some business with a man from shore, was keeping step to the waltz. The jib-boom had to be rigged out, the gear set up, and the head-sales bent. The first man the boatswain tackled was Frisco, the cock of the walk. It was wonderful how four men, the two mates, boatswain and carpenter, sober and armed with authority and belaying-pins, could sail in amongst a drunken crowd and, in a few minutes, by spilling a few drops of blood, subdue the lot and make them hop-light and come a-running. I was glad I was a boy, as very little attention was paid to me. It took the greater part of the forenoon to get the boom out and everything forward straightened out, but it was accomplished with cuffs and kicks, mingled with such oats as would make one tremble. By night the men were a sore-looking lot. The day's work of getting the jib-boom out, lashing of spars and water-casks, cleaning up decks, and getting secured for sea with the hot Fourth of July sun had banished all their pugilistic feelings. I will say, in justice to the deep-water American ships of other days, that although I have seen men brutally abused, for no reason, by some of the cruel buck-o-mates, whose only delight is to misuse their authority, it is necessary, at such times as I have been describing, to assert authority by means of violence. The seamen are partially to blame. They come on board under the influence of drink, disobedient and obstreperous, and therefore compel the officers to force them into submission. Generally, the man who is a competent sailor who does his work quickly, and implicitly obeys the officer's commands, keeps clear of abuse. I soon learned this lesson, and thereby saved myself many a thrashing. That evening, under a magnificent spread of snow-white canvas, the Hagerstown was running before a strong east wind bound out the English channel. At eight o'clock all hands were mustered aft, and the men selected for the watches. The mate stood on the port side, and called a man to him, while the second mate did the same on the starboard. The second mate's watch, which according to custom, is the captain's, had the eight hours on deck. The wheel being relieved, and the lookout stationed, the port watch was told to go below. Now that the men were sober, they proved excellent seamen, all except one Joscun, and he was a Belgian farmer who had paid a boarding master a small sum for the chance to do a little work and earn his passage to America. He could speak no English, but the poor fellow did his best to make himself of use. As the mate had the first choice in picking the watches, the unfortunate Joscun was left for the starboard watch. About ten o'clock it began to rain, and the wind increased. The royals and mizzen top-gallant sail were clued up. Away we went to stow them. I started for the mizzen royal, which was as much as I could handle. I had a hard struggle to get it smothered, but I did it. On my way down I expected to find the top-gallant sail furl. But no, not a man had been on the yard. Standing in the cross-trees I heard a groan on the side of the doublings. On looking I saw the Belgians seated on the weatherside of the cross-trees in the throes of sea sickness. The hurricane was bawling and shouting. Hurry up there with that top-gallant sail! I was a stout strapping fellow, but not strong enough to smother that sail. I could not make the second mate understand as the howling wind carried my voice forward. So down I went, and told him the Belgian farmer was dying in the cross-trees. He called a man and sent us up to furl the sail. The wind held its own. It was a moderate gale. A small vessel would have reefed her top sails, but we kept on with no further shortening of sail. The second mate bawled at Joskin to come down, but he remained there till eight bells when Mr. Montauk sent up a couple of men to help him. Before we reached Philadelphia, the Belgian had faithfully earned his passage. He was kept on the move from early to late, scraping and pounding iron rust, cleaning and scrubbing paintwork, and holy stoning decks.