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- 1372
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
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- structure-extraction-lambda
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- 1306
- text
- CHAPTER X.
A SEA-PARLOUR DESCRIBED, WITH SOME OF ITS TENANTS
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.
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