- end_line
- 3469
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.270Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3422
- text
- at it, what more does a man-of-war’s-man absolutely require to live in
than his own skin? That’s room enough; and room enough to turn in, if
he but knew how to shift his spine, end for end, like a ramrod, without
disturbing his next neighbour.
Among all men-of-war’s-men, it is a maxim that over-neat vessels are
Tartars to the crew: and perhaps it may be safely laid down that, when
you see such a ship, some sort of tyranny is not very far off.
In the Neversink, as in other national ships, the business of
_holy-stoning_ the decks was often prolonged, by way of punishment to
the men, particularly of a raw, cold morning. This is one of the
punishments which a lieutenant of the watch may easily inflict upon the
crew, without infringing the statute which places the power of
punishment solely in the hands of the Captain.
The abhorrence which men-of-war’s-men have for this protracted
_holy-stoning_ in cold, comfortless weather—with their bare feet
exposed to the splashing inundations—is shown in a strange story, rife
among them, curiously tinctured with their proverbial superstitions.
The First Lieutenant of an English sloop of war, a severe
disciplinarian, was uncommonly particular concerning the whiteness of
the quarter-deck. One bitter winter morning at sea, when the crew had
washed that part of the vessel, as usual, and put away their
holy-stones, this officer came on deck, and after inspecting it,
ordered the _holy-stones_ and _prayer-books_ up again. Once more
slipping off the shoes from their frosted feet, and rolling up their
trowsers, the crew kneeled down to their task; and in that suppliant
posture, silently invoked a curse upon their tyrant; praying, as he
went below, that he might never more come out of the ward-room alive.
The prayer seemed answered: for shortly after being visited with a
paralytic stroke at his breakfast-table, the First Lieutenant next
morning was carried out of the ward-room feet foremost, dead. As they
dropped him over the side—so goes the story—the marine sentry at the
gangway turned his back upon the corpse.
To the credit of the humane and sensible portion of the roll of
American navy-captains, be it added, that _they_ are not so particular
in keeping the decks spotless at all times, and in all weathers; nor do
they torment the men with scraping bright-wood and polishing
ring-bolts; but give all such gingerbread-work a hearty coat of black
paint, which looks more warlike, is a better preservative, and exempts
the sailors from a perpetual annoyance.
- title
- Chunk 3