Jack in the Forecastle | Page 7

would lead happier lives,
there would be fewer instances of assault and battery, revolts and
shipwrecks, and the owners and underwriters would find the balance at
the end of the voyage more decidedly in their favor.
Among the customs on shipboard which attracted my particular
attention, was the manner in which the sailors partook of their meals.
There was no tedious ceremony or fastidious refinement witnessed on
these occasions. At twelve o'clock the orders were promptly given,
"Call the watch! Hold the reel! Pump ship! Get your dinners!" With
never-failing alacrity the watch was called, the log thrown, and the ship
pumped. When these duties were performed, a bustle was seen about
the camboose, or large cooking stove, in which the meals were
prepared. In pleasant weather it was usual for the sailors to take their
meals on deck; but no table was arranged, no table-cloth was spread, no
knives and forks or spoons were provided, no plates of any description
were furnished, or glass tumblers or earthen mugs. The preliminary
arrangements were of the simplest description.
The signal being given, the cook hastily transferred from his boilers
whatever food he had prepared, into a wooden vessel, called a kid,
resembling in size and appearance a peck measure. The kid with its
contents was deposited on the spot selected; a bag or box, containing
ship's biscuits was then produced, dinner was ready, and all hands,
nothing loth, gathered around the kid and commenced operations.
The usual fare was salt beef and bread, varied at stated times or
according to circumstances; and this has probably for centuries been
the standing dish for the forecastle in English and American ships. On
this passage, the Sunday dinner varied from the usual routine by the
addition of fresh meat. Every Sabbath morning a sheep, the finest and
fattest of the flock, was missing from the pens. Portions of the animal,
however, would appear a few hours afterwards in the shape of a

luscious sea-pie for the sailors, and in various inviting shapes during
the following week to the inmates of the cabin. This loss of property
was recorded by Mr. Thompson in the ship's log-book, with his
accustomed accuracy, and with Spartan brevity. The language he
invariably used was, "A sheep died this day."
Among the crew of the Dolphin were two weather-beaten tars, who
were as careless of their costumes as of their characters. They recked
little how ridiculously they looked, excepting in one respect. They
could each boast of a magnificent head of hair, which they allowed to
grow to a great length on the back of the head, where it was collected
and fashioned into enormous queues, which, when permitted to hang
down, reached to the small of their backs, and gave them the
appearance of Chinese mandarins, or Turkish pachas of a single tail.
These tails were their pets the only ornaments about their persons for
which they manifested any interest. This pride in their queues was the
weak point in their characters. Every Sunday they performed on each
other the operation of manipulating the pendulous ornaments,
straightening them out like magnified marlinspikes, and binding them
with ribbons or rope-yarns, tastily fastened at the extremity by a double
bow knot.
Queues, in those days, were worn on the land as well as on the sea, and
were as highly prized by the owners. On the land, they were harmless
enough, perhaps, and seldom ungratefully interfered with the comfort
of their benefactors or lured them into scrapes. On shipboard the case
was different, and they sometimes proved not only superfluous but
troublesome.
On our homeward passage a case occurred which illustrated the
absurdity of wearing a queue at sea a fashion which has been obsolete
for many years. A gale of wind occurred on the coast, and the crew
were ordered aloft to reef the fore-topsail. Jim Bilton, with his queue
snugly clubbed and tucked away beneath his pea-jacket, was first on
the yard, and passed the weather ear- ring; but, unfortunately, the
standing rigging had recently been tarred, and his queue, escaping from
bondage, was blown about, the sport of the wind, and after flapping
against the yard, took a "round turn" over the lift, and stuck fast. Jim
was in an awkward position. He could not immediately disengage his
queue, and he could not willingly or conveniently leave it aloft. All

hands but himself were promptly on deck, and ready to sway up the
yard. The mate shouted to him in the full strength of his lungs to "Bear
a hand and lay in off the yard," and unjustly berated him as a "lubber,"
while the poor fellow was tugging away, and working with might and
main, to disengage his tail from the lift, in which he at length
succeeded, but