Omoo | Page 6

lay on my mat in Typee.
Going below into the forecastle just after dark, I was inducted into a
wretched "bunk" or sleeping-box built over another. The rickety
bottoms of both were spread with several pieces of a blanket. A
battered tin can was then handed me, containing about half a pint of
"tea"--so called by courtesy, though whether the juice of such stalks as
one finds floating therein deserves that title, is a matter all shipowners
must settle with their consciences. A cube of salt beef, on a hard round
biscuit by way of platter, was also handed up; and without more ado, I
made a meal, the salt flavour of which, after the Nebuchadnezzar fare
of the valley, was positively delicious.
While thus engaged, an old sailor on a chest just under me was puffing
out volumes of tobacco smoke. My supper finished, he brushed the
stem of his sooty pipe against the sleeve of his frock, and politely
waved it toward me. The attention was sailor-like; as for the nicety of
the thing, no man who has lived in forecastles is at all fastidious; and so,
after a few vigorous whiffs to induce repose, I turned over and tried my
best to forget myself. But in vain. My crib, instead of extending fore
and aft, as it should have done, was placed athwart ships, that is, at
right angles to the keel, and the vessel, going before the wind, rolled to
such a degree, that-every time my heels went up and my head went
down, I thought I was on the point of turning a somerset. Beside this,
there were still more annoying causes of inquietude; and every once in
a while a splash of water came down the open scuttle, and flung the
spray in my face.
At last, after a sleepless night, broken twice by the merciless call of the
watch, a peep of daylight struggled into view from above, and someone
came below. It was my old friend with the pipe.
"Here, shipmate," said I, "help me out of this place, and let me go on

deck."
"Halloa, who's that croaking?" was the rejoinder, as he peered into the
obscurity where I lay. "Ay, Typee, my king of the cannibals, is it you I
But I say, my lad, how's that spar of your'n? the mate says it's in a devil
of a way; and last night set the steward to sharpening the handsaw:
hope he won't have the carving of ye."
Long before daylight we arrived off the bay of Nukuheva, and making
short tacks until morning, we then ran in and sent a boat ashore with
the natives who had brought me to the ship. Upon its return, we made
sail again, and stood off from the land. There was a fine breeze; and
notwithstanding my bad night's rest, the cool, fresh air of a morning at
sea was so bracing, mat, as soon as I breathed it, my spirits rose at
once.
Seated upon the windlass the greater portion of the day, and chatting
freely with the men, I learned the history of the voyage thus far, and
everything respecting the ship and its present condition.
These matters I will now throw together in the next chapter.


CHAPTER II
.
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE SHIP
FIRST AND foremost, I must give some account of the Julia herself; or
"Little Jule," as the sailors familiarly styled her.
She was a small barque of a beautiful model, something more than two
hundred tons, Yankee-built and very old. Fitted for a privateer out of a
New England port during the war of 1812, she had been captured at sea
by a British cruiser, and, after seeing all sorts of service, was at last
employed as a government packet in the Australian seas. Being
condemned, however, about two years previous, she was purchased at
auction by a house in Sydney, who, after some slight repairs,
dispatched her on the present voyage.
Notwithstanding the repairs, she was still in a miserable plight. The
lower masts were said to be unsound; the standing rigging was much
worn; and, in some places, even the bulwarks were quite rotten. Still,

she was tolerably tight, and but little more than the ordinary pumping
of a morning served to keep her free.
But all this had nothing to do with her sailing; at that, brave Little Jule,
plump Little Jule, was a witch. Blow high, or blow low, she was always
ready for the breeze; and when she dashed the waves from her prow,
and pranced, and pawed the sea, you never thought of her patched sails
and blistered hull. How the fleet creature would fly before the wind!
rolling, now and then, to be sure, but in very playfulness. Sailing