CHAPTER XXX.
A PEEP THROUGH A PORT-HOLE AT THE SUBTERRANEAN PARTS OF A MAN-OF-WAR.
While now running rapidly away from the bitter coast of Patagonia,battling with the night-watches--still cold--as best we may; come underthe lee of my white-jacket, reader, while I tell of the less painfulsights to be seen in a frigate.
A hint has already been conveyed concerning the subterranean depths ofthe Neversink's hold. But there is no time here to speak of the_spirit-room_, a cellar down in the after-hold, where the sailor's"grog" is kept; nor of the _cabletiers_, where the great hawsers andchains are piled, as you see them at a large ship-chandler's on shore;nor of the grocer's vaults, where tierces of sugar, molasses, vinegar,rice, and flour are snugly stowed; nor of the _sail-room_, full as asail-maker's loft ashore--piled up with great top-sails andtop-gallant-sails, all ready-folded in their places, like so many whitevests in a gentleman's wardrobe; nor of the copper and copper-fastened_magazine_, closely packed with kegs of powder, great-gun and small-armcartridges; nor of the immense _shot-lockers_, or subterraneanarsenals, full as a bushel of apples with twenty-four-pound balls; norof the _bread-room_, a large apartment, tinned all round within to keepout the mice, where the hard biscuit destined for the consumption offive hundred men on a long voyage is stowed away by the cubic yard; norof the vast iron tanks for fresh water in the hold, like the reservoirlakes at Fairmount, in Philadelphia; nor of the _paint-room_, where thekegs of white-lead, and casks of linseed oil, and all sorts of pots andbrushes, are kept; nor of the _armoror's smithy_, where the ship'sforges and anvils may be heard ringing at times; I say I have no timeto speak of these things, and many more places of note.
But there is one very extensive warehouse among the rest that needsspecial mention--_the ship's Yeoman's storeroom_. In the Neversink itwas down in the ship's basement, beneath the berth-deck, and you wentto it by way of the _Fore-passage_, a very dim, devious corridor,indeed. Entering--say at noonday--you find yourself in a gloomyapartment, lit by a solitary lamp. On one side are shelves, filled withballs of _marline, ratlin-stuf, seizing-stuff, spun-yarn_, and numeroustwines of assorted sizes. In another direction you see large casescontaining heaps of articles, reminding one of a shoemaker'sfurnishing-store--wooden _serving-mallets, fids, toggles_, and_heavers:_ iron _prickers_ and _marling-spikes;_ in a third quarter yousee a sort of hardware shop--shelves piled with all manner of hooks,bolts, nails, screws, and _thimbles;_ and, in still another direction,you see a block-maker's store, heaped up with lignum-vitae sheeves andwheels.
Through low arches in the bulkhead beyond, you peep in upon distantvaults and catacombs, obscurely lighted in the far end, and showingimmense coils of new ropes, and other bulky articles, stowed in tiers,all savouring of tar.
But by far the most curious department of these mysterious store-roomsis the armoury, where the spikes, cutlasses, pistols, and belts,forming the arms of the boarders in time of action, are hung againstthe walls, and suspended in thick rows from the beams overhead. Here,too, are to be seen scores of Colt's patent revolvers, which, thoughfurnished with but one tube, multiply the fatal bullets, as the navalcat-o'-nine-tails, with a cannibal cruelty, in one blow nine timesmultiplies a culprit's lashes; so that when a sailor is ordered onedozen lashes, the sentence should read one hundred and eight. All thesearms are kept in the brightest order, wearing a fine polish, and maytruly be said to _reflect_ credit on the Yeoman and his mates.
Among the lower grade of officers in a man-of-war, that of Yeoman isnot the least important. His responsibilities are denoted by his pay.While the _petty officers_, quarter-gunners, captains of the tops, andothers, receive but fifteen and eighteen dollars a month--but littlemore than a mere able seamen--the Yeoman in an American line-of-battleship receives forty dollars, and in a frigate thirty-five dollars permonth.
He is accountable for all the articles under his charge, and on noaccount must deliver a yard of twine or a ten-penny nail to theboatswain or carpenter, unless shown a written requisition and orderfrom the Senior Lieutenant. The Yeoman is to be found burrowing in hisunderground store-rooms all the day long, in readiness to servelicensed customers. But in the counter, behind which he usually stands,there is no place for a till to drop the shillings in, which takes awaynot a little from the most agreeable part of a storekeeper's duties.Nor, among the musty, old account-books in his desk, where he registersall expenditures of his stuffs, is there any cash or check book.
The Yeoman of the Neversink was a somewhat odd specimen of aTroglodyte. He was a little old man, round-shouldered, bald-headed,with great goggle-eyes, looking through portentous round spectacles,which he called his _barnacles_. He was imbued with a wonderful zealfor the naval service, and seemed to think that, in keeping his pistolsand cutlasses free from rust, he preserved the national honouruntarnished. After _general quarters_, it was amusing to watch hisanxious air as the various _petty officers_ restored to him the armsused at the martial exercises of the crew. As successive bundles wouldbe deposited on his counter, he would count over the pistols andcutlasses, like an old housekeeper telling over her silver forks andspoons in a pantry before retiring for the night. And often, with asort of dark lantern in his hand, he might be seen poking into hisfurthest vaults and cellars, and counting over his great coils ofropes, as if they were all jolly puncheons of old Port and Madeira.
By reason of his incessant watchfulness and unaccountable bacheloroddities, it was very difficult for him to retain in his employment thevarious sailors who, from time to time, were billeted with him to dothe duty of subalterns. In particular, he was always desirous of havingat least one steady, faultless young man, of a literary taste, to keepan eye to his account-books, and swab out the armoury every morning. Itwas an odious business this, to be immured all day in such a bottomlesshole, among tarry old ropes and villainous guns and pistols. It waswith peculiar dread that I one day noticed the goggle-eyes of _OldRevolver_, as they called him, fastened upon me with a fatal glance ofgood-will and approbation. He had somehow heard of my being a verylearned person, who could both read and write with extraordinaryfacility; and moreover that I was a rather reserved youth, who kept hismodest, unassuming merits in the background. But though, from the keensense of my situation as a man-of-war's-man all this about my keepingmyself in the _back_ ground was true enough, yet I had no idea ofhiding my diffident merits _under_ ground. I became alarmed at the oldYeoman's goggling glances, lest he should drag me down into tarryperdition in his hideous store-rooms. But this fate was providentiallyaverted, owing to mysterious causes which I never could fathom.