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.
