Crushe bullied and drove the crew from 4 A.M. until 11 P.M., consequently the men deserted at every possible chance, in spite of sentries, master-at-arms, and lynx-eyed midshipmen; and although strict search was made before any craft was allowed to leave the ship's side, very few of the stow-aways were discovered and recaptured in that manner. The lieutenant dared not send a boat's crew on shore, as he knew they would bolt to a man. Even his trusty bullies failed him, and were as anxious to get away as any of the others. Everything seemed what sailors term "jammed up," and the ship appeared to be in the greatest disorder, although in reality she was very rapidly being fitted for sea. The commander was confined to his cabin, where he amused himself by swearing at Jerry, Boyldwyte, or any stray quartermasters, who were sent down to him with messages. On deck Crushe indulged in the most fearful language towards the men, who, in their turn, vented the rage they dared not show before their officers upon the boys. As the lads scorned to be outsworn by any sailor breathing, they entirely discarded ordinary words in their conversation, and communicated with each other by oaths of the most powerful and horrible kind, that elegant and improving style of conversation being rather encouraged by the genial first luff, who often declared "that in a gale of wind a sailor who swore was worth two who prayed." Forward, the deck was strewn with greasy, undulating, fizzing, bursting hoses, through which hundreds of gallons of lukewarm water were forced into the ship's tanks from the boats alongside; while amidships a gang of noisy coolies pitched coal upon the deck, or shovelled it down the shoots, to the airs of the day, popular among those coloured minstrels, their tunes being graphically described to the commander by Jerry as "strong convulsions set to music."