Jack in the Forecastle; or, Incidents in the Early Life of Hawser MartingaleSleeper, John Sherburne
General
Jack in the Forecastle; or, Incidents in the Early Life of Hawser Martingale
Sleeper, John Sherburne
Seafaring life
I now had leisure to reflect on my situation. My hopes of visiting the
"north-west coast" were suddenly destroyed. A cripple, in a strange
land, without money or friends, a cloud seemed to rest on my prospects.
During the remainder of the day and the succeeding night I suffered much
from "the blues." My spirits were out of tune. The scanty hospital fare
that was offered me I sent away untouched, and sleep refused to bury
my senses in forgetfulness until long after the midnight hour. This,
however, might have been partly owing to the involuntary groans and
murmurs of unfortunate sufferers in my immediate vicinity. That first
day and night wore a sombre aspect, and teemed with gloomy forebodings.
In the morning I fell into a kind of doze, and dreamed that I was
walking in a beautiful meadow, which was traversed by a wide and deep
ditch. Wishing to pass to the other side I attempted to leap the ditch,
but jumped short, and buried myself in mud and mire to the waist! I
awoke with a start, which I accompanied with a cry of distress. I had
moved the broken limb, and furnished more work for the surgeon and
suffering for myself.
My gloomy reflections and disquietude of mind did not last long. In the
morning my attention was attracted by the novelties of my situation, and
I found much to excite my curiosity and interest my feelings. My "fit
of the blues" had passed off to return no more. I had some conversation
with a remarkably tall, military-looking man, who moved about awkwardly
as if he was learning to walk upon stilts, or was lame in both legs,
which I afterwards found to be the case. He appeared friendly and
intelligent, and gave me interesting information in relation to the
inmates and economy of the establishment.
I learned from him that the bed nearest mine, within a few feet on the
right hand, and the one beyond it, were occupied by two boys who were
victims of a sad misfortune. Their intense sufferings were the cause of
the moans and murmurings I had heard during the night. These boys were
apprentices to the rope-making business, and a few days before, while
spinning ropeyarns, with the loose hemp wound in folds around their
waists, the youngest, a lad about fourteen years old, unwittingly
approached an open fire, the weather being cold. A spark ignited the
hemp, and in a moment the whole was in a blaze. The other boy, obeying
an involuntary but generous impulse, rushed to the assistance of his
companion, only to share his misfortune. They were both terribly burned,
and conveyed to the hospital.
Every morning the rations for the day were served out to the patients.
The quality of the food, always excepting a dark-looking liquid of
revolting aspect, known as "beer porridge," and which I ate only through
fear of starvation was generally good, and the quantity was sufficient
to keep the patients alive, while they had no reason to apprehend ill
consequences from a surfeit.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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