The ship had what is known as a topgallant forecastle, on either hand of which was a wing of cabin, a sort of deck-house, entered by a door that slid in grooves. The apprentices lived in the wing on the left, or port, or larboard side, as the expression then was. ‘How many of you are there?’ asked Captain Butler. ‘Three,’ answered my cousin. The place was empty, and I entered it and looked about me to gather whether there was anything I could purchase to render the coarse, rude abode a little more hospitable to the sight. ‘This won’t be like being at home, Will?’ said I. ‘It will be seeing life, though, and starting on a career,’ he answered. ‘These are very snug quarters,’ said Captain Butler. ‘What sort of a forecastle have you, Johnstone?’ My cousin led us into a large, wooden cave. It was very gloomy here. We had to lift our feet high to enter the door. The huge windlass stood, a great mass of reddened timber and grinning ironwork, in front of the entrance to this forecastle; abaft it rose the trunk of the foremast, and behind, again, the solid square of the galley, or kitchen; the thick shrouds descended on both sides; and, though it was a bright day, the shadows of these things lay in a twilight upon the forecastle entrance, and I needed to stand awhile and accustom my eyes to the gloom before I could see. ‘This is a fine forecastle,’ said Captain Butler. ‘Few crews get better parlours.’ The interior was empty. Rows of bunks on both sides ran ghostly in the obscurity of the bows. ‘What hatch is this?’ said I, pointing to a small, covered square in the deck close to where I stood. ‘That’ll be the way to the fore-peak,’ said Captain Butler. ‘What sort of a place is that?’ said I. ‘The rats’ nursery,’ he answered, laughing. ‘Have you been into it, Will?’ said I. ‘No. They keep coal and broom-handles there; odds and ends of stores, cans of oil, and everything that’s unpleasant. I find things out by asking.’ ‘Right, Johnstone,’ said Captain Butler. ‘Keep on asking on board ship. That’s the way to learn. How would you like to be an able seaman, Miss Johnstone, and sail before the mast and sleep in a place like this?’ ‘This would not be my end of the ship if I were a man,’ said I. We wandered aft on to the poop, whence we could command a view of the whole ship; and here we stood looking at the clamorous, gallant scene round about us, till the sun sank low across the river beyond Rotherhithe, and the shadow of the evening deepened the colours of the streaming flags, and hung a rusty mist out upon the farther reaches of the river, making the ships there loom dusky and swollen.