Surely, thinks the landsman, there
is now nothing for Jack to do but turn his quid, crack his joke, smoke
his pipe, or overhaul his chest, and put the things to rights in the
forecastle, after the 'hurrah's nest' created by the squall in the
past night? Ah, friend, it is very evident that _you_ don't 'know the
ropes!' When on deck, a sailor is never idle in the day-time; even if
rain is pouring, something is found for him to do; and in fine
weather, like the day we are describing, there is a superabundance of
work. The carpenter has his bench out--for 'a ship is like a lady's
watch, always out of repair;' the steward is polishing the brass-work
of the quarter-deck; the cook is scouring his pots and pans; the
sailmaker is stitching away in the waist; and the crew are, one and
all, engaged in picking oakum, spinning yarns (not such yarns as those
amiable gentlemen, the naval novelists, talk so much about, but
rope-yarns, by the aid of spinning-winches), platting sinnet,
preparing chafing-gear, bowsing slack rigging taut, painting boats and
bulwarks, scraping yards and masts, fitting new running-rigging,
overhauling the spare sails, and fifty other things--doing, in fact,
everything but idling.
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