Chapter 15 - Page 2

Domingo
melodies; one of which was the following:

"Oh! I los' my shoe in an old canoe,
Johnio! come Winum so!
Oh! I los' my boot in a pilot-boat,
Johnio! come Winum so!
Den rub-a-dub de copper, oh!
Oh! copper rub-a-dub-a-oh!"

When I listened to these jolly Africans, thus making gleeful
their toil by their cheering songs, I could not help murmuring
against that immemorial rule of men-of-war, which forbids the
sailors to sing out, as in merchant-vessels, when pulling ropes,
or occupied at any other ship's duty. Your only music, at such
times, is the shrill pipe of the boatswain's mate, which is
almost worse than no music at all. And if the boatswain's mate is
not by, you must pull the ropes, like convicts, in profound
silence; or else endeavour to impart unity to the exertions of
all hands, by singing out mechanically, _one_, _two_, _three_,
and then pulling all together.

Now, when Sunshine, Rose-water, and May-day have so polished the
ship's coppers, that a white kid glove might be drawn along the
inside and show no stain, they leap out of their holes, and the
water is poured in for the coffee. And the coffee being boiled,
and decanted off in bucketfuls, the cooks of the messes march up
with their salt beef for dinner, strung upon strings and tallied
with labels; all of which are plunged together into the self-same
coppers, and there boiled. When, upon the beef being fished out
with a huge pitch-fork, the water for the evening's tea is poured
in; which, consequently possesses a flavour not unlike that of
shank-soup.

From this it will be seen, that, so far as cooking is concerned,
a "_cook of the mess_" has very little to do; merely carrying his
provisions to and from the grand democratic cookery. Still, in
some things, his office involves many annoyances. Twice a week
butter and cheese are served out--so much to each man--and the
mess-cook has the sole charge of these delicacies. The great
difficulty consists in so catering for the mess, touching these
luxuries, as to satisfy all. Some guzzlers are for devouring the
butter at a meal, and finishing off with the cheese the same day;
others contend for saving it up against _Banyan Day_, when there
is nothing but beef and bread; and others, again, are for taking
a very small bit of butter and cheese, by way of dessert, to each
and every meal through the week. All this gives rise to endless
disputes, debates, and altercations.

Sometimes, with his mess-cloth--a square of painted canvas--set
out on deck between the guns, garnished with pots, and pans, and
_kids_, you see the mess-cook seated on a matchtub at its head,
his trowser legs rolled up and arms bared, presiding over the