would wash it overboard. The leak was
found at last. A long iron bolt in the foremast rigging chains had
become rusty and worked loose. The bolt went through one of the knees
which supported the deck beams. Being below the loading line, the water
would come in and drop on the guano. It could not drain through and get
to the pumps.

All our clothing got very rotten; shoes and boots became very hard; any
cuts or bruises on our bodies would not heal up; the palms of our hands
were full of black holes the size of a pin-head; the skin became very
thick, and would crack open at each finger-joint; our hair fell out, so
that we became prematurely bald. The windlass also, every time the brig
rolled, would slide a few inches from side to side, and would make the
deck-seams open enough to allow the water to drop through on our beds.
For three months our beds and clothing were dripping wet. When I went to
bed I would get to sleep at once, and it was hard to wake me up. Going
from a wet, steaming hot bed to stand watch on deck in that cold weather
was no joke. Each watch changes every four hours. Jimmy and myself were
in the mate's watch: two hours each at the wheel and two on the lookout.
The officers were the worst cowards that I ever came in contact with at
sea. At one time the captain did not come on deck for two weeks. There
being no sun visible in that storm, no observations could be taken, so
we had to sail by "dead reckoning." The mate would sneak into the cabin
during most of the watch, and leave Jimmy and myself to take the chances
of being washed overboard. When it was my lookout I would go to the
cook's galley, and let the brig do her own watching. My chum did the
same as I. Two hours at wheel-steering would knock a prize-fighter out.
There was a very short iron tiller in the rudder-post. The wheel-chains
were iron and slack; consequently, every time the rudder would jerk, the
helmsman would be raised up a couple of feet, and then landed back again
almost quick enough to snap his head off. I was thrown clear over the
wheel several times. I tried the experiment of letting go a few times
when the wheel commenced to gripe; then I did come to grief; it would
whirl around one way and then back again. In trying to stop it, the
spokes would hit me a good rap on the knuckles. One eighth of a point
off the course is considered bad steering, but our old packet would
"yaw" off five whole points each way in spite of us. It seemed as