attempted to interfere, that he had to scrub paint work or he
had orders from the doctor to bathe in fresh water. These excuses would
be successful till too many men came in with buckets and plausible
excuses, when the cook would shut down on the scheme for the time. The
man with fresh water was the envy of his fellows, and must needs be
vigilant, or bucket and water would disappear mysteriously.

The "Kid" happened to be next me when "stopping" his clothes on the
line, and remarked, as he tied the last knot on his last jumper, "I like
to be clean as the next chap, but this scrubbing clothes on your knees
is no snap."

He stopped to feel them.

"Why, I can feel the corns growing on them already. How often do we have
to do this scrubbing job, anyhow?" he asked.

"You _can_ do it every morning, if you really feel inclined," I replied,
smiling at his rueful countenance; "clothes can only be washed during
the morning watch (four to eight), I understand, and, as the starboard
men are on duty one day during that time and the port watch the next,
each is supposed to 'scrub and wash clothes' in his own watch. See?"

The "Kid" looked up at the dripping line of rather dingy clothes, then
down at his red and soapy knees, and said, as he turned to go aft,
"Well, when we get back to New York, I am going to have a suit of whites
made of celluloid that can be washed with a sponge."

At 6:30 the order "knock off scrubbing clothes" was given, and then all
hands of the watch "turned to" and scrubbed decks, scoured the gratings
and companion-way ladders with sand and canvas, brass work was polished,
paint work wiped down, and everything on board made as spick and span as
a new dollar.

A vast quantity of water is brought from over the side through the
ship's pump, and the men work in their bare feet. In fact, the usual
costume during this period of the day consists of a pair of duck
trousers and a thin shirt. On special occasions even the shirt is
dispensed with. During warm weather it is delightful to splash around a
water-soaked deck, but there are mornings when a biting wind comes from
the north, and the keenness of winter is in the air, and then Jackie,
compelled to labor up to his knees in water, casts longing glances
toward the glow of the galley fire, and makes his semi-yearly vow that
he will leave the "blooming" service for good and go on a farm.

This scrubbing of decks and scouring of ladders put an extra edge on our