WORK-TURNING IN. 
95 
boat-bedding on the escape; others sew canvas bags 
for the same purpose; and Brooks balls off twine in 
order to lay up ‘small stuff.’ 
“At times when the sun comes out very brightly, 
Brooks and Wilson get permission to go on deck. One 
of us assists them, and, by the aid of creeping and 
crawling, these poor cripples manage to sit upon the 
combings of the hatch and look around in the glorious 
daylight. The sight seldom fails to affect them. There 
are emotions among rude, roughly-nurtured men which 
vent themselves in true poetry. Brooks has about him 
sensibilities that shame me. 
“The afternoon, save to the cook, is a season of rest; 
a real lazy, lounging interval, arrested by the call to 
supper. The coming night-watch obliges me to take 
an evening cat-nap. I state this by way of implying 
that I never sleep o’ daytimes. 
“After supper, we have a better state of things than 
two weeks ago. Then the few tired outworkers were 
regaled by the groans and tossings of the sick. There 
was little conversation, and the physiognomy of our 
smoke-blackened little den was truly dismal. Now 
daylight pours in from the scuttle, the tea-kettle sings 
upon the stove, the convalescents rise up on their 
elbows and spin merry yarns. We are not yet suffi¬ 
ciently jolly for cards; but we are sufficiently thankful 
to do without them. At nine, silence almost unbroken 
prevails throughout our dormitory, and the watch- 
officer slips on his bear-skin, and, full of thoughts of 
to-morrow, resigns himself to a round of little routine 
