At the best of times the life of a sailor was hard, and Desmond found it
at first almost intolerable. Irregular sleep on an uncomfortable hammock,
wedged in with the other members of the crew, bad food, and over exertion
told upon his frame. From the moment when all hands were piped to lash
hammocks to the moment when the signal was given for turning in, it was
one long round of thankless drudgery. But he proved himself to be very
quick and nimble. Before long, no one could lash his hammock with the
seven turns in a shorter time than he. After learning the work on the
mainsails and trysails he was sent to practise the more acrobatic duties
in the tops, and when two months had passed, no one excelled him in
quickness aloft.
If his work had been confined to the ordinary seaman's duties he would
have been fairly content, for there is always a certain pleasure in
accomplishment, and the consciousness of growing skill and power was some
compensation for the hardships he had to undergo. But he had to do dirty
work for the cook, clean out the styes of the captain's pigs, swab the
lower deck, sometimes descend on errands for one or other to the nauseous
hold.
Perhaps the badness of the food was the worst evil to a boy accustomed to
plain but good country fare. The burgoo or oatmeal gruel served at
breakfast made him sick; he knew how it had been made in the cook's dirty
pans. The "Irish horse" and salt pork for dinner soon became distasteful;
it was not in the best condition when brought aboard, and before long it
became putrid.
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