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