Planted right in the bows, or, as sailors say, in the very eyes of the
ship, this delightful apartment is of a triangular shape, and is
generally fitted with two tiers of rude bunks. Those of the Julia
were in a most deplorable condition, mere wrecks, some having been
torn down altogether to patch up others; and on one side there were
but two standing. But with most of the men it made little difference
whether they had a bunk or not, since, having no bedding, they had
nothing to put in it but themselves.

Upon the boards of my own crib I spread all the old canvas and old
clothes I could pick up. For a pillow, I wrapped an old jacket round
a log. This helped a little the wear and tear of one's bones when the
ship rolled.

Rude hammocks made out of old sails were in many cases used as
substitutes for the demolished bunks; but the space they swung in was
so confined that they were far from being agreeable.

The general aspect of the forecastle was dungeon-like and dingy in the
extreme. In the first place, it was not five feet from deck to deck
and even this space was encroached upon by two outlandish
cross-timbers bracing the vessel, and by the sailors' chests, over
which you must needs crawl in getting about. At meal-times, and
especially when we indulged in after-dinner chat, we sat about the
chests like a parcel of tailors.

In the middle of all were two square, wooden columns, denominated in
marine architecture "Bowsprit Bitts." They were about a foot apart,
and between them, by a rusty chain, swung the forecastle lamp,