They were
not allowed, even if they could have done so, to ride over
the painted portion by sliding over it. Occasionally there
occurred fatal falls, but this was a rare thing. I remember
losing my balance while riding down a main top-gallant stay.
The tar-pot fell to the deck, and I very nearly accompanied
it. There was much commotion caused by this mishap, as part
of the contents of the bucket had splashed on the covering
board and white-painted bulwarks. The exhibition of grief
was far-reaching. The captain and his devoted officers made
a great noise at me; they asked with passionate emotion why
I didn't let my body fall instead--"there would have been
less mischief done," said they! Of course they did not mean
that exactly, though to the uninitiated it would have seemed
uncommonly like it. The indications of combined grief and
fearful swearing might have meant anything of a violent
nature. I could not be disrated, as I was only a cabin-boy,
but a substitutionary penalty was invoked against me. The
chief officer, who had a voice and an eye that indicated
whiskey, was a real artist in profane language.
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