The decks were scrubbed spotlessly clean, and everything was neat and tidy as on board a man-of-war, contrary to all usual notions of the condition of a whaler.  The mate was in a state of high activity, so I soon found myself very busily engaged in getting up whale-lines, harpoons, and all the varied equipment for the pursuit of whales.  The number of officers carried would have been a good crew for the ship, the complete afterguard comprising captain, four mates, four harpooners or boat-steerers, carpenter, cooper, steward and cook.  All these worthies were on deck and working with might and main at the preparations, so that the incompetence of the crowd forrard was little hindrance.  I was pounced upon by “Mistah” Jones, the fourth mate, whom I heard addressed familiarly as “Goliath” and “Anak” by his brother officers, and ordered to assist him in rigging the “crow’s-nest” at the main royal-mast head.  It was a simple affair.  There were a pair of cross-trees fitted to the mast, upon which was secured a tiny platform about a foot wide on each side of the mast, while above this foothold a couple of padded hoops like a pair of giant spectacles were secured at a little higher than a man’s waist.  When all was fast one could creep up on the platform, through the hoop, and, resting his arms upon the latter, stand comfortably and gaze around, no matter how vigorously the old barky plunged and kicked beneath him.  From that lofty eyrie I had a comprehensive view of the vessel.  She was about 350 tons and full ship-rigged, that is to say, she carried square sails on all three masts.  Her deck was flush fore and aft, the only obstructions being the brick-built “try-works” in the waist, the galley, and cabin skylight right aft by the taffrail.  Her bulwarks were set thickly round with clumsy looking wooden cranes, from which depended five boats.  Two more boats were secured bottom up upon a gallows aft, so she seemed to be well supplied in that direction.  Mistah Jones, finding I did not presume upon his condescension, gradually unbent and furnished me with many interesting facts about the officers.  Captain Slocum, he said, was “de debbil hisself, so jess yew keeps yer lamps trim’ fer him, sonny, taint helthy ter rile him.”  The first officer, or the mate as he is always called par excellence, was an older man than the captain, but a good seaman, a good whaleman, and a gentleman.  Which combination I found to be a fact, although hard to believe possible at the time.  The second mate was a Portuguese about forty years of age, with a face like one of Vandyke’s cavaliers, but as I now learned, a perfect fiend when angered.  He also was a first-class whaleman, but an indifferent seaman.  The third mate was nothing much but bad temper—­not much sailor, nor much whaler, generally in hot water with the skipper, who hated him because he was an “owner’s man.”  “An de fourf mate,” wound up the narrator, straightening his huge bulk, “am de bes’ man in de ship, and de bigges’.  Dey aint no whalemen in Noo Bedford caynt teach me nuffin, en ef it comes ter man-handlin’; w’y I jes’ pick ’em two’t a time ’n crack ’em togerrer like so, see!” and he smote the palms of his great paws against each other, while I nodded complete assent.