Every morning Hammond took some time to explore his ship, talk to the crew and in general learn as much about the ship as he could. He didn’t like that he had been forced to assume command without some time to get to know the ship and crew better, but these were extraordinary times and he had to make do. This morning, he went to the Bos’n’s locker all the way forward in the bow of the ship. Along the way he saw the orderliness in the berthing spaces, even though many were still in their beds, or racks as they were called. The decks were clean and uncluttered. Personal gear was stowed away out of sight. He checked some of the racks to make sure there was an EEBD or emergency escape breathing device in each “coffin locker,” the four by four by seven cubicle that each man was given to sleep in. The EEBDs were used as breathing hoods for the crewman to use in an emergency. Several crewmen were up either reading or talking quietly.
As Hammond came into a compartment, the men stood out of respect and greeted him. Mayor Crowell had been right. There was eagerness in their eyes. They seemed very glad to see their captain and anxious to please. This was a little different from his first command. On that ship he had been greeted with respect but aloofness. They acted as if somehow they really didn’t care if he came or went. Hammond found himself wondering what was really making this difference. Strangely enough he had felt the difference himself since he came aboard. This ship’s personality was different from all the others. Many people scoffed at the idea, but each ship Hammond had been on was a little different — not in function, but in attitude. He wondered if this personality changed with each successive generation that served aboard. It would be something to watch.
Passing through First Division berthing he heard some angry shouts from the other side of a watertight door on the forward bulkhead. It sounded as if Boats Patnaude was in his element.
“I don’t give a fuck if it is Sunday. You peckerheads wanted tradition, well goddamnit I’m giving you some. Just bring that shit up out of there before I shove my foot up your ass!” Hammond heard Boats yell. He hesitated opening the door for a moment but went in anyway.
“And that sand has to come up too!” Patnaude yelled down a hatch. There was already a large pile of what looked like cement bricks piled up on the deck with a large stack of poles.
“What’s up Boats?” Hammond asked.
Patnaude turned and smiled at the Captain. “Just getting ready for a little evolution this afternoon, Captain. These dipshits have been asking for months what we do with all this shit, so I thought this would be the day to show ‘em,” he said. Several of the others were working in their T-shirts passing up bags of sand. Others were bringing in more of the bricks.
“When are you going to start?”
“At 1400, Captain. Gives us time to get all these guys through chow and into the heat of the day. Since we have to wet the decks, it’ll be a nice break. I got all of Deck Department and Weapons going to take part. Should be real interesting,” Boats said with a sly grin.
“I believe it will. I may even come join you.”
“The more the merrier.”
Hammond laughed. “In the mean time, can someone show me the windlass gear? I want to see what we have.”
“Right this way, Captain,” Boats said leading the way farther forward. The rest of the tour took only about 20 minutes as Patnaude led him through the finer points of the anchor windless gear and all the other equipment in the locker.
Shortly afterward, Hammond was firmly ensconced in his chair on the bridge going over the message traffic. His thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the 1MC:
“Good morning, everyone, this is Father Danner. Roman Catholic Mass will be held on the 0–1 level port side beside turret two at 1100. So bring your sunscreen, sunglasses, and shower shoes to the 0–1 level port side and join us for services.”
Hammond almost laughed as a very old gentleman in a captain’s uniform placed the microphone back in its holder. He had a twinkle in his eyes as he said good morning to the Captain and then headed down for Mass. Father Danner had been aboard back in the 80s and had been a very popular member of the crew. He had come out of retirement to be a spiritual leader for those who desired it onboard the ship. In the few days Hammond had known him, Danner had been not only an able priest, but an able officer; reliable and dedicated to the ship and crew. His advice, on the few occasions needed, was insightful and conservative. Hammond could only imagine what the Mass would be like. After a few moments he walked over to the bridge windows on the port side and looked down on the assembled men. They were standing loosely in front of a small table Danner had set up. He was leading them in prayer along with two assistants. An altar kit was there to serve communion. After the short prayer, Danner was speaking to the gathered crewmen. He glanced up, saw the Captain watching, and flashed a smile and a quick wink. Hammond chuckled to himself. That was Danner.
Lunch was really a brunch for most. They served until 1300 and then everything was quiet for about an hour. At that time “all hands” was piped and Deck and Weapons departments were mustered on the fo’c’sle. Hammond left the bridge to watch. He walked up the starboard side main deck and listened to the Bos’n as he gave the instructions.
“Damn it, I told everybody not to wear shoes or socks up here this afternoon. I have a good reason when I say something. It’s not like I like flappin’ my gums! After we get through with this I want the rest of you shitheads to get them shoes off so we can get to work!” He grabbed one of the cement looking bricks. There was a partial hole in one side of it. “OK, you guys want to be real battleship sailors? Well, here’s your chance. Any of you fuckheads know what this is? It’s a holystone,” he said holding it up high. “You will notice there is a place on one side that looks like something some of you guys might want to stick your dick in. Well, don’t be getting’ any ideas. It’s to stick the end of a swab handle into. Today we are going to take part in a 400 year old, time honored tradition of holystoning a deck. What this shit was used for was keeping the wooden decks clean and bright. So listen up and we will go over how you do it,” he said starting his lecture.
Patnaude carefully demonstrated how to wet the deck, throw sand on it, and then, standing in a line shoulder to shoulder move the holystone back and forth along a single plank for several sweeps and then move to the next. Within 30 minutes the hoses were dousing the main decks and sand was everywhere. Lines of men took hold of their broom handles and inserting them into the hole in the holystone, began moving together as teams sanding down the decks. As the lines of men moved the stones from plank to plank, water was splashed on the deck where they had finished, sometimes drenching the crewmen and making the task much more pleasant. At first the job went slow, but as the men got the hang of it, they began working as well oiled teams. As they moved across the decks, you could see the difference in the before and after portions.
After three hours the main deck was completed. The wooden decks sparkled and Bos’n had all the gear struck below. He had given the men something to talk about and tell the folks. Hammond watched the procedure and as the men were putting the gear away he walked over to Patnaude. “Boats, I’d seen this stuff in movies but never thought I’d see this in person. Nice job.”