That helped him for a time, but after the first two hours the waste matted and grew hard with perspiration and blood.

He had to throw it away and take the shovel handle against his bare skin.

He told himself that it was only a matter of time before calluses would form, but what chance was there for a formation of calluses when the water and suds softened his hands every morning?
On the third day he was a little more used to the torture.

His hands were hopelessly raw now, but still he made no complaint and stuck with his task.

That night he secured a rag and retreated to the stretch of deck between the wheelhouse and the after-cabin, where he squatted beside a bucket of water and washed his hands carefully.