A Gunner Aboard the Yankee | Page 8

clever contrivance, the boatswain's mate piped tattoo.
We hurried away to watch from a distance. Laughing and singing, the

fellows trooped down to prepare for turning in; the hard labor of the
day had not dampened their spirits. The deck soon presented an
animated scene. A number of us had slept long enough on board the
"New Hampshire" to become accustomed to man-o'-war style, but the
new recruits were like so many cats in a strange garret. They stood
about, glancing doubtfully at their hammocks and then at their clothes.
They did not know just what to do with either.
"How do you get into the thing, I wonder?" asked the fellow from
Harlem, eyeing his suspended bed.
"Borrow the navigator's step-ladder," suggested the coxs'n of the gig.
"He keeps it in the chart room."
The greatest difficulty was the disposal of our clothes. There were no
wardrobes nor closets nor convenient hooks, and it was strictly against
the rule to leave anything lying around decks. The question was solved
presently by an old naval sailor, who calmly made a neat roll of his
duck jumper and trousers and another of his shoes and shirt. The latter
he tucked into his clews at the foot, and the other he used as a pillow.
We thanked our lucky stars we did not have creased trousers, smooth
coats, vests, white shirts, collars, and neckties to dispose of.
In due time young Potter, who had stayed on deck viewing the scenery
until chased by the corporal of the guard, came down and made for his
hammock. Four dozen pairs of eyes watched him with delightful
anticipation. Unconscious of the attention he was attracting, he doffed
his clothes and brought out something from his black bag which proved
to be a night-shirt! If there was any compunction in regard to the trick
intended for him, it instantly vanished. A sailor with a night-shirt was
legitimate prey.
Whistling softly, the victim prepared himself for the swing, grasped the
hooks, and then, with good momentum, landed in the hammock. There
was a swish, a distinct thud, and young Potter rolled out upon the deck
with a gasp of amazement. Turning as quickly as he could, he looked
up and saw the hammock swinging in its proper place. It was physical
labor for us to keep from howling with glee at the expression on his

face. He glanced sheepishly about to see if his catastrophe had been
observed; then he made another attempt. This time a heave of the ship
sent him even more quickly to the deck, and he landed with a bump
that could have been heard in the cabin. He was fighting mad when he
again scrambled to his feet.
"I can lick the lubber who threw me out," he shouted.
"Stop that talking," came from the master-at-arms' corner. "Turn in and
keep quiet about the decks."
Potter grumbled something under his breath, then he made a careful
search in the vicinity of his hammock. It was worth a dollar admission
to see him poke about with, the end of a broom. He found nothing
suspicious, and proceeded to try again. Very gingerly he grasped the
hooks, and he experimented with one foot before trusting his whole
weight to the hammock. The second he released his hold of the hooks
he fell, and the fall was even greater than before.
"The blamed thing is spooky!" he howled, as he gathered himself
together. He made a quick run for the ladder leading on deck, but was
stopped by the master-at-arms, who demanded an explanation. While
they were arguing, "Bill" and I quickly fixed the hammock, casting off
the shell and concealing it behind a black bag. We had barely finished
when the chief petty officer came up and examined the clews. He tested
them by applying his own weight, then gave the crestfallen and
astounded Potter a few terse words of advice about eating too much
supper. Five minutes later the deck was quiet.
The hard labor of the previous day--such labor as hauling and pulling,
handling heavy boxes and casks, and bales and barrels of provisions
and ammunition--had made me dead tired, and I slept like a log until
reveille. This unpleasant function occurred at three bells (half-past five
o'clock), and it consisted of an infernal hubbub of drums and bugles
and boatswains' pipes, loud and discordant enough to awaken the seven
sleepers. We roused in a hurry, and, with eyes scarcely open, began to
lash up our hammocks.

"Seven turns, no more, no less," bawled the master-at-arms. "Get just
seven turns of the lashing around your hammocks, and get 'em quick. If
you can't pass your hammock through a foot ring, you'll go on the
report. Shake a leg there!"
The rumor had gone about that