"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.
