The latter grasped two hooks, gave himself a swing, landed in the hammock, and in an instant struck the deck with a thump, the hammock under him.  As he rolled out I rubbed my eyes.  The hammock had swiftly returned to its former position!

“It isn’t hoodooed,” grinned “Bill.”  “Just look here.”

He hauled up on the head clews and presently a five-inch shell appeared above the top of the reel.  The shell was fastened to the end of the hammock lashing, at the other end of which was attached the ring.  The lashing led over the hook, and the weight of the shell was just sufficient to keep the hammock in its place.  As I finished inspecting the 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.