particular orders, yet I will say for Captain
Claret that, upon the whole, he was rather indulgent to his crew, so
long as they were perfectly docile. He allowed them to play checkers as
much as they pleased. More than once I have known him, when going
forward to the forecastle, pick his way carefully among scores of
canvas checker-cloths spread upon the deck, so as not to tread upon the
men--the checker-men and man-of-war's-men included; but, in a certain
sense, they were both one; for, as the sailors used their checker-men,
so, at quarters, their officers used these man-of-war's men.

But Captain Claret's leniency in permitting checkers on board his ship
might have arisen from the following little circumstance,
confidentially communicated to me. Soon after the ship had sailed from
home, checkers were prohibited; whereupon the sailors were exasperated
against the Captain, and one night, when he was walking round the
forecastle, bim! came an iron belaying-pin past his ears; and while he
was dodging that, bim! came another, from the other side; so that, it
being a very dark night, and nobody to be seen, and it being impossible
to find out the trespassers, he thought it best to get back into his
cabin as soon as possible. Some time after--just as if the
belaying-pins had nothing to do with it--it was indirectly rumoured
that the checker-boards might be brought out again, which--as a
philosophical shipmate observed--showed that Captain Claret was a man
of a ready understanding, and could understand a hint as well as any
other man, even when conveyed by several pounds of iron.

Some of the sailors were very precise about their checker-cloths, and
even went so far that they would not let you play with them unless you
first washed your hands, especially if so be you had just come from
tarring down the rigging.

Another way of beguiling the tedious hours, is to get a cosy seat
somewhere, and fall into as snug a little reverie as you can. Or if a
seat is not to be had--which is frequently the case--then get a
tolerably comfortable _stand-up_ against the bulwarks, and begin to
think about home and bread and butter--always inseparably connected to
a wanderer--which will very soon bring delicious tears into your eyes;
for every one knows what a luxury is grief, when you can get a private
closet to enjoy it in, and no Paul Prys intrude. Several of my shore
friends, indeed, when suddenly overwhelmed by some disaster, always
make