University of Virginia Library

73. CHAPTER LXXIII.

Mention has already been made that the game of draughts,
or checkers, was permitted to be played on board the Never-sink.
At the present time, while there was little or no ship-work
to be done, and all hands, in high spirits, were sailing
homeward over the warm, smooth sea of the tropics; so numerous
became the players, scattered about the decks, that
our First Lieutenant used ironically to say that it was a pity
they were not tesselated with squares of white and black
marble, for the express benefit and convenience of the players.
Had this gentleman had his way, our checker-boards
would very soon have been pitched out of the ports. But the
Captain—unusually lenient in some things—permitted them,
and so Mr. Bridewell was fain to hold his peace.

But, although this one game was allowable in the frigate,
all kinds of gambling were strictly interdicted, under the penalty
of the gangway; nor were cards or dice tolerated in any
way whatever. This regulation was indispensable, for, of all
human beings, man-of-war's-men are perhaps the most inclined
to gambling. The reason must be obvious to any one who
reflects upon their condition on shipboard. And gambling—
the most mischievous of vices any where—in a man-of-war
operates still more perniciously than on shore. But quite as
often as the law against smuggling spirits is transgressed by
the unscrupulous sailors, the statutes against cards and dice
are evaded.

Sable night, which, since the beginning of the world, has
winked and looked on at so many deeds of iniquity—night is
the time usually selected for their operations by man-of-war
gamblers. The place pitched upon is generally the berth-deck,

where the hammocks are swung, and which is lighted
so stintedly as not to disturb the sleeping seamen with any
obtruding glare. In so spacious an area the two lanterns
swinging from the stanchions diffuse a subdued illumination,
like a night-taper in the apartment of some invalid. Owing
to their position, also, these lanterns are far from shedding an
impartial light, however dim, but fling long angular rays here
and there, like burglar's dark-lanterns in the fifty-acre vaults
of the West India Docks on the Thames.

It may well be imagined, therefore, how well adapted is
this mysterious and subterranean Hall of Eblis to the clandestine
proceedings of gamblers, especially as the hammocks not
only hang thickly, but many of them swing very low, within
two feet of the floor, thus forming innumerable little canvass
glens, grottoes, nooks, corners, and crannies, where a good
deal of wickedness may be practiced by the wary with considerable
impunity.

Now the master-at-arms, assisted by his mates, the ship's
corporals, reigns supreme in these bowels of the ship. Throughout
the night these policemen relieve each other at standing
guard over the premises; and, except when the watches are
called, they sit in the midst of a profound silence, only invaded
by trumpeter's snores, or the ramblings of some old sheet-anchor-man
in his sleep.

The two ship's corporals went among the sailors by the
names of Leggs and Pounce; Pounce had been a policeman,
it was said, in Liverpool; Leggs, a turnkey attached to
“The Tombs” in New York. Hence their education eminently
fitted them for their stations; and Bland, the master-at-arms,
ravished with their dexterity in prying out offenders,
used to call them his two right hands.

When man-of-war's-men desire to gamble, they appoint the
hour, and select some certain corner, in some certain shadow,
behind some certain hammock. They then contribute a small
sum toward a joint fund, to be invested in a bribe for some
argus-eyed shipmate, who shall play the part of a spy upon

the master-at-arms and corporals while the gaming is in progress.
In nine cases out of ten these arrangements are so cunning
and comprehensive, that the gamblers, eluding all vigilance,
conclude their game unmolested. But now and then,
seduced into unwariness, or perhaps, from parsimony, being unwilling
to employ the services of a spy, they are suddenly lighted
upon by the constables, remorselessly collared, and dragged
into the brig, there to await a dozen lashes in the morning.

Several times at midnight I have been startled out of a
sound sleep by a sudden, violent rush under my hammock,
caused by the abrupt breaking up of some nest of gamblers,
who have scattered in all directions, brushing under the tiers
of swinging pallets, and setting them all in a rocking commotion.

It is, however, while laying in port that gambling most
thrives in a man-of-war. Then the men frequently practice
their dark deeds in the light of the day, and the additional
guards which, at such times, they deem indispensable, are not
unworthy of note. More especially, their extra precautions
in engaging the services of several spies, necessitate a considerable
expenditure, so that, in port, the diversion of gambling
rises to the dignity of a nabob luxury.

During the day the master-at-arms and his corporals are
continually prowling about on all three decks, eager to spy
out iniquities. At one time, for example, you see Leggs
switching his magisterial rattan, and lurking round the foremast
on the spar-deck; the next moment, perhaps, he is three
decks down, out of sight, prowling among the cable-tiers.
Just so with his master, and Pounce his coadjutor; they are
here, there, and every where, seemingly gifted with ubiquity.

In order successfully to carry on their proceedings by day,
the gamblers must see to it that each of these constables is
relentlessly dogged wherever he goes; so that, in case of his
approach toward the spot where themselves are engaged, they
may be warned of the fact in time to make good their escape.
Accordingly, light and active scouts are selected to follow the

constable about. From their youthful alertness and activity,
the boys of the mizzen-top are generally chosen for this purpose.

But this is not all. On board of most men-of-war there is
a set of sly, knavish foxes among the crew, destitute of every
principle of honor, and on a par with Irish informers. In
man-of-war parlance, they come under the denomination of
fancy-men and white-mice. They are called fancy-men, because,
from their zeal in craftily reporting offenders, they are
presumed to be regarded with high favor by some of the officers.
Though it is seldom that these informers can be certainly
individualized, so secret and subtle are they in laying
their information, yet certain of the crew, and especially certain
of the marines, are invariably suspected to be fancy-men
and white-mice, and are accordingly more or less hated by
their comrades.

Now, in addition to having an eye on the master-at-arms
and his aids, the day-gamblers must see to it, that every person
suspected of being a white-mouse or fancy-man, is likewise
dogged wherever he goes. Additional scouts are retained
constantly to snuff at their trail. But the mysteries of man-of-war
vice are wonderful; and it is now to be recorded, that,
from long habit and observation, and familiarity with the
guardo moves and maneuvres of a frigate, the master-at-arms
and his aids can almost invariably tell when any gambling is
going on by day; though, in the crowded vessel, abounding in
decks, tops, dark places, and outlandish corners of all sorts,
they may not be able to pounce upon the identical spot where
the gamblers are hidden.

During the period that Bland was suspended from his office
as master-at-arms, a person who, among the sailors, went by
the name of Sneak, having been long suspected to have been
a white-mouse, was put in Bland's place. He proved a hang-dog,
sidelong catch-thief, but gifted with a marvelous perseverance
in ferreting out culprits; following in their track like
an inevitable Cuba blood-hound, with his noiseless nose.
When disconcerted. however, you sometimes heard his bay.

“The muffled dice are somewhere around,” Sneak would
say to his aids; “there are them three chaps, there, been
dogging me about for the last half hour. I say, Pounce, has
any one been scouting around you this morning?”

“Four on 'em,” says Pounce. “I know'd it; I know'd
the muffled dice was rattlin'!”

“Leggs!” says the master-at-arms to his other aid, “Leggs,
how is it with you—any spies?”

“Ten on 'em,” says Leggs. “There's one on 'em now—
that fellow stitching a hat.”

“Halloo, you sir!” cried the master-at-arms, “top your
boom and sail large, now. If I see you about me again, I'll
have you up to the mast.”

“What am I a doin' now?” says the hat-stitcher, with a
face as long as a rope-walk. “Can't a feller be workin'
here, without being 'spected of Tom Coxe's traverse, up one
ladder and down t'other?”

“Oh, I know the moves, sir; I have been on board a
guardo. Top your boom, I say, and be off, or I'll have you
hauled up and riveted in a clinch—both fore-tacks over the
main-yard, and no bloody knife to cut the seizing. Sheer!
or I'll pitch into you like a shin of beef into a beggar's wallet.”

It is often observable, that, in vessels of all kinds, the men
who talk the most sailor lingo are the least sailor-like in reality.
You may sometimes hear even marines jerk out more
salt phrases than the Captain of the Forecastle himself. On
the other hand, when not actively engaged in his vocation,
you would take the best specimen of a seaman for a landsman.
When you see a fellow yawing about the docks like
a homeward-bound Indiaman, a long Commodore's pennant
of black ribbon flying from his mast-head, and fetching up at
a grog-shop with a slew of his hull, as if an Admiral were
coming alongside a three-decker in his barge; you may put
that man down for what man-of-war's-men call a damn-my-eyes-tar,
that is, a humbug. And many damn-my-eyes humbugs
there are in this man-of-war world of ours.