g lights, and we both
of us wanted to turn in; but till the captain came, there was no warm
blankets for either. So we got wondering what Old Goss was doing at
Yarmouth, and what was keeping him, and whether he'd come aboard drunk
or sober, and whether he'd blow us up, and whether he'd rope's-end us,
which was as likely as not, or perhaps more. Well, so hour after hour
passed, and the night was so calm we could hear the chimes of the
Yarmouth clocks, and the water going lap-lap against the sides of the
_Lively Nan_, and the rudder going cheep-cheep as the sway of the sea
stirred it. At last, says Lawrence: 'It's reg'lar dull here; let's go
below.'

'What's the use?' says I: 'there's no light, and the hands are all
fast asleep.'

'No,' says he; 'to the captain's cabin I mean. There's a lamp there;
and we can hear the oars of the boat, and be on deck again, and no one
the wiser.'

Well, mates, I had some curiosity to get a glimpse of the captain's
cabin, where I very seldom went, and never stayed long: so down we
went, lighted up the lamp, and looked about us. There wasn't much,
however, to see. It was a black little hole, with a brass stove and
lockers, and a couple of berths, larboard and starboard, and a small
picture of a fore-and-aft rigged schooner, very low in the water, and
looking a reg'lar clipper; and no name to her. Well, mates, all at
once I caught sight of a pack of cards lying on a locker. 'Here's a
bit o' fun,' says I; 'Lawry, let's have a game;' and he agreed. So
down we sat, and began to play 'put.' A precious greasy old lot of
cards they were; and so many dirt-spots on them, that it required a
fellow with sharp eyes to make out the dirt from the Clubs and Spades.
However, we got on somehow. When one was ready to play, he knocked the
table with his knuckles, as a signal to the other; and for hours and
hours we shuffled and dealt and knocked until it was late in the
night, which I ought to have told you was Saturday night. At last,
just as we ended a game, and when we were listening if a boat was
coming, before beginning another, we heard the Yarmouth clocks ring
twelve.

'Put up the cards,' says Lawrence; 'I'll not play more.'

'Why not?' says I.

'Because,' says he, and he stammered a little--'because it's Sunday.'

Well, mates, I had forgotten all my notions of that kind, and so I
laughed at him. But it was no use.

'Them,' says he, 'that plays cards on a Sunday, runs a double chance
of dea