It was one night of many since the shores of America had faded astern. It was the early hours when time hangs heavy.
Back and forth1 marched the officer in charge of the ship. He had paced the stretch between rail and rail of the slender bridge fully2 fifty times. He was thinking longingly3 of the approaching hour when his relief would report, and he would be free to forget the monotony of ship life in the seclusion4 of sleep.
Suddenly, as he neared the ladder leading to the quarter-deck, he almost collided with a dark figure.
There was a brief interchange of words, then the lieutenant6 leaned over the railing and called, softly:
“Messenger boy!”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
A lad in a sailor’s uniform emerged from the gloom, and knuckled7 his forehead with one hand.
The lieutenant gave him a whispered order, and the messenger hastily descended9 the ladder and disappeared forward. A few moments later the oppressive stillness of the night gave way with startling abruptness10 to a most prodigious11 clatter12.
R-r-rat-a-tat! R-r-rat-a-tat!
The sharp roll of the drum awoke the echoes of the old frigate13, sending an infernal din5 of noise through decks and rigging and hull14. It was caught up and hurled15 about from sail to sail; it burst upon the ears of the watch below, sending men from their hammocks in alarm. And it changed the scene from one of peaceful quiet into a pandemonium16 of hurrying figures and excited voices.
“Silence fore8 and aft!” came the stern command from the bridge. There were three figures there now. And one was the captain.
The noise ceased as if by magic. Several lights flashed fore and aft, and revealed in the faint light were a number of grim black cannon17, each surrounded by motionless sailors, every group being as rigid18 as the iron itself.
An officer, half clad, but girdled with belt and sword scabbard, leaves one of the groups and hurries to the space in front of the bridge. His sword flashes as he salutes19.
“First division ready, sir.”
The words came crisp and sharp. He had scarcely finished when another officer hastens up and makes a similar report, then another and another.
This scene just described, which to an inexperienced eye would have seemed strange and warlike, was a drill, pure and simple.
It was general quarters—a ceremony where the ship is ready to fight, when the crew is ready to work the guns, and battle to the death with the foes20 of their country. It was a night alarm, too, entirely21 unexpected by the crew, and therefore a fine practical test of the resources of the frigate in moments of hasty peril22 and attack.
The captain smiled grimly as he glanced at his watch by the light of the hand lantern. Turning to the first lieutenant, he said, in a low voice:
“Fair time, pretty fair. Ship ready for action in seven minutes. Could be better, though,” was the reply. Then the officer added, questioningly:
“Shall I order retreat from quarters, sir?”
Captain Brookes gave a quick glance into the darkness enshrouding the frigate, and replied:
“No. It’s a good night for further drill. We’ll try ‘abandon ship.’”
“Man the boats only, sir?”
“No; lower them. The sea is rather quiet. It might be a good idea to send the boats out half a mile. It will give the cadets a taste of actual experience.”
Lieutenant Watson, the executive officer of the Monongahela, was too well trained to offer an objection, or even advice, but he glanced askance at the black wall surrounding them, as he called out:
“Bugler, sound abandon ship.”
There was a quick, lively blast of a bugle23, then the men and cadets melted away from their stations and swarmed24 about the boats secured in the davits.
The frigate was hove to, and when her way was checked the small boats were lowered and brought alongside the sea gangway.
It was ticklish25 work descending26 into the frail27 crafts as they pitched and rolled under the lee of the towering hull, but the various crews were embarked28 without mishap29.
“Pull away to sea, and await signal to return,” bawled30 the executive officer from the bridge.
“Ay, ay, sir,” came faintly through the darkness.
“Officers of boats will examine stores and equipments,” was the next order. “Also ascertain31 proficiency32 of crews.”
Again came the obedient replies, then the captain, first lieutenant and the men kept on board as a precaution, settled down to wait.
“We will give them ten minutes,” said the former, presently. “They can’t pull far in that time. Nothing like actual experience to——”
He paused abruptly34 and glanced out to windward. A chill blast had suddenly come from that direction. The old Monongahela gave an uneasy roll.
“That means wind and plenty of it, sir,” exclaimed Lieutenant Watson. “Shall I——”
“Hoist the recall at once,” broke in Captain Brookes.
A moment later a cluster of lights swung aloft from the main truck of the frigate.
And leaning out over the lee railing of the bridge were the two officers, both watching for answering signals, but neither confessing to the other the anxiety caused by that threatening puff35 of wind.
On vessels36 of war each separate boat, from the sailing launch to the dingy37, has its own crew, and coxswain. In certain drills and ceremonies, such as abandon ship, every man on board ship is ticketed to a certain boat. To that craft he promptly38 repairs when the signal is given. Constant practice makes every member of the crew familiar with his duties, and drill, or the real action, passes without confusion.
The sailing launch of the Monongahela was a large seaworthy boat, capable of safely carrying twenty men. When it was rowed away from the frigate on this dark night it contained that number in its crew.
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