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 forth marched the officer in charge of the ship. he had paced the stretch between rail and rail of the slender bridge fully fifty times. he was thinking longingly of the approaching hour when his relief would report, and he would be free to forget the monotony of ship life in the seclusion 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 lieutenant leaned over the railing and called, softly:
“messenger boy!”
“ay, ay, sir.”
a lad in a sailor’s uniform emerged from the gloom, and knuckled his forehead with one hand.
the lieutenant gave him a whispered order, and the messenger hastily descended the ladder and disappeared forward. a few moments later the oppressive stillness of the night gave way with startling abruptness to a most prodigious clatter.
r-r-rat-a-tat! r-r-rat-a-tat!
the sharp roll of the drum awoke the echoes of the old frigate, sending an infernal din of noise through decks and rigging and hull. it was caught up and hurled 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 pandemonium of hurrying figures and excited voices.
“silence fore 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 cannon, each surrounded by motionless sailors, every group being as rigid 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 salutes.
“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 foes of their country. it was a night alarm, too, entirely unexpected by the crew, and therefore a fine practical test of the resources of the frigate in moments of hasty peril 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 bugle, then the men and cadets melted away from their stations and swarmed 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 ticklish work descending into the frail crafts as they pitched and rolled under the lee of the towering hull, but the various crews were embarked without mishap.
“pull away to sea, and await signal to return,” bawled 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 ascertain proficiency 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 abruptly 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 puff of wind.
on vessels of war each separate boat, from the sailing launch to the dingy, 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 promptly 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.
the officer in charge was a lieutenant, and he had under his command five seamen, a coxswain and thirteen cadets.
among the latter were clif, trolley and joy.
“i say, trolley, isn’t this nice work for christians to be laboring at?” asked joy. “didn’t i tell you that war causes all the trouble in this world? here we are out in the bosom of the mighty deep, working away like a lot of slaves when we might be comfortable starving at home. i tell you peace is the thing.”
the japanese youth laughed softly.
“you fool me one time, my joy,” he replied. “i think when i first know you that you great boy for peace. but——”
he chuckled, and added, with evident zest:
“you no like to eat more than you like fight. you whip three upper class boys, and not half try. when clif faraday say we do more things to third class fellows you roll your eyes and you lick your chop. you what american boys call one big bluff.”
the object of this arraignment laughed and gave an added spurt with his long ashen oar. the launch pitched and rolled in the seas, and steadily forced its way through the blackness.
far astern twinkled the lights of the practice ship, seeming no larger than star points in the distance.
overhead the darkness increased, the expanse of sea being banked in by gathering clouds. a breeze, cool and moist with a salty dampness, sprang up, giving a fleeting spray to the edge of the waves.
it was a strange experience to the young naval cadets, this tossing about in an open boat upon a heaving sea whose broad bosom sparkled and glowed with the sheen of phosphorescent lights.
there was something fascinating in it all, something so peculiarly attractive that all wished the signal of recall would be long in coming.
they had been aroused from slumber, the majority of them, and had plunged from the peacefulness of their hammocks into the midst of bustle and wild excitement. they had worked the guns in imitation of battle attack, then, as a fitting climax to all, here they were launched away from the ship with only a few frail planks between them and the remorseless ocean.
there was no thought of danger in their minds, however. it was all play—a jolly good game in which the boats, and the sea, and the freshening wind were the toys.
so they laid to the oars and forced the boats over the waves farther and still farther from the ship. and the breeze came in stronger puffs and the clouds gathered overhead in the darkness, and at last there came a time when the experienced officers in charge of the little flotilla received the same sudden shock as did captain brookes and his first lieutenant.
the shock was the icy blast. it sent the light crafts rolling, and called forth muttered exclamations of consternation from those who were experienced in the treachery of old ocean.
then came the recall. a cluster of lanterns swung aloft bidding the boats return. they had barely started on the back track when a deep, sullen boom echoed across the water.
“by george! it’s time,” muttered the lieutenant in charge of the sailing launch. “the old man sees his mistake and he’s hurrying us up.” he added, aloud:
“pull away, men. bend to it. that’s the recall gun.”
“we know that all right,” said clif to his seatmate. “it’s the recall gun, and it is not a minute too soon.”
twelve oars dipped and rose in steady cadence, the dripping blades flashing with phosphorescent fire. twelve sturdy backs were bent and twelve pairs of arms labored lustily, sending the launch from wave crest to wave crest like a thing of life.
twinkling here and there were the lanterns of other boats, but the launch’s light had blown out.
the blackness of the night was appalling. it rested upon the water like a thick blanket. the men in the boats could hardly see the backs of those in front of them. the coxswains faced an impenetrable wall.
“pull away!” again called out the lieutenant of the launch. “see if you can’t get more speed out of her, boys.”
he spoke coaxingly, trying to hide even from himself his intense anxiety.
his words were not needed. the launch’s crew understood the peril as well as he. one old sailor exclaimed to his mates:
“it’s the ship in five minutes or davy jones’ locker forever, boys. there’ll be a living gale down on us in a jiffy. if ye love life break your backs.”
a fresh spurt—made against an increasing sea—followed this admonition. one of the oars cracked ominously and it was speedily cast aside. there were spare ones, and the progress of the boat suffered little.
clif, joy and trolley labored like heroes. they were inexperienced in the ways of the weather, but they realized that their position was one of great danger. all three were cool, however.
“it make good incident for book i am going to write on navy,” said the japanese youth. “i like this. it plenty fun.”
“you would laugh in a cyclone or dance in a burning crater,” remarked joy, with a grim chuckle. “if all japs are as brave as——”
“back oars!” suddenly interrupted the lieutenant. “back for your——”
crash!
high above the whistling of the wind came the grinding of shattered timbers and the startled cries of a score of excited men. then came a series of quick splashes, more shouts, and finally one long appealing cry for help.
