SAIL DRILL AT SEA.
“I don’t believe a word of it!”
“It’s true, nevertheless, Payne.”
“But think what it means, my dear fellow. Why, such a thing has never
been dreamed of before on a naval academy practice ship. Plebes give an
entertainment! Pshaw! you’re crazy!”
“Here comes Blakely. He’ll tell you whether I am right or not.”
The speaker pointed along the starboard part of the _Monongahela’s_
spar deck. Blakely was sauntering forward.
He halted in front of the two and glanced inquiringly at Naval Cadet
Payne, who had beckoned to him.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Why, this chump here has been telling me a ghost story. He says
the old man has given the new fourth class permission to hold an
entertainment on the gun deck.”
“That’s straight, Ferguson.”
“Wh-what!”
“The plebes, headed by that very gally function, Faraday, sent in a
request this morning asking Captain Brookes’ permission to give a
minstrel entertainment on the forward gun deck. The old man gave his
consent at once, and it is to be held Saturday night.”
“Well, that beats the nation!” exclaimed Ferguson, with a prolonged
whistle. “Fellows, the service is going to the bowows. I’ve been a
naval cadet in the service of these great and glorious United States
almost four years, and never have I dreamed of such a state of affairs.”
“It’s all the fault of that Faraday,” muttered Payne. “He’s kicked up
more rows than enough since he entered the academy last month.”
“He’s too fresh.”
“That’s what.”
Blakely looked over the side at the vast stretch of shimmering water
surrounding the practice ship, and smiled.
He was a young man of very fair and even temper, was Walt Blakely,
member of the first class, and captain of the Naval Academy football
team. He rather liked “that cheeky plebe,” Clif Faraday, and he
secretly admired him for that cheekiness, but he also believed firmly
in the divine right of the upper classes.
Therefore when Payne and Ferguson broke out in loud remonstrance he
added his voice to theirs.
“The truth of the matter is,” said Ferguson, resentfully, “the old man
thinks the sun rises and sets in Faraday’s vicinity.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Payne. “Ever since Faraday jumped from the top and
saved Nanny Gote from drowning, he’s in luck.”
“It was a splendid act,” commented Blakely.
“Yes, but it’s no reason for letting the plebes upset all the academy
traditions. Why----”
“There’s Faraday now,” interrupted Payne, nodding his head toward an
approaching figure.
Clif glanced quizzically at the little group as he passed, and then
joined several fourth class men gathered on the forecastle.
Payne and Ferguson reddened slightly.
“He looked as if he knew we were talking about him,” sniffed the
latter.
“He probably does,” said Blakely, dryly. “He’s no fool. He knows his
new move will make more row than a bunch of magpies.”
“I’d like to punch his head.”
“Don’t try it, dear boy. He’s good at that work himself. He knocked
Sharpe out about as neatly as a prize fighter could. What’s that call?”
The shrill blast of a boatswain’s whistle sounded along the deck. As
the tremulous piping died out, a hoarse voice called out:
“All-l hands reef topsails!”
“More drill,” grumbled Ferguson, moving off. “We’ve had nothing but
drill since we left Annapolis.”
“Practice makes perfect,” grinned Blakely, as he started toward his
station.
The quiet decks of the old _Monongahela_ speedily became a scene of
bustling activity. The boatswain’s call brought the watch tumbling aft.
The hatches poured forth a steady stream of active, healthy lads clad
in snowy duck.
The first lieutenant and his assistant, the officer of the deck, took
their stand upon the break of the after deck. The captain sauntered
from his cabin prepared to watch proceedings with a critical eye.
All was ready.
“Aloft topmen!” shouted the first lieutenant, sonorously, through his
trumpet.
At the words a number of nimble cadets, members of the first and third
classes, run up the rigging in a mad race for the top.
On board a vessel like the _Monongahela_ there generally exists a
strong rivalry between the three tops--the fore, main and mizzen.
In all drills, each tries to defeat the others. In making sail it is
the nimble crew that gets all taut first. There are no prizes offered,
but a smile or nod of commendation from the executive officer or
captain is worth more than medal or money.
In making, or furling, or reefing sail a certain number of men--in this
case cadets--are selected as topmen. It is their duty to run aloft and
to man the yards. To lay out and reef or furl, or to handle ropes in
the top.
At the first warning command they spring upon the nettings and mount
the lower part of the shrouds.
They are supposed to wait patiently and in line for the word of
command, but do race horses wait patiently at the post!
They slyly creep up several ratlines until the vigilant eye of the
first lieutenant catches them, then they reluctantly drop back, only to
spring aloft again at the first word from the trumpet.
Once given they risk their necks to gain the top. Arriving there, they
stand ready and wait like champing steeds for the command:
“Lay out!”
In the meantime those below stationed at the fife and pin rails are
to do all in their power to ease off the different halliards and clew
lines and the various running gear.
This latter task, under the careful supervision of several trained
first class men, belongs to the plebes.
It is too soon in the cruise for the latter to trust their precious
lives above the deck, so they pull and haul and try their inexperienced
best to bring their part of the ship in first in this race of knowledge
and brawn.
The topsails are reefed and spread again to the breeze. The sea is
calm, and the blue sky overhead holds no threatening cloud.
The drill goes on until the captain cries “enough.” Then the ship is
made trim once more, and the cadets listen longingly for the sound of
the boatswain’s whistle piping “Mess gear,” for that means dinner, and
if there is anything a naval cadet likes to do at sea, after the salty
breeze and active work has toned his stomach, it is to eat.
And eat he does, rest assured of that.