THE NIGHT DRILL.
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.