“All hands up anchor! Turn out everybody, lash and carry! Bear a hand, show a leg there, out you go!” were the rude cries aboard the Puritan at a little after five o’clock Monday morning. The Puritan was getting under way and left early, her captain wanting to take advantage of the high tide that existed at that hour. The midshipmen had slung their hammocks in a confined space inside the superstructure, and first classmen were turning them out. They bawled and yelled; Ralph Osborn was sleeping soundly at that hour and didn’t fully comprehend what it was all about until one of the first classmen stooping directly under Ralph’s hammock, having noticed that the occupant had made no move toward turning out, suddenly raised himself and Ralph was instantly spilled out of his hammock. He lit feet first, and now wide awake started to lash his hammock. Everything was in confusion on the deck, for a number had been turned out in this same unceremonious fashion.

Cries of: “Bear a hand, get your hammocks on deck,” hastened him and soon his hammock was neatly lashed and was in its netting. For two hours after that, as far as Ralph was concerned, nothing whatever happened. The old monitor steamed out the narrow-dredged channel leading from the Severn River to Chesapeake Bay. On the bridge were the captain and several other officers navigating the ship, and forward an officer in charge of the anchors walked up and down.

Ralph longed for the good old days of the previous summer when he would have been busily engaged hauling on different ropes; but now, longing to do something, and there being nothing whatever for him to do, he walked about listlessly.

“If they won’t let us work why didn’t they let us sleep? What was the good of dumping us out in that style?” he complained to Bollup.

“Custom, Os, custom. When a navy ship gets under way everybody has a station and must be there, no matter whether he has anything to do or not. Same thing happens when a ship comes to anchor. Everything in the Navy is run by regulation or custom. Why, there was an old regulation years ago that required a ship to let go her anchor if she went aground. Well, a lieutenant named Percival one time was officer of the deck of a ship that went aground. ‘Let go both anchors!’ he shouted. ‘Can’t do it, sir,’ yelled back the boatswain’s mate on the forecastle; ‘they’re not bent to the chains.’

“‘Bother the difference,’ shouted back Percival. ‘Let ’em go, I say; if we lose the ship, it’ll be logged we went ashore according to the rules, regulations and customs of the service,’ and the anchors were dropped, though they were not attached to the chain cables. And so, Os, we were turned out not for any useful exercise, but just because it is the custom for everybody to be up when the ship gets under way.”

“Stuff,” remarked Ralph disdainfully. “Do you believe that yarn?”

“Of course I do. Anderson of the first class just told me, Captain Waddell told him, Admiral Farragut told Waddell just before he said, when they were running by the forts at New Orleans, ‘Damn the torpedoes, go ahead,’ and years before that Lieutenant Percival told Admiral——”

“Hold on there, Bollup, Admiral Farragut said that at Mobile Bay, not at New Orleans. How in the world did you ever pass your history entrance exam? and as for that yarn about Percival, pshaw, I don’t believe it ever happened. Hello, there is the bugle call for breakfast. Goodness, I’m glad we’re going to get something to eat.”

After breakfast the midshipmen were divided into different sections for instruction. The first prescribed lesson in seamanship was: “How many anchors are there aboard? Tell the difference between bower, sheet, steam and kedge anchors. Tell what each anchor aboard weighs. Name the different parts of an anchor. How secure an anchor for sea; how secure for letting go?”

The prescribed lesson in steam engineering was: “What kind of boilers and engines are installed aboard this ship? What pipes and valves does the steam pass through in going from the boilers to the engines? What valves do you open and shut to pump water into a boiler?”

In electricity the lesson was: “Tell what you find on the switchboard, and the use of each.”

In gunnery: “Go into the turret, mention the different mechanisms you find, and tell how and for what purpose each is used.” These were for the third classmen. The first classmen had more advanced lessons, and were also given responsible duties with the navigator and chief engineer, and as officer of the deck.

“We’ll be busy this cruise,” remarked Ralph to Creelton, as the third classmen were copying their prescribed lessons in the various subjects from the bulletin-boards. “We work at our seamanship from eight-thirty until nine-thirty then study, and then at our gunnery from eleven until noon. Then from one until two we are in the engine and fire rooms, and from two until three in the dynamo room. Officers are to go around with us and explain things and answer questions, and we put things down in our note-books. Then each night we have to hand in our note-books with the answers to the prescribed lessons written out. By gracious! But this will keep us busy, and the officers, too. But we ought to learn a lot.”

The lessons were changed each day, and at different times the instruction periods were changed to practical drills; and whenever the ship was at anchor the midshipmen were always exercised at rowing and sailing. Whenever the Puritan was under way the midshipmen at all times were to be seen going about the different parts of the ship, asking questions of enlisted men and officers, jotting down notes and making sketches. Much knowledge was absorbed of the different mechanisms in the ship and their manipulation; all were being fitted to familiarity with them, which after long years of experience makes the competent officer.

In a few days the Puritan was anchored off the ship-building works at Newport News. Here parties of midshipmen were sent ashore on tours of inspection under charge of different officers.

Before starting ashore on Thursday morning, Ralph Osborn noticed a group of enlisted men on the quarter-deck. These men had made requests for extra leave, more than had been allowed them by the executive officer. The latter was Lieutenant-Commander Graham who was considered to be a very efficient officer but one especially severe with the enlisted men.

“You men can’t have forty-eight hours’ liberty,” Ralph heard him say. “We leave Saturday morning for the North and I’ll not have anybody out of the ship later than six o’clock to-morrow evening. Those of you who are on the first conduct grade and want that may give in your names to the ship’s writer. That’s all you’ll get and you needn’t ask for anything more. And if any of you are not on the first conduct grade you needn’t ask for that. Now clear out, all of you.”

All of the men but one touched their caps and moved forward. This one saluted and in a voice full of suppressed emotion said: “Sir, I request special permission to speak to you. My wife lives in this town and she is sick with typhoid fever. I haven’t had any liberty, I’m classed—but I’ve just received word she is very bad; could you, sir, could you let me go over to see her for just a couple of hours? I’ll promise you to be back on time, sir!”

The speaker was a tall, neatly-dressed man, about thirty years old. He was smooth shaven, and his face was what would be called a strong one; strong for good, or perhaps for evil if led in a wrong way. Such a face betokened an impulsive, warm-hearted character. To Ralph the anguish of his face, and the trembling of his voice were most appealing.

“Poor fellow! I do hope Mr. Graham will let him go,” he observed to Creelton.

Lieutenant-Commander Graham looked fixedly at the man before him. There was no hope of kindness in his cold gray eyes. “Your name is Collins, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me see. Three weeks ago at Annapolis, while you were on the second conduct grade and not entitled to liberty, you brought a telegram to the mast which said: ‘Mother very low; come at once,’ did you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the captain let you go for three days and you took six.”

“Yes, sir, my mother lingered, my wife was taken sick then, I couldn’t leave; I telegraphed the captain for an extension but didn’t get it. I was sorry to break my liberty, sir, but when a man’s mother dies——” and Collins’ voice broke.

“Oh, yes, I know all about that, and in many years’ service I’ve invariably noticed that whenever an enlisted man comes to the mast with a telegram that his mother is dead he’s never on the first conduct grade; he’s always on the second, third or fourth grade. No, you can’t go. You were put in the fourth conduct grade for three months by my special advice to the captain. I’ve no use for liberty breakers, and you’re not going to work me, not a bit of it. No, you can’t go ashore, not for a minute. I advise you to tell your wife she’d better get sick only when you’re on the first conduct grade.”

Collins turned pale and his lips twitched.

“Go forward and get to your work,” ordered Mr. Graham roughly.

“Sir, I request permission to see the captain.”

“I am commanding officer. Captain Waddell is in Washington.”

“Sir, I beg of you——”

“That will do; go forward.”

Ralph was thunderstruck as well as deeply grieved at what he had just seen and heard. “I’m so sorry for that poor fellow,” he said to Creelton; “I do wish Mr. Graham would let him go.”

As Collins walked forward he was joined by another enlisted man, one of older appearance. He took Collins by the arm and talked earnestly to him. Collins was wild with anger and vehement in his speech but finally cooled down. The older man then walked aft to the officer of the deck and said: “I request permission to speak to the executive officer, sir.”

“You’re late, Hester; the executive officer has finished with the mast.”

“It’s not nine-thirty yet, sir, and this is a special matter. The executive officer’s posted order says he will see the enlisted men until half-past nine.”

“Very well. I’ll send for him.”

“What a fine-looking enlisted man,” said Ralph Osborn to Creelton. “I’ve seen him in the fire room; he’s a chief water tender, and he was awfully good about answering my questions; but he was of course pretty dirty down there. I’d no idea he was such a splendid man in appearance.”

“He’s a good looker, no doubt about that,” agreed Creelton, “but I didn’t have as much luck as you had. I asked him lots of questions but didn’t get much out of him. He was polite, but evidently wasn’t interested in me.”

Hester was indeed a man good to look at. His face indicated strength and character; and the square jaw and determined blue eyes made one feel he would accomplish what he set out to do.

“What is it, Hester?” demanded the executive officer, coming up.

“Sir, I am on the liberty list, and I request special permission to go at one o’clock to-day instead of at five o’clock, when the liberty party goes.”

“Granted, if the chief engineer can spare you. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir; I request my liberty be extended till six o’clock to-morrow night with permission to come aboard to-night to sleep.”

“Granted, under same conditions.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hester saluted and walked forward where he was immediately joined by Collins.

Soon after the midshipmen were taken ashore to visit the ship-building works, and Ralph saw wonderful sights. The machine that most impressed him was the “shears,” as it was properly called. These shears cut great iron plates over an inch in thickness “as quickly and as easily,” Ralph thought, “as I can cut a piece of paper with a pair of scissors.” And then he saw riveting machines, and wonderful hundred-ton steam hammers at work. He returned aboard much impressed.

While he was at his mess-table at supper that evening First Classman Anderson passed and sang out: “Osborn, you have a forecastle anchor watch from eleven till midnight to-night. What’s your hammock billet?”

“Twenty-seven; will I be called?”

“The man you relieve will attend to that unless he wants an extra hour’s watch. Creelton is your relief; find out where he sleeps, and call him, will you?”

“All right. I guess I’ll be sleepy enough at midnight to be anxious to see him.”

Ralph turned out at eleven and relieved Streeter.

“There’s nothing much to turn over, Os,” said Streeter. “The steam launch is secured at the starboard boom; the catamaran is at the port. Anderson is the midshipman officer of the deck and Jenson is the midshipman quartermaster of the watch. Everything’s quiet. Report any boat you see coming alongside; the enlisted anchor watch are sleeping on the deck just forward of the executive’s office. That’s all; I’m sleepy. Good-night.”

Ralph walked up and down the forecastle deck on the starboard side. There was nothing for him to do except to keep awake, and it didn’t seem at all likely that anything would occur in the hour he was on watch. It was a still night; the moon was fall, the water about the ship perfectly calm. Soon after he was on watch he noticed a small rowboat approaching the ship.

“Boat ahoy!” he called out.

“Liberty man!” was the reply from the boat. The boat came alongside the port gangway, and Hester stepped aboard.

“I’ve come aboard to sleep; I’m on liberty till six to-morrow afternoon, sir,” reported Hester to Midshipman Anderson.

“Very well, Hester,” and the latter walked forward. Nearly half an hour later Ralph saw him at the scuttle-butt drinking a glass of water.

“Why don’t you turn in?” he inquired.

“I’m going to, sir; I had an important message to deliver to an oiler named Collins. I’ve just been to the hospital where his wife is sick. I’ve been there several times to-day and I wanted to tell Collins about her. I’m going to turn in now.”

“How is she?” asked Ralph much interested.

“Pretty sick, I’m afraid, Mr. Osborn,” replied Hester, leaving.

“I must have made an impression on that fine fellow,” reflected Ralph, “for him to have remembered my name. Well, I wish midnight would come; I’m getting sleepy.”

He walked up and down the forecastle; it seemed a long hour to him. He did not know that just inside the open door of the superstructure a pair of dark, anxious eyes were watching his every move. Finally, at five minutes of twelve, Ralph left the forecastle to wake up Creelton.

At that instant a man quickly ran out on the deck, jumped up on the lower boom from which the catamaran, a square ended boat used by the men who paint the ship’s side, was tied, and hauled up the catamaran; he slid into this, and with feverish hands untied the boat’s painter, cast it off and commenced to scull rapidly away.

Ralph had called Creelton and came out of the midshipmen’s sleeping quarters to the port side of the ship’s side. His eyes immediately lit upon the boat, and in the bright moonlight he could see the vigorous work of the man sculling. He looked at the port boom and saw the catamaran was missing, and he immediately knew that some one was running away with it. Though he did not have much time to think he realized that this was happening during his watch and he might be held responsible for not having prevented it, and that his reputation might suffer badly.

“Boat ahoy!” he shouted and then running aft to the quarter-deck, called out at the top of his voice: “A man is running away with the catamaran, sir.”

Quick as a report from a gun came snappy orders from the watchful officer of the deck, Midshipman Anderson.

“Quartermaster, break out the anchor watch on the double. Osborn, help me lower this dinghy; quick, man, quick.”