“A-a-ll ha-a-ands! Up anchor! A-ho-oy!”

Instantly all was bustle and action on board the brig Josephine. The sailors ran hither and thither, the sails were loosed and the yards braced. The clanking of the windlass soon told that the anchor was being raised.

“Whew! I never saw so much excitement and hurry in all my life,” exclaimed a boy, who with three companions stood on the deck of the brig and looked on at these activities without actually taking part in them themselves. The speaker was Fred Button. He was a tiny little fellow, known affectionately among his friends as Stub, or Peewee or Pygmy. This last name was frequently shortened into Pyg, much to Fred’s disgust, though he had learned better than to lose his temper because of teasing or little things that did not just suit him. He had given up such foolishness long ago.

With his three companions he had embarked on the Josephine for a voyage to Buenos Aires in South America. The lure of the sea had attracted these four boys and the desire to see something of foreign lands had spurred them on. They were on board in the capacity of passengers though it was also their desire to help the crew in whatever way they were able.

Standing beside Fred Button was John Clemens, a boy who was as unusually tall as Fred was short. He was extremely thin, however, and with his six feet three inches of height he looked like a string, according to his friends. In fact that was what they usually called him.

Next to him was Grant Jones. Grant was about eighteen, the same age as the other three boys though he was their leader in a great many ways. No matter what he attempted he always did it well. In school work he usually led his class and on the athletic field he far outshone the others. His talents had won him the nickname of Socrates which, however, was usually shortened to Soc. “Old Soc Jones” was always a favorite.

The fourth member of the group was George Washington Sanders. He was always good natured and his witty remarks had made him intensely popular with all who knew him. In honor of the name he bore he sometimes had been referred to as the father of his country, which appellation, however, had finally been corrupted to Pop.

“It certainly is busy around here, isn’t it?” exclaimed Grant Jones in response to Fred Button’s remarks previously referred to.

“And it’s all mystery to me,” added John Clemens. “These orders being shouted and the strange things the men are doing are getting me bewildered.”

“I’ve been standing here expecting some one of the sailors to mistake you for a mast and hang a sail on you any minute, String,” said Pop Sanders slyly, at the same time nudging Fred Button.

“Is that so?” exclaimed John Clemens quickly. “At any rate, I’d rather be the shape of a mast than a bag of ballast.”

“That’s the way, String,” said Grant Jones encouragingly. “Don’t let him get the better of you.”

“He never has and he never will,” said John complacently.

“Stop arguing,” exclaimed Fred Button, “and tell me what kind of a boat this is that we are on.”

“It’s a sailing boat,” said Pop Sanders. “Did you think it was a steamer?”

“I mean what kind of a sailing boat is it. Is it a schooner or a bark, or what?”

“It’s a brig,” said Socrates Jones. “You can always tell a brig from the way she is rigged. She has two masts and is square rigged.”

“I thought that was a brigantine,” protested Fred.

“No,” said Grant. “A brigantine is very much the same though. She has two masts and is square rigged on the foremast, but schooner rigged on the other.”

“Which is called the mainmast,” said Fred.

“Quite right,” agreed Grant. “I’ll make a sailor of you yet.”

The Josephine was now sliding through the waters of New York Bay. The Statue of Liberty was just ahead on her right (or rather her starboard side) while on the port side was Governor’s Island, with its old fort and parade ground plainly to be seen. Two big ocean liners loomed up a short distance away. One was just completing her voyage from Europe while the other was only starting. Saucy little tugs rushed hither and thither. Ferryboats passed, bearing their precious burdens of human freight. Great barges loaded to the water’s edge were towed slowly along. Ahead could be seen many steamers lying at anchor in the lower bay off the quarantine station, while now and again a sailing vessel similar to the one on which the Go Ahead boys were embarked could also be seen. They were not very numerous, however.

“Well, what do you think of it, boys?” demanded a bluff, hearty voice behind them. It was Captain Roger Dodge, the commander of the Josephine, who spoke to them. His face was bronzed by the sun and wind and his drooping mustache was faded to a straw color. His gray eyes were the features that struck any one who observed him closely, however. A merry twinkle could be seen in them, but at the same time their expression denoted that their owner was a man who would never be afraid of anything on land or sea.

“We think it’s fine,” exclaimed Fred Button speaking for the others.

“It’s a wonderful harbor all right,” said Captain Dodge. “I think it’s just about the finest in the world and I’ve seen most of them too.”

“What one do you like next to this, captain?” inquired Grant. Old Soc Jones was always eager to learn something.

“Well,” said the captain slowly, “I guess the harbor at Sydney, Australia, next to this. Still San Francisco has a wonderful harbor, too. That golden gate out there is a sight worth seeing.”

“I wish I could see it,” said Grant, wistfully. “Some day I hope to do it, too. Still, there are so many wonderful places in the world it’s hard to say which ones you’d rather see first.”

“That’s very true,” agreed the captain. “I’ve seen a good many, but I always want to see more. I’ve knocked around the world so long that I don’t believe I could settle down and be happy now. I guess I’ve got the wanderlust all right.”

“It’s easy to get,” exclaimed Pop Sanders, serious for once. “We’ve all got it ourselves.”

“How long have you been a sailor, captain?” asked John Clemens.

“Thirty years. I started in as a cabin boy when I was fourteen years old and I’ve been at it ever since.”

“You ought to know about all there is to know about it, I should think,” said Fred.

“Without boasting at all, I can safely say that I do know a lot about the business,” said Captain Dodge, smilingly. “I’ve done about all there is to do on a ship, I guess.”

“And you’ve had some wonderful experiences,” suggested Grant.

“Yes, I have,” said the captain smilingly.

“Will you tell us about them sometime?”

“I should be glad to,” said the captain readily. “Not now, though, for, as you can see, I am pretty busy,” and the bluff sailor hurried away, shouting orders to his men, who all seemed to like him and take delight in carrying out his commands as quickly as possible.

“Captain Dodge isn’t much like the sea captains we used to read about in the old story books, is he?” remarked Grant Jones.

“Why not?” demanded Pop Sanders. “He certainly looks like a sailor.”

“I know that,” agreed Grant, “but I meant the kind of a man the crew all hated and feared and who used to give them the rope’s end every time they did anything he didn’t like.”

“That day has passed, I guess,” laughed John Clemens. “Perhaps it’s lucky for us, too, for we might get it ourselves.”

“Any one would have to be a pretty good shot to hit you with anything, String,” said Pop Sanders teasingly.

“Huh,” snorted John, but he made no other reply.

At this moment Captain Dodge approached.

“We’ve got to anchor, boys,” he said. “The wind is dead ahead of us here in the narrows and I think I’ll wait till it shifts.”

“We might all go to Coney Island then,” exclaimed Fred Button eagerly.

“And the wind might change almost any minute and we’d sail off and leave you behind,” laughed Captain Dodge. “Coney Island is just around that point, though, and you could row there in a little while.”

“I guess we’ll stay aboard if you’re thinking of leaving us,” said Fred. “I’d rather go to Buenos Aires than Coney Island.”

“That’s what I say,” exclaimed John Clemens.

“Can’t we do something to help around here?” asked Grant. “We’re only amateur sailors, but we’re anxious to do what we can.”

“I know you are,” said Captain Dodge. “I expect you to take your regular turns on watch with the rest of the crew. Just now I want the sails taken in, though. Do you suppose one of you could go up that foremast?”

“I could,” cried Fred quickly. “Let me go.”

“Think you can take in that topsail?”

“I can help.”

“That’s all I want, of course. There’ll be a sailor up there with you to tell you what to do and perhaps you can be of assistance to him.”

“I’d like to try it, anyway,” said Fred eagerly.

“All right,” said the captain. “Mr. Johnson,” he called to the first mate, who was a big blonde-haired Swede, “this young man wants to go aloft. Will you let him help your man take in that fore-topsail?”

“Yes, sir,” came the quick reply, and Fred ran to the foot of the mast, where Mr. Johnson, the mate, and a sailor named Petersen were standing.

“Follow me,” said Petersen, and he began to climb. Up the rigging he went, with Fred close behind him. It was hard work for the inexperienced boy to keep pace with the hardy sailor, and he was well-nigh exhausted when at last they stood upon the yards.

“That’s hard work,” panted Fred.

“You’ll get used to it,” smiled the sailor. “There’s a knack about it.”

“What do we do now?” demanded Fred.

“Wait till we get our orders. The captain will bring ’er up into the wind in a minute and that’s when we get to work.”

“What shall I do?”

“You grab all the loose sail you can, right in your arms, and try to hold it there. They’ll let go below.”

Fred felt dizzy, standing so high above the decks, and he clung to the ropes which were all about him, for dear life. He heartily wished that he was once more with his comrades, but it was too late now. He must go through with it, and he was determined, if possible, not to betray his nervousness.

“Stand by!” came the faint call from below.

“Hang on now,” cautioned Petersen. “They’re going to bring ’er ’round.”

The steersman put the helm hard over and the Josephine swung rapidly around with her bow into the wind. In spite of the warning Fred did not hold on as tightly as he should. He felt himself slipping. He clutched madly at the maze of ropes which entirely surrounded him. He tried to call out, but no sound came. Desperately he strove to save himself, but his efforts were unavailing.