At the same instant the boys' hands instinctively flew to their caps in a prompt salute as Old Glory broke out on the rear-admiral's jackstaff and fluttered in the evening breeze, a sign that the ship was at anchor.
On the bridge of the Manhattan, Captain Dunham, his officers in full uniform at his side and an attentive midshipman at his elbow, was watching his flagship anxiously. As she swung to her anchor a sharp command was barked out:
"Slow down!"
The middy's hand shoved the engine-room telegraph indicator over, and instantly the strong vibration of the engines began to diminish. It felt strange, this sudden cessation of a sound and motion that the boys had come to regard almost as second nature.
"Let go the star-bo-ard an-chor!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" shouted a watchful boatswain's mate, springing forward.
Instantly a shrill screeching of whistles broke out, and with a mighty roar the great anchor of the Manhattan shot from the cat-heads and plunged into the water.
After it roared thirty fathoms of chain before the further screams of the pipes stopped the rapid "paying out" of the iron-linked cable. The Manhattan, her engines idle at last, came to an anchorage.
"Caught her to the eighth of an inch, sir!" remarked Lieutenant-Commander Scott to his chief.