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.