“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: