“All-l hands reef topsails!”
“More drill,” grumbled Ferguson, moving off. “We’ve had nothing but drill since we left Annapolis.”
“Practice makes perfect,” grinned Blakely, as he started toward his station.
The quiet decks of the old Monongahela speedily became a scene of bustling activity. The boatswain’s call brought the watch tumbling aft. The hatches poured forth a steady stream of active, healthy lads clad in snowy duck.
The first lieutenant and his assistant, the officer of the deck, took their stand upon the break of the after deck. The captain sauntered from his cabin prepared to watch proceedings with a critical eye.
All was ready.
“Aloft topmen!” shouted the first lieutenant, sonorously, through his trumpet.
At the words a number of nimble cadets, members of the first and third classes, run up the rigging in a mad race for the top.
On board a vessel like the Monongahela there generally exists a strong rivalry between the three tops—the fore, main and mizzen.
In all drills, each tries to defeat the others. In making sail it is the nimble crew that gets all taut first. There are no prizes offered, but a smile or nod of commendation from the executive officer or captain is worth more than medal or money.