We worked hard all day, and, when mess gear was piped for supper, we
could hardly repress a sigh of heartfelt relief. The food, bad as it
was, was welcome, and when I reluctantly swung away from the mess table
I felt much better. At six bells, shortly before hammocks were piped
down, the "striker," or helper, for our mess cook, said mysteriously:

"Don't turn in early, Russ, there's going to be a little fun. 'Bill' and
'Stump' have young Potter on a string. It will be great."


CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH WE GET UNDER WAY AT LAST.

The hint of possible fun that night was sufficient to keep me alert.
"All work and no play, etc.," was part of our code aboard the "Yankee,"
and goodness knows we had worked hard enough getting the ship ready for
sailing to be permitted a little sport. Then, again, any badgering of
young Potter would be innocent amusement, so I laid by and waited,
keeping my eye on "Bill."

"Bill," by the way, was the captain of our mess, a jolly good fellow,
popular, and always in evidence when there was any skylarking on foot.

Hammocks were piped down at seven bells (7:30 p.m.), and, as it was our
first experience on board the "Yankee," there was some confusion. A
number of new recruits had joined that afternoon, and their efforts to
master the mysteries of the sailor's sleeping outfit were amusing. A
naval hammock differs largely from those used ashore. A hammock aboard