One bleak morning the starboard watch was on duty. We of the port watch
had turned in at four (or, according to ship's time, eight bells). We
were glad to be between decks, and got under way for the land of Nod
without delay. It seemed as if we had been asleep but a few minutes,
when "Scully," chief boatswain's mate, came down the gun deck gangway,
shouting loud enough to be heard a mile away: "All hands, up all
hammocks;" then, as the disposition to get up was not very evident,
"Show a leg there; ham and eggs for breakfast." This last was a little
pleasantry that never materialized into the much-coveted and long
abstained from delicacy.

The hammocks were lashed up and stowed away in the "nettings," as the
lattice-like receptacles are called, leaving the deck clear for the work
of the day.

Mess gear for the "watch below" had just been piped, and we were glad;
even the thought of burnt oatmeal and coffee without milk was pleasant
to us.

The ports were closed and the gun deck was dark and dismal. The fog
oozed in through every crack and cranny, and all was very unpleasant.

Of a sudden there was a sharp reverberation that sounded so much like
the report of a big gun that all hands jumped.

The course of the ship was changed, and the jingle bell sounded. The
"Yankee" forged on at full speed in the direction from which the sound
had come.

We all stood in expectant attitudes, listening for another report. We