“Say, Russ, this reminds me of a good story I once heard.  There was a man who was too lazy to live and the neighbors finally decided to bury him.  So they took him out to the village graveyard one morning before day and——­”

“Here, you men, pass this mess chest below,” interrupted an officer, beckoning to us.  “Bill” grasped one end of the object indicated and lugged it to the hatch.

“They took the lazy man to the village graveyard, as I was saying,” resumed “Bill,” “and they buried him up to his neck in the earth.  Then they hid back of tombstones and——­”

“Less talking there, men,” exclaimed the navigator, hurrying past us.  “You ‘heroes’ do too much yarning to suit me.  Get those things below at once.  Shake it up.”

“They are in an almighty hurry,” grumbled “Bill.”  “The forts won’t move.  They’ll be there to-morrow, I guess.  Well, as I was saying, the villagers concealed themselves behind convenient tombstones and waited to see what the lazy man would do when he woke up.  By and by day broke, and just as the sun gilded the windows of the old church the fellow who was buried up to his neck——­”

“Chase those mess chests below, bullies,” called out the boatswain’s mate, dropping down the ladder a few feet away.  “Lively there; the ’old man’ wants to break a record.  When you have finished, hustle to the oil and paint lockers and help carry all inflammable material to the spar deck.”

For several minutes “Bill” worked away in silence.  Between us we managed to lower a number of chests into the hold where they would be out of the way; then we disposed of more objects liable to produce unwelcome splinters, and finally we started toward the paint locker.

The gun deck presented a scene of the most intense activity.  The process of clearing ship for action requires the united efforts of the entire crew.  On vessels of the regular service, such as the “New York” or “Indiana,” where everything has been constructed with a view to the needs of battle, the work is thoroughly systematized and comparatively easy.  The “Yankee,” being a merchant steamer hastily converted into a vessel of war, presented greater difficulties.

However, the crew was fairly familiar with its duties and the work progressed at a rapid rate.  When “Bill” and I reached the paint locker we found several others preparing to convey the oil to the deck.  It was a momentary respite, and “Bill” took advantage of it.

“When the sun rose the fellows hiding behind the tombstones saw the lazy man open his eyes,” he resumed hurriedly.  “He looked around and took in all the details of the scene, the old church with the windows glowing redly, the weeping willows shaking and trembling in the crisp morning breeze, the rows of sod-covered mounds, the crumbling tombstones, and on one side the old rickety fence marking the passing of the road.  All this he saw and then—­”

“Hear the news, fellows?” interrupted the “Kid,” suddenly approaching.  “We are going to—­what’s the matter, ’Bill’?”