The second night after the order was put in force it happened that “Hod,” who was rated as an able seaman, was on duty with gun and bayonet on that end of the dock opposite the forecastle.  He had just relieved the man whose watch ended at midnight, and he stood thoughtfully watching the twinkling lights on the opposite side of the mighty East River.  There was so much to occupy his mind in a situation which was both charming and fascinating that he remained motionless for several minutes.  Presently there came a slight, scraping sound, and the end of a rope struck the dock almost at his feet.

Glancing up, “Hod” saw a man’s figure, dimly outlined in the gloom, slip from the topgallant forecastle and quickly descend the rope.  It was evidently one of the men taking “French” leave, and it was the sentry’s duty to give the alarm at once.  But “Hod” had other views in this particular case.  Hastily stepping back into the shadows, he laid his gun upon the floor of the dock, and rolled up his sleeves with an air that meant business.  The next moment the absconder dropped from the rope.

As he prepared to slip past the ship a sinewy hand was placed upon his shoulder, and another equally sinewy caught him by the collar.

“Burke, suppose you return aboard ship,” said “Hod,” quietly.  “You are not going to hit the Bowery this time.”

The Irish fireman attempted to wrench himself free, then he struck out at “Hod” with all the force of his right arm.  The quarter-back’s practice on the field came into play, and the college graduate tackled his opponent in the latest approved style.  The struggle was short and decisive, and it resulted in Burke declaring his willingness to return to the ship.

“The next time you try to size up a new shipmate be sure you are on to his curves,” remarked “Hod,” as he escorted his prisoner over the gangway.  “You will find some of ‘mama’s pretty boys’ rather tough nuts to crack.”

The day following this little episode found the members of the State Naval Militia detailed to form the crew of the “Yankee” in full possession of the cruiser which they were to sail to glory or defeat in defense of their country.  The ship’s company, two hundred and twenty-five in all, boarded the auxiliary warship without ceremony, and were speedily set to work hoisting in provisions, removing to the yard all unnecessary stuff with which the ship was littered, and getting her generally in condition for sailing.  The work was extremely hard, but it was done without demur.

A naval officer attached to the yard stood near me at one time during the afternoon, and I heard him remark to a visitor who had accompanied him on board:  “You will find an object lesson in this scene.  These young men working here at the hardest kind of manual labor, buckling down cheerfully to dirty jobs, were, a few days ago, living in luxury in the best homes in New York City.  The older men were clerks, or lawyers, or physicians, and not one of them had ever stained his hands with toil.  Look at them now.”