Unconsciously I glanced across the deck to where three men were hauling upon a whip, or block-and-tackle, which was being used to hoist huge boxes and casks of provisions on board.  The three men were working sturdily, and it would have been difficult to recognize in them, with their grimy faces and soiled duck uniforms, a doctor, a bank cashier, and a man-about-town well known in New York City.  Near the forward hatch, industriously swabbing the deck, was a black-haired youth whose father helps to control some of the largest moves on ’Change.  Scattered about the gangway were others, some painting, some rolling barrels, and a number engaged in whipping in heavy boxes of ammunition.  They were all cheerful, and the decks resounded with merry chatter and whistling and song.

I turned to myself.  My hands were brown and smeared and bruised.  My uniform, once white, was streaked and stained with tar.  I wore shoes innocent of blacking and made after a pattern much admired among navvies.  I had an individual ache in every bone of my body, and I was hungry and was compelled to look forward to a dinner of odorous salt-horse, hard bread, and “ennuied” coffee, but I was happy—­I had to admit that.  Perhaps it was the novelty of the situation, perhaps it was something else, but the fact remained that I would not have left the ship or given up the idea of going on the cruise for a good deal.

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.