he wrong time, and once a sleepy look-out reported
"Light, ho!" and to the officer's "Where away?" was obliged to answer,
"It's the moon, Sir!"

Then there is the excitement of reefing topsails. Your hammock seems
especially comfortable as you drowsily feel the accelerated pitching of
the ship and the rattle of rain on deck, when the boatswain's shrill
call rings through the ship, "All hands, reef topsails; tumble out, and
up with you, everybody!" On deck Egyptian darkness, driving rain, and
salt spray, the ship staggering under a press of sail, or, as happened
in her last cruise, the topsail sheets were parted, and the great sails
flapping and slatting out to leeward like a thunder-cloud, orders given
in quick succession, then rally of men at the clew-lines, then a rush
aloft and out on the straining yard, every movement of the vessel
intensified, your feet sliding on the slippery foot-rope, with nothing
to hold on to but the flapping sail, which threatens to knock you
overboard every moment. The weather earing is passed, and then, "Light
out to leeward;" you have your point barely tied when the yard gives a
terrible swing, and you faintly hear the order, "Lay down from aloft,
for your lives; the braces are gone!"

When Lisbon is reached, you almost know the city--the queer little
donkeys with very large loads of oranges, the queerer river craft, the
windmills, and even the dress of the natives seem familiar as you recall
the pictures in your primary geography. The return voyage home in the
"trades" is delightful--a warm sun and a good steady breeze, not a brace
touched for a week or more, a water-spout and a rain-squall to vary the
monotony of the every-day routine. Then the colder weather as you near
Hatteras, a glimpse of old Montauk through the fog, a sharp look-out for
beacons and buoys, the song of the leads-man, the quick tramp of men
clewing up sail, a heavy splash and the rattle of chain, and we are
anchored fast in New London mud. "All hands furl sail," now; no noise,
for the _Saratoga_ lies right ahead, and on board of a man-of-war it is
considered disgraceful to make a clatter in doing any kind of work.
There is an eager race up the rigging, and every nerve and muscle is
strained to get your sail up first.

At the end of the year the Chamber of Commerce examines the boys, and an
exhibition drill is given. The graduates are usually fitted to ship in a
merchantman as "ordinary," and are aided in their effor