A black squall was coming down on the weather-bow, and the boat-swain's mates bellowed themselves hoarse at the main-hatchway.

There is no knowing what would have ensued, had not the bass drum suddenly been heard, calling all hands to quarters, a summons not to be withstood.
The sailors pricked their ears at it, as horses at the sound of a cracking whip, and confusedly stumbled up the ladders to their stations.

The next moment all was silent but the wind, howling like a thousand devils in the cordage.
"Stand by to reef all three top-sails!--settle away the halyards!--haul out--so: make fast!--aloft, top-men! and reef away!" Thus, in storm and tempest terminated that day's theatricals.

But the sailors never recovered from the disappointment of not having the "_True Yankee Sailor_" sung by the Irish Captain of the Head.
And here White-jacket must moralize a bit.

The unwonted spectacle of the row of gun-room officers mingling with "the people" in applauding a mere seaman like Jack Chase, filled me at the time with the most pleasurable emotions.