umbers--the red flag, No. 1;
the blue flag, No. 2; the green flag, No. 3, and so forth; then, by
mounting the blue flag over the red, that would stand for No. 21: if
the green flag were set underneath, it would then stand for 213. How
easy, then, by endless transpositions, to multiply the various numbers
that may be exhibited at the mizzen-peak, even by only three or four of
these flags.

To each number a particular meaning is applied. No. 100, for instance,
may mean, "_Beat to quarters_." No. 150, "_All hands to grog_." No.
2000, "_Strike top-gallant-yards_." No. 2110, "_See anything to
windward?_" No. 2800, "_No_."

And as every man-of-war is furnished with a signal-book, where all
these things are set down in order, therefore, though two American
frigates--almost perfect strangers to each other--came from the
opposite Poles, yet at a distance of more than a mile they could carry
on a very liberal conversation in the air.

When several men-of-war of one nation lie at anchor in one port,
forming a wide circle round their lord and master, the flag-ship, it is
a very interesting sight to see them all obeying the Commodore's
orders, who meanwhile never opens his lips.

Thus was it with us in Rio, and hereby hangs the story of my poor
messmate Bally.

One morning, in obedience to a signal from our flag-ship, the various
vessels belonging to the American squadron then in harbour
simultaneously loosened their sails to dry. In the evening, the signal
was set to furl them. Upon such occasions, great rivalry exists between
the First Lieutenants of the different ships; they vie with each other
who shall first have his sails stowed on the yards. And this rivalry is
shared between all the officers of each vessel, who are respectively
placed over the different top-men; so that the main-mast is all
eagerness to vanquish the fore-mast, and the mizzen-mast to vanquish
them both. Stimulated by the shouts of their officers, the sailors
throughout the squadron exert themselves to the utmost.

"Aloft, topmen! lay out! furl!" cried the First Lieutenant of the
Neversink.

At the word the men sprang into the rigging, and on all three masts
were soon climbing about the yards, in reckless haste, to execute their
orders.

Now, in furling top-sails or courses, the point of honour, and the
hardest work, is in the _bunt_, or middle of the yard; this post
belongs to the first captain of the top.

"What are you 'bout there, mizzen-top-m