At sea when meals are piped the duty section will remain on deck until relieved by the next section for duty. When, however, the ship is cruising singly at sea and there is no immediate necessity for the services of the section on deck, or when cruising at sea in company and it is apparent that the services of men on deck, other than those actually on watch at stations, is unnecessary, then mess gear will be spread for all sections at the same time, and all sections will go to meals at the same time, except those men actually on duty, but reliefs must get their meals and relieve their stations promptly. In any case the duty section must stand by to answer an emergency call. In bad weather, or when engaged in manoeuvres, or when in the immediate vicinity of land, the duty section shall remain on deck until relieved by the next section. There is a daily port routine, similar in general outline to the one for cruising. It calls for the ceremony of colors, hoisting or lowering the flag, boat duty and other things which can come only when a ship is in port. But these two schedules only hint at the full story. Probably the first impression that a stranger to all this ship routine gets is that a warship is one of the most discordant places in the world. They are everlastingly blowing bugles, each bugle out of key with all the others. One bugler will sound a lot of hippety-hoppity notes and then another will take up the same refrain with a blare and a mean half note or quarter note variation and then two or three others will join in, on decks, below decks, and the jangling jumble rolls in on your ear drums in such a discord that you feel as if you'd like to punch the man who told 'em to do it. At the same time you see men, hundreds of whom must have no ear for note discrimination, jump to the tasks to which they are summoned and you wonder how they know what the bugles are telling them. There are ninety-eight of these bugle calls on a man-o'-war and how the men differentiate them passes your understanding. It aggravates you that you can't make them out yourself. You begin to study them and you do get so that you are able to recognize two or three, and then you get lost and you begin to have an admiration for the men who have mastered them all, just as you admire an ironworker who can walk a beam 400 feet in the air. He can do something that you can't do and you respect him for it. Still you keep trying to master those calls. Finally you learn the trick partly. You associate certain words with certain jingles--perhaps it would be better to say certain jangles--and then you pat yourself on the back and feel that you are pretty nearly half as good as a sailorman in Uncle Sam's navy. The trick is the same as with the army calls and many of the jingles are the same. For example, you soon learn reveillé, for the refrain,