“Mess cook Number Twenty-five!”

“He means me, don’t he?” inquired Archie, turning to his cousin.

“I don’t know, I’m sure.  Ask him.”

“Mess cook Number Twenty-five,” again shouted the mate.

“Here I am,” said Archie.

“Well, you ought to be somewhere else,” said the mate, sharply.  “Why don’t you go and draw your rations?”

“I don’t know where I should go,” answered Archie.

“Then fly around and find out;” and the mate turned on his heel and walked away.

“Now, that’s provoking,” exclaimed Archie.  “Why couldn’t he tell a fellow where to go?  I’ll tell that officer that I didn’t ship for a cook; I shipped to fight.  I wish I was at home again.”

But regrets were worse than useless, and Archie began to look around to find some one who could tell him where to go to draw his rations.  At length he met one of the men who belonged to his mess, whose name was Simpson, who told him that he must go to the paymaster’s store-room, and offered to show him the way; and, as he saw that Archie was entirely unacquainted with life on shipboard, Simpson told him to come to him whenever he wanted any advice.

As Archie entered the store-room, the paymaster’s steward, a boy about his own age, who was serving out the provisions, after inquiring the number of his mess, said: 

“It’s lucky that you came in just as you did, for I have sent the master-at-arms after you.  If you don’t attend to your business better than this, I shall have you put on the black-list for a week or two.”

Now, Archie had never been accustomed to being “ordered about by any boy of his size,” as he afterward remarked, and he felt very much like making an angry reply.  But he knew it would only get him into trouble, and, choking down his wrath, he answered: 

“If any one will tell me what my duty is, I shall be glad to do it.”

“You haven’t been in the navy a great while, have you?” inquired the steward, with a laugh.

“No; this is my first attempt at learning to be a sailor.”

“Well, all I have got to say,” continued the steward, “is, that you will soon be sorry that you ever made the attempt.”

“I am sorry now,” said Archie; “and if I ever get home again, you’ll never catch me in another scrape like this.  I don’t like the idea of having everybody order me around, and talk to me as though I was a dog.”

“No reflections,” said the steward sharply.  “Better keep a civil tongue in your head.  But now to business.  In the first place, here are your dishes,” and he handed Archie a number of tin pots and plates, a large pan, and a mess-kettle.

“What shall I do with these?” asked Archie.

“Why, eat out of them, to be sure,” answered the steward; “what else would you do with them?  I shall hold you responsible for them,” he continued; “and if any of them are lost, they will be charged to your account.  Now go and put them away in your mess-chest, which you will find on the berth-deck, and then come back, and I will give you your rations.”