"the
'old man' will walk down the galley ladder in that dignified way of his,
followed by the executive officer. 'Mother Hubbub' will then open the
blue-covered book that he carries, and read you things that will make
your hair stand on end and cause you to consider the best wording for
your last will and testament." "Patt" was very impressive, and we stood
with open mouths and staring eyes.

"When old 'Hubbub' opens the book, all hands, even the captain, will
take off their hats and stand at attention. Then the war articles will
be read to you. You will learn that there are twenty-seven or more
offences for which you are liable to be shot--such as sleeping on post,
desertion, disobedience, wilful waste of Government property, and so
forth; you will be told that divine service is recommended whenever
possible--in short, you are told that you must be good, and that if you
are not there will be the deuce to pay. Then the captain will turn to
'Scully' and say, 'Pipe down,' whereupon 'Scully' and the other bosun's
mates will blow a trill on their pipes, and all hands will go about
their business."

So concluded our oracle.

"Gee whiz!" said the "Kid." "I nearly got into trouble the other night,
for I almost dozed when I was on the buoy. I'm not used to getting along
on eleven hours' sleep in forty-eight yet," he added, apologetically.

We all looked forward to "general muster" with a good deal of interest,
and when it occurred, and the captain had inspected our persons,
clothes, the ship, and mess gear, we decided that "Patt's" description
fitted exactly, and were duly impressed with its solemnity.

We found to our sorrow that we of Number Eight's crew were not to enjoy
sunshine undisturbed, but were soon put to work carrying coal in baskets
from the after hold forward, and dumping it in the bunker chutes.

This work had been going on almost every day, and all day, since we left
Tompkinsville. The coal was in the after hold and was needed in the
bunkers forward, so every piece had to be shovelled into bushel baskets,
hoisted to the gun deck, and carried by hand to the chute leading to the
port and starboard bunkers. A dirty job it was, that not only blackened
the men, but covered the deck, the mess gear, the paint work, and even
the food, with coal dust.

Number Eight's crew had been at this pleasant occupation for about an
hour, with the cheerful prospect of another hour of the same diversion.
"Hay" was running the