The boys stepped up to him, saluting once more.
“Well, men, what is it?”
“We are recruits from the Training Station at Newport, sir. We have come to join the ship, sir.”
“Very good. Messenger!”
A sailor came to him on the run, saluting as he brought up sharply in front of the young ensign who was acting as officer of the deck.
“Take these men to the master-at-arms.”
The messenger crooked a finger; the Battleship Boys saluted the officer of the deck, and, turning, followed their guide. He led them through narrow corridors, up through the gun deck, where the butts of the great eight-inch guns lay shining in the sunlight that filtered down through open hatches.
At last he halted before a curtained doorway and rapped.
“What it is?” came a voice from inside.
“Officer of the deck directs you to receive two recruits who have just come on board, sir.”