"That's seven o'clock," observed Nat.
"Right you are, my hearty. I see you know a little something about a ship. That's good. Oh, I guess you'll get along all right."
It seemed to Nat that he had not been asleep at all when six strokes on a bell, given in the way that sailors ring the time, with short, double blows, awoke him. He dressed hurriedly, had his breakfast with the others of the crew, and then did what he could to help the purser, who had to check up some boxes that arrived at the last minute, just before the ship sailed.
A little later, amid what seemed a confusion of orders, the Jessie Drew moved away down the river, and Nat was taking his first voyage on Lake Michigan as a hand on a ship—a position he had long desired to fill, but which hitherto had seemed beyond his wildest dreams.
"How do you like it?" asked Mr. Weatherby, a little later, as he passed the boy on his way to the pilot-house.
"Fine."
"I'm glad of it. Attend strictly to business, and you'll get along. I'll keep you in mind, and whenever I get a chance I'll take you into the pilot-house, and begin to instruct you in the method of steering a ship."
"I'll be ever so much obliged to you if you will."
"Why, that's nothing, after what you did for me," replied Mr. Weatherby, with a kind smile at Nat.
As sailing on large vessels was not much of a novelty to Nat, except of late years, since his father's death, he did not linger long on deck, watching the various sights as the freighter plowed her way out on Lake Michigan. He went to the purser's office, to see if there was anything that needed to be done. He had temporarily forgotten about the mate's threat to have him discharged.