Presently a ship's corporal, accompanied by the marine who had gone in search of him, came through the battery door and went up to Martin.
'Name and rating?' he demanded abruptly, referring to a book in his hand.
'Martin. Ord'nary seaman.'
'You'll be in No. 47 mess,' said Ship's Corporal Puddicombe, 'and will be in the forecastle division, starboard watch, first part, first sub. The capten of your top—Petty Officer Casey's 'is name—will tell you off for your stations in your part of the ship. You'll stow your bag in the fore cable flat, starboard side, and your 'ammick in the starboard forecastle rack. I'll show you where to put 'em, and if you comes along to my office after tea to-day I'll give you a card with it all written on—see?'
'Yessir,' said Martin, looking very bewildered, for he had hardly understood a word of what the man had said.
'It's all right, me lad,' the corporal went on, more kindly. 'You needn't look so scared. You'll soon shake down. Is this your first ship?'
'Yessir.'
The corporal nodded and went off to report to the officer of the watch, who presently returned with him.
'Ord'nary Seaman Martin, sir. Come to join the ship from the barricks.'
The lieutenant eyed the new arrival critically. 'What division's he in, corporal?' he queried.