"Is this all we have to eat?" inquired Archie, as he picked up his rations and followed Simpson back to his mess-chest.
"All!" repeated Simpson; "yes, my hearty, and you may thank your lucky stars that you have got even this. You'll have to live on worse grub nor this afore your year is out. But I see you don't like the berth of cook, so I'll take it off your hands. Give me the key of the chist."
Archie accordingly handed it over, and then went in search of his cousin, whom he found perched upon a coil of rope, engaged in writing a letter.
"Well," exclaimed the latter, as Archie came up, "how do you get along?"
"I don't get along at all," said Archie; "I tell you, we've got ourselves in a fix. What do you suppose we are going to have for dinner?"
"I don't know," answered Frank. "Well, we will have a chunk of salt beef, coffee without any milk, butter strong enough to go alone, and crackers so hard that you couldn't break them with an ax. I tell you, the navy is played out."
"Well, it can't be helped," said his cousin. "We are in for it. But we'll soon get accustomed to the food; we are seeing the worst of our year now."
"I certainly hope so," said Archie; "but I know I can stand it if any one else can; and when I fairly get started, I won't ask favors of any one."
Frank made no reply, but went on with his letter, and Archie leaned on one of the guns and gazed listlessly into the water. At length they were interrupted by the boatswain's whistle, blown three times in succession, long and loud.
"What's the matter now, I wonder," said Frank, as the sailors commenced running about the ship in all directions.