“I will discharge you at San Francisco, which will be the first port in America at which we shall touch.”
So saying the captain walked down into his cabin, followed by Chase. The boy signed his name to the shipping articles, and was then turned over to the steward, who was told to conduct him to the slop-chest and give him what he wanted.
“I was in hopes I should be allowed to mess with the men,” said Chase, as the steward led him away. “I am one of the crew now, and I don’t think I ought to be fed on slops.”
The steward stared at him a moment, and then broke out into a hearty fit of laughter.
“Did you ever see a ship before?” he asked.
“O, yes,” replied Chase. “I live in a seaport town.”
“Well, did you never hear that greenhorns always mess in the crow’s-nest, and that their skouse and dough-boy are cooked in tar and bilge-water?”
“No, I never did.”
“Well, it is a fact, as you will find. It hardens their muscles and makes them water-proof.”
Chase simply smiled his disbelief, and followed the steward below, where the ship’s supplies were kept. Then he found that the slop-chest was not a chest after all. It was the ship’s variety store—a little locker in which were stowed away an abundance of mattresses, blankets, trowsers, shirts, pea-jackets, needles, thread, tobacco and other articles of necessity and luxury which go to make up a sailor’s kit.