It was the second morning following the fleet's departure from New York. The night before, after a day of agony, poor Herc had been hoisted into his hammock by three sailors, and now, in the early dawn, he was undergoing once more all the torments of the day previous. Ned, on the contrary, seemed unaffected by the motion of the ship in the heavy sea-way, and had escaped the toll old Neptune demands from most neophytes.
"Here, you boys," bluffly snapped a boatswain's mate, approaching the boys; "what are you doing here?" It was not the same petty officer who had shown them about the ship.
"Beg pardon, sir," said Ned, respectfully saluting, "but we haven't received any assignments yet."
"Well, lay hold of a swab and get to work."
"A swab, sir?"
"It sounds what I feel like," groaned Herc.
"Yes, a deck-mop, if you like that term better. No idlers allowed here."
"My friend here, is pretty sea-sick, sir," ventured Ned respectfully.
"Never mind; a little work will do him good—work and a good breakfast——"
"Breakfast oh-o-o-oh!" from the luckless Herc.