As soon as the ship was under way, the new student was informed that he belonged to the port watch, second part, and the silver star, which designated his watch, was affixed to his left arm. He was told that he would be called with the others to take his turn on deck during the night.
“What am I to do?” he asked, rather blankly.
“Just the same as the others do?” replied De Forrest, the fourth lieutenant, who had the deck with the second part of the port watch. “I have your station bill.”
“What’s that?”
“It is a card on which all your duties are explained. Here it is,” added De Forrest, producing the station bill. “You are No. 71; all the even numbers belong to the starboard watch, and all the odd numbers to the port.”
These cards were all printed; for among the various amusements provided for the students, a couple of octavo Novelty presses, with a sufficient supply of type and other printing material had been furnished. All the blanks for use in the ship were printed on board, and the Oceanic Enterprise, a weekly Journal, had been regularly issued during the voyage across the Atlantic, though a gale of wind, which disturbed the equilibrium of the press and the printers, had delayed its publication a couple of days on one occasion.
Clyde read the station bill which was handed to him by the officer, but it would have been just as intelligible to him if it had been in Runic character.
“‘Reefing, main-topsail, and main-topsail halyards,’” said Clyde, reading from the card. “What does all that mean?”
“You mind only what you have to do yourself, and not trouble your head about orders that have nothing to do with your work; for the orders come as thick as snow flakes at Christmas. When all hands are called to reef topsails, you are one of them, of course. When any thing is said about topsails, or topsail-halyards, you are the man.”
“Good; I understand that, and I shall make a sailor, I know,” added Clyde.