The lads made their way over the superstructure, where they were treated to various good-natured criticisms hurled at them by jackies and marines lounging along the deck. Descending the iron steps that led down to the quarter-deck, the Battleship Boys once more came to attention and saluted the Flag. The officer of the deck brought his right hand to the visor of his cap in acknowledgment of the salute. The boys stepped up to him, saluting once more. “Well, men, what is it?” “We are recruits from the Training Station at Newport, sir. We have come to join the ship, sir.” “Very good. Messenger!” A sailor came to him on the run, saluting as he brought up sharply in front of the young ensign who was acting as officer of the deck. “Take these men to the master-at-arms.” The messenger crooked a finger; the Battleship Boys saluted the officer of the deck, and, turning, followed their guide. He led them through narrow corridors, up through the gun deck, where the butts of the great eight-inch guns lay shining in the sunlight that filtered down through open hatches. At last he halted before a curtained doorway and rapped. “What it is?” came a voice from inside. “Officer of the deck directs you to receive two recruits who have just come on board, sir.” The curtain parted and the lads saw before them a kindly faced man, whose weather-beaten features testified to many months of exposure to wind and sun on the high seas. “Come in, lads,” he said. “Have you your papers with you?” “Yes, sir,” answered Dan, extending their record papers. “All clear,” said the master-at-arms after a brief glance over the documents. “The Training School gives you a special good-conduct mention, I see. That is well. Follow me.” Once more the process of diving through narrow passageways, down iron companionways, with chains for hand rails, turning sharp corners, trumping their elbows on projections and the like, was gone through with. “What are they trying to do with us?” whispered Sam. “I don’t know.” “Guess they’re trying out our wind to see whether we are any good or not. This certainly is a sprint. If they keep it up much longer I’ll change my mind again and go ashore.” Just then the master-at-arms rapped on the casing of another door, and, at command, entered, motioning the boys to follow. They were now standing before the ship’s writer. The writer, after looking over their papers, entered their record in a large book on his desk. Following this he asked them many questions about their past life, going over much the same ground that the recruiting officer had done when they enlisted in New York. After satisfying himself on all points, the writer said: “I will assign you to a deck division for the present. Here are the numbers for your sea bags and hammocks. Here are your ditty boxes.” He handed to the lads two boxes each about a foot square, neatly made and varnished. A lock and key was attached to each, and on the top of each box was a number.