He was placed in the starboard watch, stationed in the mizzen-top, belonged to the third division of the battery, attached to gun No. 9, was first-loader, and second-boarder. In furling sails, he belonged on the starboard yard-arm of the mizzen-top-gallant yard. In reefing topsails, his place was on the port yard-arm of the mizzen-topsail yard. In tacking or wearing ship, his position was at the lee main-brace. In loosing sails, his place was the same as in furling. In getting up anchor, his duty was at the capstan. In boat, he pulled the bow-oar of the captain’s gig. Jack Somers was a good boy, and was determined to know and do his duty. As soon, therefore, as he had a chance to sit down by himself, he began to think over and fix in his mind his various stations, and to rehearse all that had been said to him. But he found that he had already forgotten some of his numbers; yet, by the grace of the first-lieutenant, he was permitted to consult the station-bill, a document in which the position of every man in the ship is recorded. As perseverance always overcomes every obstacle, he soon made himself proficient in all his numbers. While the ship remained at her moorings in the river, the crew were daily exercised in their various duties, and Jack soon became practically familiar with everything required of him. After he had been on board about a week, the proper signal was hoisted, every fire and light in the ship were extinguished, and the powder was taken in, and stowed in the magazine. “Now, my little roisterer, we shall soon be in blue water,” said Tom Longstone, as they gathered around the mess-table that afternoon. “The sooner the better,” replied Jack. “I want to stand by that gun No. 9 when she pours shot and shell into the rebels.” “You will have a chance one of these days, my bantam, if you are patient.” “We may be sent off on blockade duty,” said Ben Blinks, who, by some contrivance of interested parties, was in the same mess. “Then we shall have a chance to gather up some prize-money,” added Bob Rushington, who, by the same contrivance, was a member of mess No. 4. “I should like the prize-money very well,” continued Jack; “but I don’t like the idea of hugging a sand-bar for the next six months.” “Well, my hearties, old Tom ain’t no prophet: but I really don’t think this ship is going on the blockade; and, if she don’t have some rebel shot through her in less than three months, I’m content to give half my grub to the jollies.” “Where do you suppose we are bound?” asked Ben. “Don’t know; don’t care: but this ship ain’t a-going to burrow in the mud, no how. Now, mind what old Tom says, and write it down in your log-book.”