The hold beneath the berth deck contained the water tanks, bread room, chain lockers, and a multitude of store rooms for provisions, clothing, and supplies of every description needed on board during a long voyage.

The Young America was to be officered and manned by the students.  They were to work the ship, to make and take in sail, to reef, steer, and wash down decks, as well as study and recite their lessons.  They were to go aloft, stand watch, man the capstan, pull the boats; in short, to do everything required of seamen on board a ship.  Mr. Lowington was to lure them into the belief, while they were hauling tacks and sheets, halyards and braces, that they were not at work, but at play.  The labor required of them was an essential element in the plan, by which the boys were to obtain, the necessary physical exercise, and the discipline they so much needed.

By the first of April the last of the students had reported to the principal on board, and the professors, as the boys insisted upon calling them, had taken possession of their state rooms.  Though some of the pupils had been on board nearly a month, the organization of the ship had not been commenced; but classes had been formed in some of the studies, by the teachers, and the pupils recited every day.  The boatswain had instructed the boys in rowing, and some temporary regulations had been adopted for the eating and sleeping departments.  But not a boy had been allowed to go aloft, and nothing more than ordinary school discipline had been attempted.

The boys, as boys always are, were impatient at this delay.  They wanted to be bounding over the ocean—­to be on their way to some foreign port.  They were anxious to work, to climb the rigging, and stand at the wheel.  As yet they knew very little of the purposes of the principal, and had but a faint perception of the life they were to lead in the Academy Ship.  It was understood that the officers were to be selected for their merit, and that the ship, some time or other, was to cross the ocean; but beyond this, all was darkness and uncertainty.

“To-morrow will be the first day of April,” said George Wilton, as he walked the deck of the Young America with Richard Carnes, a dignified young gentleman of seventeen.  “Mr. Lowington said we should go to work on that day.”

“If he said so, then of course we shall go to work,” replied Carnes.

“I’m tired of waiting,” added Wilton.  “I think this is a stupid kind of life.  We are not even tied to a bell rope here.”

“You will get discipline enough as soon as the crew are organized.”

“I suppose we shall.  Do you think we shall go to sea to-morrow?”

“Go to sea to-morrow!” exclaimed Carnes.

“Shuffles said so.”

“How can we go to sea to-morrow?  The crew don’t know the mainmast from a handspike.  They couldn’t do anything with the ship now; they don’t know the ropes.”