"What are we going to do?" whispered Larry to Tom Grandon.
"I don't know—follow the old man, I reckon," answered the first mate.
"We shall place a prize crew on this ship," went on the Russian officer. "These men"—pointing to Semmel, Peterson, and Shamhaven—"can remain on board. The remainder of the crew and the officers, will be transferred to the Pocastra. I will give you a quarter of an hour in which to attend to your luggage. Please take no more along than is necessary."
"This is certainly high-handed!" cried Larry.
"So we've got to go over to that old coal box, eh?" grumbled Luke, when he heard the news. "It's hard luck, Larry."
"You're right, Luke, but it can't be helped."
"What will they do with us?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"Will they take us to Russia?"
"I suppose so—or stow us away in one of those cold and dirty Siberian prisons until we can get Uncle Sam to make them release us."