“Why, Sam, you are under arrest!” exclaimed Dan.
“Under arrest?”
“Of course you are.”
“But I thought they locked people up after they arrested them.”
“It isn’t always necessary on shipboard. You couldn’t get away if you wanted to.”
“That’s so. I hadn’t thought of it in that light before. Under arrest? I wonder what will happen to me next? First, I get seasick, get knocked out, then get arrested for being punched. This is a funny business. And the worst of it is that I can’t change my mind for four years.” Sam grinned a mirthless grin. “Hard luck, isn’t it, Dan?”
“No; it is a good thing. All this will make a man of you—of both of us.”
The lads went about their duties soon after that. At noon Sam hurried through his dinner, after which he slicked himself up as best he could and went to the after gun turret, where he awaited the master-at-arms, as he had been ordered to do. The latter arrived a moment later, bringing with him two other prisoners and Bill Kester. The latter was accompanied by the surgeon. Kester’s face—that is his nose—was patched up with numerous strips of adhesive plaster.
The men were conducted half way down the deck, where stood the captain, the executive officer of the ship and the captain’s yeoman, the latter with his record book in hand, eyeing them carefully.
“Sam Hickey, step forward,” called the yeoman.