“He called me a liar, sir; then afterwards he called me a coward. I couldn’t stand that, sir.”
“Is that all?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Oh, why doesn’t he tell the captain about Kester’s having knocked him down,” groaned Dan, who had, from a prudent distance, been an interested listener to the examination.
“You have admitted that you struck the man; you have admitted that you inflicted the wound which, it appears, is of more than ordinary seriousness, as it may cause his disfigurement for life.”
Sam made no reply to this. None seemed to be called for under the circumstances. Somehow he felt that he had made out a very bad case for himself. He had told nothing but the truth, and not all of that, so far as his own vindication went, and yet he knew he had been placed in a false light.
“I’m in wrong, but I’ve got no one except myself to blame for it,” thought Sam.
The captain consulted with his executive officer for a moment. Then turning to the prisoner he said, gravely:
“Hickey, you are guilty of a very serious breach of discipline. You are a new man on board ship. Were it not for that fact I should be much more severe. I am inclined to be lenient with you under the circumstances. You will understand that punishments are wholly impersonal. They are punishments because some rule has been violated. Discipline must be maintained.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Sam meekly.