I have now to relate a very strange experience that befell Creggan and his friend the Ugly Duckling.
The ship had not long lain at anchor off the Hoe, when, after a deal of signalling from the admiral's office, Captain Leeward, with a strange smile on his face, came up to the place where the two young officers stood looking over the bulwarks at the crowd of shore-boats, and passing many a quaint and humorous remark.
Seeing the captain, they turned and saluted at once.
"I regret to inform you, gentlemen," said Captain Leeward, "that you are both prisoners. Don't be afraid; it will be a mere formality, I am sure. Meanwhile, I must do my duty. You are on parole, if you give me your word you will make no attempt to leave the ship."
"Oh, certainly, sir. But—may—may I ask you what we shall be tried for?"
The captain laughed now.
"Why," he answered, "only for assisting the Japs against an enemy with whom we are at peace. Keep up your hearts, boys. I sha'n't put a sentry over you, but just give up your sword, Lieutenant Creggan Ogg M'Vayne, and you, young sir, your dirk, to the officer of the watch."
I have no desire at this end of my story to describe the formalities—solemn enough in all conscience—of the court of inquiry.
That sword of Creggan's and the Ugly Duckling's dirk lay side by side on the green-baize-covered table, surrounded by officers in fullest uniform, and the two prisoners stood between marines with fixed bayonets, near one end of the table.
Neither of the young officers denied anything, and when asked what he had to say in his defence, Creggan replied: