“He’s the best judge himself, sir, of what his name is, I should think.”
“Were it not,” said the officer, now turning gravely upon his juniors, “were it not that such a supposition were on other grounds absurd, I should certainly conclude that this man, in some unknown way, got on board here from the enemy last night.”
“How could he, sir?” asked the sailing-master.
“Heaven knows. But our spanker-boom geared the other ship, you know, in manoeuvring to get headway.”
“But supposing he could have got here that fashion, which is quite impossible under all the circumstances, what motive could have induced him voluntarily to jump among enemies?”
“Let him answer for himself,” said the officer, turning suddenly upon Israel, with the view of taking him off his guard, by the matter of course assumption of the very point at issue.
“Answer, sir. Why did you jump on board here, last night, from the enemy?”
“Jump on board, sir, from the enemy? Why, sir, my station at general quarters is at gun No. 3, of the lower deck, here.”
“He’s cracked—or else I am turned—or all the world is;—take him away!”
“But where am I to take him, sir?” said the master-at-arms. “He don’t seem to belong anywhere, sir. Where—where am I to take him?”