“Take him-out of sight,” said the officer, now incensed with his own perplexity. “Take him out of sight, I say.”
“Come along, then, my ghost,” said the master-at-arms. And, collaring the phantom, he led it hither and thither, not knowing exactly what to do with it.
Some fifteen minutes passed, when the captain coming from his cabin, and observing the master-at-arms leading Israel about in this indefinite style, demanded the reason of that procedure, adding that it was against his express orders for any new and degrading punishments to be invented for his men.
“Come here, master-at-arms. To what end do you lead that man about?”
“To no end in the world, sir. I keep leading him about because he has no final destination.”
“Mr. Officer-of-the-deck, what does this mean? Who is this strange man? I don’t know that I remember him. Who is he? And what is signified by his being led about?”
Hereupon the officer-of-the-deck, throwing himself into a tragical posture, set forth the entire mystery; much to the captain’s astonishment, who at once indignantly turned upon the phantom.
“You rascal—don’t try to deceive me. Who are you? and where did you come from last?”
“Sir, my name is Peter Perkins, and I last came from the forecastle, where the master-at-arms last led me, before coming here.”
“No joking, sir, no joking.”