“What am I wanted for?” I repeated.
But at that instant my name was again thundered forth by the other boatswain’s mate, and Flute hurried me away, hinting that I would soon find out what the Captain desired of me.
I swallowed down my heart in me as I touched the spar-deck, for a single instant balanced myself on my best centre, and then, wholly ignorant of what was going to be alleged against me, advanced to the dread tribunal of the frigate.
As I passed through the gangway, I saw the quarter-master rigging the gratings; the boatswain with his green bag of scourges; the master-at-arms ready to help off some one’s shirt.
Again I made a desperate swallow of my whole soul in me, and found myself standing before Captain Claret. His flushed face obviously showed him in ill-humour. Among the group of officers by his side was the First Lieutenant, who, as I came aft, eyed me in such a manner, that I plainly perceived him to be extremely vexed at me for having been the innocent means of reflecting upon the manner in which he kept up the discipline of the ship.
“Why were you not at your station, sir?” asked the Captain.
“What station do you mean, sir?” said I.
It is generally the custom with man-of-war’s-men to stand obsequiously touching their hat at every sentence they address to the Captain. But as this was not obligatory upon me by the Articles of War, I did not do so upon the present occasion, and previously, I had never had the dangerous honour of a personal interview with Captain Claret.
He quickly noticed my omission of the homage usually rendered him, and instinct told me, that to a certain extent, it set his heart against me.
“What station, sir, do you mean?” said I.