"Lie still, now," he said, "until I settle matters."
They could rise and move, but could not thwart him immediately. He went forward, and mounted to the bridge.
"How are you heading?" he demanded, with a pistol pointed toward the helmsman.
"South—due south, sir," answered the man—it was Davis, of the starboard watch.
"Leave the wheel. The engine is stopped. Down on deck with you, and take off your neckerchief."
Davis descended meekly, gave him his neckerchief, and was bound as were the others. Then Denman looked for the rest.
So far—good. He had three prisoners on deck and one in the wardroom; the rest were below, on duty or asleep. They were in the forecastle—the crew's quarters—in the wireless room below the bridge, in the galley just forward of the wardroom. Denman had his choice, and decided on the forecastle as the place containing the greatest number. Down the fore-hatch he went, and entered the apartment. A man rolled out of a bunk, and faced him.
"Up with your hands," said Denman, softly. "Up, quickly."
The man's hands went up. "All right, sir," he answered, sleepily and somewhat weakly. "My name's Hawkes, and I haven't yet disobeyed an order from an officer."
"Don't," warned Denman, sharply. "Take off your neckerchief."