"The dunce!" he rejoined. "Back before the mast, you damned Yankee!"
"You!" I repeated. "Get out of my way. I'm going to my lady!"
"Your lady!" he sneered, and he added a term which stung me to madness. As he spoke, he struck me a heavy blow with his fist upon my jaw. Catching him by the wrist, I jerked him forward and struck him a blow between the eyes that would have felled him had I not held to his wrist. The marine cried out, and sprang around for an opening to lunge at me without striking his officer. I caught the staggering young scoundrel by the shoulders and hurled him against the man. Both rolled to the deck.
At the same moment some one sprang upon me from behind and bore me down. As I fell, others flung themselves upon my legs. My arms were wrenched around behind my back and lashed together, my ankles bound fast, despite my desperate struggles. Then a stern voice gave the order for me to be taken below and placed in irons. I sought to cry out an appeal—to attempt an explanation. But one of the men thrust a balled kerchief into my mouth and tied in the gag with another kerchief which covered my eyes as well. Dumb, blind, and bound, I was carried below, still struggling.
The moment they had replaced my bonds with handcuffs and bilboes and relieved me of the gag, down in the foul, cell-like prison, I so implored and raved to see the captain that they thought I was beside myself,—as, indeed, it may well be said I was. Instead of the captain, they sent for Dr. Cuthbert, who was a perfect stranger to my restored memory. He listened to my now incoherent statements that I was Dr. John Robinson and must go to my lady, and sought to soothe me. My constant repetitions convinced him that I was quite out of my head, and to quiet me, he cunningly administered an opiate in wine and water.
Discipline is swift-handed aboard a man-of-war. Before I had fully slept off the effects of the drug, I was roused and taken before the court-martial convened to try me. The judge-advocate was the officer of my watch, though at the time I had no memory of him. For the first time I saw the captain near at hand. He was a granite-faced Cornishman, and looked upon me with a cold, blue-gray eye which condemned me before a word had been spoken.
My ankles had been freed from the bilboes before I was brought up, but when I was ordered to stand, I could not readily obey because of the continued numbness of my limbs. At this two of my guards jerked me up with brutal roughness, and the charge against me was read. To my amazement and horror, I learned that I was upon trial, under the name Jack Numskull, for the crime of striking my superior officer, the penalty for which was death.
Ignorant of the procedure of the court, I sought to protest, but was ordered to keep silent. In quick succession, the witnesses were called and questioned,—first the midshipman I had struck, then the marine, and after that four or five seamen. All testified without contradiction to the damnable fact that I had struck Midshipman Hepburn.
"Enough," said Captain Powers. "Has the prisoner anything to say?"
The question was repeated to me. I bowed to the court as best I could with my wrists locked together behind my back.