“He’s in the foretop.”
“Have him brought down at once and placed under arrest. I’ll court-martial both for this breach of discipline,” thundered the Monongahela’s commander.
At a signal from the executive officer, four nimble first class men sprang into rigging and began to run aloft.
The crowd around the spot had increased until it numbered almost the entire crew. All the officers off duty had left the wardroom and steerage, and many comments were made.
“Never seen anything like it in all my experience,” exclaimed the navigator.
“Think he’s temporarily insane, doctor?” the paymaster asked, gazing curiously aloft.
“Maybe a touch of sunstroke,” was the surgeon’s cautious reply.
He stepped over to the captain said something in a low voice.
Clif, who was standing a few feet away, between the master-at-arms and the ship’s corporal, heard the commander reply, incredulously:
“Nonsense, sir. It’s simply a spirit of deviltry. He thinks he can do as he pleases. He must be taught a lesson.”