CHAPTER V
AN UNFORTUNATE REMARK
It was perhaps natural that as I followed Midshipman Seymour from the cabin I should try to think of some way by which I might release myself from the unhappy situation in which I was now placed. But before I reached the deck I had concluded there was little hope of any attempt on my part proving successful.
I knew there was no appeal from the decision of the captain of the frigate. His word was law not only on board of his vessel, but in the port, on all matters that pertained to the government of his men. Even the consul would hardly dare to interfere in any matter that had arisen between him and one of his crew. The best he could do would be to report the affair to the home government, and months might elapse before it was considered, with a likelihood of its being summarily dismissed as of too trifling a character to claim the attention of the commissioners. A friendless American lad would stand little show in a contest with a British naval commander.
To escape from the ship at that time by my own efforts was also out of the question. The ship was already in motion. That meant my own yawl had been sent away and so I was not surprised to behold it more than half way over to the brig when I emerged into the open air. But had it still been there by the ship’s side, it would have been of no service to me. Admitted I could have evaded the officer who had charge of me and reached the boat, to return to the Young Phoenix in it would only have been placing myself again in Captain Weston’s power, while to make for the shore would have precipitated a pursuit in which not only all the boats of the frigate, but every vessel near enough to read her signal, would have speedily engaged. Furthermore, to attempt to escape and fail would be to subject myself to the ill-will of both officers and crew, and render my position on the frigate infinitely more uncomfortable than I cared even to think of. No one loves a runaway. So with the best grace I could muster I followed my conductor amidships, where I was speedily given a sailor’s outfit; then I was taken forward and assigned a berth.
“You belong to the main truck crew, and are in the fourth watch,” Master Seymour now announced. “Put on your rig, and go to your place at once,” and then he left me.
In fifteen minutes I had donned my uniform, stowed away my extra traps, and was ready for the deck. As I came out of the forecastle, an officer stepped towards me, possibly to point out my station, but I surprised him and my station-master by walking over to my place without guidance, and by the looks the latter gave each other, I knew I had made a favorable impression on them.
The frigate, under full canvas, and with a piping breeze from the north, was making straight out to sea. And if I do say it, she made a pretty sight. There is to my mind nothing much handsomer than a fine ship with all her sails set to a favorable breeze; and I could not help a thrill of delight as I took in the scene.
Yet how strange it seemed to me to be a part of it! An hour before there had not been the slightest thought on my part that I should ever enter His Majesty’s navy. But here I was, wearing the royal uniform, duly entered on the frigate’s roster, and starting out on a cruise whose destination I did not even know. It might be a return to the colonies, or a voyage to the far east. This did not much concern me. The things which rankled me most were that I was there against my will, and that in an instant I had been thrust out of the cabin and back to the forecastle, which latter fact was especially galling to my pride.
My thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, by a direct order from Midshipman Seymour. The main sky sail had in some way loosened and wound around its yard, marring the beauty and the symmetry of the ship’s rig. Noticing it as he was passing me, the young officer called out:
“Here, Dunn, hurry aloft there and straighten out that sail.”