“Here, sir,” the sailor answered, though with evident reluctance.
“You are assigned to the mizzen-top-mast crew, to the starboard gun, number four, and are in Lieutenant Grant’s watch,” he announced, referring again to his book. “You may go forward and report to the officer there. He will see that you have your equipment, and are shown your station.” Then he glanced at his notes again.
“Richard Webber!” he now called.
“Here, sir,” the owner of the name responded, because there was nothing else to do.
“You are assigned to the fore-topmast crew, to the larboard gun, number ten, and are in my watch. Go forward and report to the officer there.”
Before he called my name he stared hard at me, but I met his gaze without flinching. Then he read:
“Arthur Dunn!”
“Here, sir,” I replied promptly.
“This is singular,” he remarked, and eying me again. “I never expected to see you again on this ship, but the fates have ordered otherwise. Your case is so remarkable, sir, I must take you to the captain,” and he led me down to the cabin.
As I went I remember wishing that the commanding officer might not be Captain Rawlins. He had been so kind to me when I first boarded the frigate, and in fact during all the time I was upon her, I did not care to receive my sentence from his lips. I preferred to have an entire stranger pass judgment upon me.