CHAPTER XIV--CALLED BEFORE THE MAST

"Steady, boys! Don't maul him up," warned one of the cooler heads, as the men started to take the punishment of the bully into their own hands.

Kester was a man who was very much disliked by his associates and shipmates. He was in his second enlistment. He had once been dismissed from the service, but, by means known to none of his shipmates, had managed to get back again.

"Throw him overboard! It's all the cur deserves."

"No; leave him for the kid to take care of."

"Yes, leave him to me," interrupted Sam, raising himself on one elbow. "I'll take care of him when my head gets plumb on my shoulders again. Did he hit me with a brick?"

Before replying, the jackies conducted Kester to the forward bulkhead door. Through this they thrust him, half a dozen heavy shoes landing on him in swift kicks as he disappeared through the door.

"What did you let him go for?" demanded Hickey getting his feet, leaning against the butt of a big gun for support. He was weak and trembling, but not for an instant did his natural grit desert him.

"That's all right, shipmate. You ain't in no condition to mix it up with Bill. You wait till some other time and you'll get your chance and it'll be a fair and square knock-down fight, no under the belt foul tactics either. You're the right kind, and we're with you, even if you have got a combustible head of hair on you, and that stands all the time."

Sam took his way forward thoughtfully. He was still suffering from his illness and, besides, was weak from the effects of the blow he had received from Bill Kester.

In the meantime, Kester, holding a handkerchief to his face, was making his way toward the surgeon's quarters. His face was in sad need of repair, but he sought to hide that fact from his associates.

"Hello, Bill, what's the matter? Have an argument with somebody?" greeted a shipmate, with a quizzical squint at the bully's face.

"I ran into a stanchion," explained Kester lamely, proceeding on his way, avoiding the curiosity of the men as much as possible.

The surgeon, the instant he had taken a look at the man's face, however, saw that something more than a stanchion had hit Bill on the nose. All his questions, however, were avoided. On his report to the captain, which the surgeon made every night, was the notation: "Bill Kester, seaman, badly battered face, broken nose, with a deep gash in it, evidently made by some sharp instrument. This man has been undoubtedly in a bloody fight."

That was all, but it was quite sufficient to start the wheels of discipline moving. That evening Kester was called upon by the master-at-arms.

"Kester, I have come to ask you with whom you were in a fight to-day?"

"How'd you know I was in a fight?" demanded the seaman in a surly tone.

"Your face answers that question. Who was it?"

"Hickey."

"The recruit?"

"Yes."

There was a quizzical look in the eyes of the master-at-arms. That a bully of Kester's reputation should have been used up in this manner by a raw recruit was somewhat of a surprise to him.

"What did he hit you with?"

Bill hesitated.

"What did he hit you with?"

"A deck swab."

"And you nagged him to it?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't do anything till I got it."

"Very well. Do you wish to make a charge against the man?"

"Yes."

There was no further investigation that night. The master-at-arms' report was made to the captain. But that night Sam recounted to his companion, Dan Davis, all that had occurred. Dan listened attentively, asking a question now and then.

"I do not see how you could have acted differently unless you had run away, and I shouldn't want to think you had done such a thing. I would much rather see you punished than to know you had acted the part of a coward."

"Don't use that word," begged Sam. "Kester did. That was what clinched the whole business. If he hadn't done that, I might not have hit him, even though he slapped me."

A dull flush suffused the cheeks of the Battleship Boy at the memory of what had occurred, but his voice was calm and without the slightest emotion.

"Do you think there will be a row about it?" he asked.

"I hope not. If there is, take your medicine like a man," advised Dan.

"I will. I'm feeling better now. I guess I needed a good shaking up to jar the seasickness out of me. I haven't that 'went-away' feeling now."

"I guess you must mean a 'gone' feeling, do you not?" smiled Dan.

"Yes; I was gone, all right."

"Well, don't worry about it. Nothing may happen as the result of your fight."

"Fight? Do you call that a fight? It wasn't a fight. If I had been feeling right there might have been a fight. There may be yet. I have an idea I have not heard the last of Kester. If he gives me half a chance I'm going to pay him back for that cowardly blow."

"Be sure you are in the right, Sam," cautioned Dan. "Keep your head. Defend yourself, if you have to, but see to it that you do not stir up any trouble."

Dan's advice always was good, and Sam gave more heed to it than he appeared to. As a matter of fact, he set much store by the advice and counsel of his cool-headed friend, Dan Davis.

That evening passed uneventfully and the lads enjoyed a refreshing night, with the cool breezes from the sea blowing over their swaying hammocks.

On the following morning after breakfast the master-at-arms tapped Sam on the shoulder.

"You will report at mast on the quarter-deck at one o'clock, sharp," he said.

"Mast?" wondered Sam.

"Yes."

"What for?"

"A charge has been laid against you."

"What sort of charge?"

"Assaulting a shipmate and beating him."

Sam uttered a short, nervous laugh.

"Is that all?"

"You will find it is quite enough. At a quarter to one you will report forward of the after twelve-inch-gun turret and there await me. I shall bring other prisoners there for trial. We will join you there."

"Very well," answered Sam. He did not yet realize the seriousness of the courteously executed order. However, he looked up Dan as soon thereafter as possible, relating to him what had occurred.

"Why, Sam, you are under arrest!" exclaimed Dan.

"Under arrest?"

"Of course you are."

"But I thought they locked people up after they arrested them."

"It isn't always necessary on shipboard. You couldn't get away if you wanted to."

"That's so. I hadn't thought of it in that light before. Under arrest? I wonder what will happen to me next? First, I get seasick, get knocked out, then get arrested for being punched. This is a funny business. And the worst of it is that I can't change my mind for four years." Sam grinned a mirthless grin. "Hard luck, isn't it, Dan?"

"No; it is a good thing. All this will make a man of you--of both of us."

The lads went about their duties soon after that. At noon Sam hurried through his dinner, after which he slicked himself up as best he could and went to the after gun turret, where he awaited the master-at-arms, as he had been ordered to do. The latter arrived a moment later, bringing with him two other prisoners and Bill Kester. The latter was accompanied by the surgeon. Kester's face--that is his nose--was patched up with numerous strips of adhesive plaster.

The men were conducted half way down the deck, where stood the captain, the executive officer of the ship and the captain's yeoman, the latter with his record book in hand, eyeing them carefully.

"Sam Hickey, step forward," called the yeoman.

The lad took his place in front of the captain, who, at the moment, was studying the record sheet giving Sam's history.

"Where is the man who makes this charge?" demanded the captain.

Kester was thrust forward by the master-at-arms.

"State your case," commanded the captain.

"I was standing on the gun deck, facing forward, sir, when this man Hickey comes along and hits me with the deck swab."

"He hit you with the deck swab?"

"With the handle, sir."

"Where did he hit you?"

"On the gun deck, sir, aft the eight-inch gun."

"I should say by your appearance that you had been hit on the nose instead of on the gun deck," replied the captain, without the suspicion of a smile on his face.

"Yes, sir, he hit me on the nose, sir."

"How could he do that when your back was turned toward him?" demanded the captain sharply.

"Somebody cried, 'Look out,' and I turned, sir. Then I got it."

"What did you do?"

"I slapped his face, sir."

"And what did the prisoner do?"

Sam's lips contracted a little upon his being referred to as "the prisoner."

"He hit me on the nose with his fist, right on the sore spot, sir. He knocked me clean off my feet, tumbling me up under the breech of the eight-inch, sir."

"Then what happened?"

"I went to the surgeon, sir, to get myself fixed up."

"You were not the aggressor in any way?"

"Sir?"

"You are quite sure you did not start the trouble?"

"How could I, when my back was turned, sir?"

"I did not ask you that; I asked you whether you were or not. Answer yes or no."

"No, sir."

"That will be all for the present. Samuel Hickey, step forward."

The Battleship Boy moved three paces to the front, looking the commanding officer squarely but respectfully in the eyes.

"You have heard Kester's story. What have you to add to it, if anything?"

"I hardly think the story will stand any more adding to, sir," replied the boy, with a faint smile. The captain appeared not to notice the subtle fling in Sam's answer.

"You will tell me, in as few words as possible, how the row started."

"We had finished scrubbing decks, sir. I had been seasick and was going forward on a run, carrying my deck swab. Somehow it caught this man between the legs and upset him, sir."

"How did he get the wound on his nose, if that is true?"

"He must have hurt himself in falling."

The explanation sounded very lame to all who heard it, though, as the reader knows, it was wholly within the facts.

"You mean to tell me you did not strike him at all?"

"Oh, yes, sir, I struck him. I hit him as hard as I could."

"Where did you hit him?"

"Plumb on the nose, sir."

"What excuse have you to offer for assaulting a man who already, according to your own admission, was injured?"

"He called me a liar, sir; then afterwards he called me a coward. I couldn't stand that, sir."

"Is that all?"

"I think so, sir."

"Oh, why doesn't he tell the captain about Kester's having knocked him down," groaned Dan, who had, from a prudent distance, been an interested listener to the examination.

"You have admitted that you struck the man; you have admitted that you inflicted the wound which, it appears, is of more than ordinary seriousness, as it may cause his disfigurement for life."

Sam made no reply to this. None seemed to be called for under the circumstances. Somehow he felt that he had made out a very bad case for himself. He had told nothing but the truth, and not all of that, so far as his own vindication went, and yet he knew he had been placed in a false light.

"I'm in wrong, but I've got no one except myself to blame for it," thought Sam.

The captain consulted with his executive officer for a moment. Then turning to the prisoner he said, gravely:

"Hickey, you are guilty of a very serious breach of discipline. You are a new man on board ship. Were it not for that fact I should be much more severe. I am inclined to be lenient with you under the circumstances. You will understand that punishments are wholly impersonal. They are punishments because some rule has been violated. Discipline must be maintained."

"Yes, sir," answered Sam meekly.

"Silence!" warned the master-at-arms.

"I hope you will not forget the lesson. Control your temper. Unless you are able to manage your own temper you will never be fit to manage other men. You will have to conquer yourself before you can look for promotion in the service."

"Yes, sir."

"You will be placed in the brig for two days, on bread and water, with one full ration in the middle of the second day. And, Kester!"

"Yes, sir."

"Your record in the past has not been any too good. I trust I shall not hear of your getting into further trouble. You have been long enough in the service to know how to keep out of mischief."

The captain motioned to the master-at-arms to remove the prisoner.

Sam Hickey, with head erect, saluted his superior officers, faced about, marching steadily ahead of the master-at-arms, on his way to be punished for an offense that he felt sure he had not committed.

"I wish I'd hit Kester harder, while I was about it," Hickey muttered.

"I'm sorry, lad, but discipline is discipline," remarked the petty officer as he clanged the door of the brig on Hickey.

"It's all right, Mr. Master-at-Arms. There's one consolation; I don't have to scrub decks for the next two days, anyway. That's some relief."

Sam threw himself down on the steel floor, where he promptly went to sleep.