“It is the practice in the British navy to take the word of the man himself, as being most likely to know the facts in the case,” said Captain Lockyer, “and I decline to give up this man.”
True it was that such was the practice in the British navy, because it had the power to make good its high-handed measure.
“I do not feel myself qualified to deal with the question any further, then,” said Macdonough, “and I shall return on board the Essex and report to Captain Bainbridge,” and in another moment he had bowed formally and entered his boat.
When he reached the Essex, Captain Bainbridge was not on board, having gone ashore early in the evening, so Decatur was in command. Decatur’s anger knew no bounds. He stormed up and down the deck, sent a messenger off to the captain, and altogether was in just the sort of rage that an impetuous young officer would be in under like circumstances. But retaliation was nearer at hand than he imagined. While he and the other officers were collected in groups on deck, discussing the exasperating event, Danny Dixon, his face wreathed in smiles, approached.
“Mr. Decatur,” said he, unable to repress a grin of delight, “one o’ the finest-lookin’ sailor men I ever see, hearin’ ’em say on the Thunderer as how ’twas a rule to take a man’s word ’bout the country he belongs to, jist sneaked into our boat, sir, and hid hisself under the gunwale; and when we was h’istin’ the boat in, out he pops, sir, and swears he’s a ’Merican that was pressed into the British sarvice.”
Now, a man might very well have concealed himself in the boat, by the connivance of the men, without Macdonough’s seeing him, but how Danny Dixon could have avoided knowing it was a miracle. Nevertheless, he remarked solemnly:
“Didn’t a man in the boat see him, neither, sir—so they say; and, bein’ sailor men, ’tain’t likely they’d lie about it, sir.”
Decatur and Macdonough, charmed with this state of affairs, could hardly refrain from winking at one another; but Decatur only said: “Very well, Dixon; if he _says_ he’s an American, mind, we’ll keep him.”
“He’ll say so, sir,” answered Danny, making no effort at all to suppress his enjoyment.
Good luck followed good luck. Within ten minutes the rattle of hoisting out a boat from the Thunderer was heard, and in a little while it was seen pulling across the dark water in which the stars were faintly reflected. The man’s getting into the American boat had been suspected, and his absence discovered. But no midshipman had been sent after him. Lieutenant Lockyer, the officer who had been so rude to Macdonough, and who, in spite of his bad manners, was a young officer of experience and determination, was sent in the first cutter. As soon as he stepped on deck Decatur greeted him politely, but all the other officers maintained an unbroken silence. Lockyer began at once, in a dictatorial manner: