With a vexed expression of countenance, the first lieutenant
sent a midshipman for the station bill, when, upon glancing it over, the
name of Fernando Stevens was found set down at the post in question. At
the time, Fernando was on the gundeck below, and did not know of these
proceedings; but a moment after, he heard the boatswain's-mates bawling
his name at all the hatchways and along all three decks. It was the
first time he had ever heard it sent through the furthest recesses of
the ship, and, well knowing what this generally betokened to other
seamen, his heart jumped to his throat, and he hurriedly asked Brown,
the boatswain's-mate at the fore-hatchway, what was wanted of him.
"Captain wants ye at the mast," he answered. "Going to flog ye, I
fancy."
"What for?"
"My eyes! you've been chalking your face, hain't ye?"
"What am I wanted for?" he repeated.
But at that instant, his name was thundered forth by the other
boatswain's-mates, and Brown hurried him away, hinting that he would
soon find out what the captain wanted. Fernando swallowed down his heart
as he touched the spardeck, for a single instant balanced himself on his
best centre, and then, wholly ignorant of what was going to be alleged
against him, advanced to the dread tribunal of the frigate. The sight of
the quarter-master rigging his gratings, the boatswain with his
detestable green bag of scourges, the master-at-arms standing ready to
assist some one to take off his shirt was not calculated to allay his
apprehensions.
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