“Come up on the bridge, sir, if you will,” requested the commander of the
gunboat, who was a man of too good breeding to wish any dispute before the
men of the crew. “You may come, too, Benson.”

Jack followed the others, including the engineer officer of the “Hudson.”
Yet Benson was clenching his hands, fighting a desperate battle to get
full command over himself. It was hard—worse than hard—to be unjustly
accused.

Jacob Farnum wished to keep on the pleasantest terms with these officers
of the Navy. At the same time he was man enough to feel determined that
Jack, whether right or wrong, should have a full chance to defend himself.

“I understand, sir,” began Mr. Farnum, “that you attach some blame in this
matter to young Benson?”

“Perhaps he is not to be blamed too much, on account of his extreme
youth,” responded Mr. Mayhew.

“Forget his youth altogether,” urged Mr. Farnum. “Let us treat him as a
man. I’ve always found him one, in judgment, knowledge and loyalty. Do you
mind telling me, sir, in what way he erred in bringing you in here?”

“An error in giving his advice,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “Or else it was
ignorance of how to handle a craft as large as this gunboat. For my
anchorage he told me—”

Here the lieutenant commander repeated the first part of Jack’s directions
correctly, but wound up with: