to his mind with double force.
To be captured by them was bad enough, but to be carried off by them,
away from his comrades, was a fate of which he had not dreamed.

"Be a good boy, Bub," the captain called to him, as the boat drew away
from the _Mary Thomas's_ side, "and tell the truth!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" he answered, bravely enough by all outward appearance.
He felt a certain pride of race, and was ashamed to be a coward before
these strange enemies, these wild Russian bears.

"Und be politeful!" the German boat-steerer added, his rough voice
lifting across the water like a fog-horn.

Bub waved his hand in farewell, and his mates clustered along the rail
as they answered with a cheering shout. He found room in the
stern-sheets, where he fell to regarding the lieutenant. He didn't look
so wild or bearish after all--very much like other men, Bub concluded,
and the sailors were much the same as all other man-of-war's men he had
ever known. Nevertheless, as his feet struck the steel deck of the
cruiser, he felt as if he had entered the portals of a prison.

For a few minutes he was left unheeded. The sailors hoisted the boat up,
and swung it in on the davits. Then great clouds of black smoke poured
out of the funnels, and they were under way--to Siberia, Bub could not
help but think. He saw the _Mary Thomas_ swing abruptly into line as she
took the pressure from the hawser, and her side-lights, red and green,
rose and fell as she was towed through the sea.

Bub's eyes dimmed at the melancholy sight, but--but just then the
lieutenant came to take him down to the commander, and he straightened
up and set his lips firmly, as if this were a very commonplace affair
and he were used to being sent to Siberia every day in the week. The
cabin in which the commander sat was like a palace compared to the
humble fittings of the _Mary Thomas_, and the commander himself, in gold
lace and dignity, was a most august personage, quite unlike the simple
man who navigated his schooner on the trail of the seal pack.

Bub now quickly learned why he had been brought aboard, and in the
prolonged questioning which followed, told nothing but the plain truth.
The truth was harmless; only a lie could have injured his cause. He did
not know much, except that they had been sealing far to the south in
open water, and that when the calm and fog came down upon them, being
close to the line, they had drifted across. Again and again he insisted
tha