All eyes were turned in the direction indicated. Still some distance away, it was discovered that the vessel seen approaching earlier in the morning had come to anchor, and that a small boat had been lowered, and was rapidly approaching the Alto.
The firing squad had been selected the night before, and now stood ready. At this moment the first officer came up and took the rifles from the hands of the six men.
“Three rifles will be loaded with blank cartridges,” he informed the men, “so that it will be impossible to say which man’s bullet kills the prisoner.”
The sailors all breathed easier. It was something for each man to know that there was a possibility that he would not be the one to snuff out the life of the young girl.
“Lieutenant Taylor!”
It was Captain Johnson who spoke.
“Sir?”
Lieutenant Taylor, who stood nearby, approached the commander of the Alto.
“You will relieve Lieutenant Berkeley and take command of the firing squad.”
The lieutenant’s face turned a trifle pale, but he saluted the commander, then turned on his heel and took Lieutenant Berkeley’s place at the head of the death squad.