“Officers are here to get you, Schofield,” said the skipper of the Nettie B. “Come out.”
Wonderingly, Code stepped into the sunlight and open air and saw the officer with his escort. With the resignation that he had summoned during his five days of imprisonment he accepted his fate.
“I am ready,” he said. “Let’s go as soon as possible.”
“Captain Schofield,” said the subaltern, “you are to be transferred, and I trust you will deem it advisable to go peaceably.”
Catching sight of the six armed sailors, Code could not help grinning.
“There’s no question about it,” he said; “I will.”
“Form cordon!” ordered the officer, and the sailors surrounded him––two before, two beside, and two behind. In this order they marched to the cutter.
Code was told to get in first and take a seat looking aft. He did so, and the officer dropped into the stern-sheets so as to face his prisoner. The sailors took their position, shipped their oars smartly, and the cutter was soon under way to the gunboat.
Arrived at the accommodation ladder, and on deck, Code found a vessel with white decks, glistening brass work, and discipline that shamed naval authority. The subaltern, saluting, reported to the deck-officer that his mission had been completed, and the latter, after questioning Code, ordered that he be taken to confinement quarters.