So thick had been the murk and scud that he had only caught sight of the approaching leader while she was a bare two miles off the point, and even when Nat had landed the crowd was momentarily being augmented from all the houses along the King’s Road and as far south as Castalia.
When the officer of the law laid his hand on Code’s arm and spoke the words that meant imprisonment and disgrace in the very heart of the village festival, a groan went up that caused the officer to look sharply about him.
Despite the work Nat had done on his brief stop at the Head, Code was the hero of the day, for he had come in with the first cargo of fish and had won the distinction of being the first to effect the salvation of the island.
“Oh, let him go!” said a voice. “He ain’t goin’ to run away!” Nat, standing behind his captive, turned sharply upon the offender.
“No, you bet he ain’t!” he snapped. “He’s been doin’ that too long already. He’s got somethin’ to answer for this time.”
Into the harbor at that moment swept the Tanners’ Rosan, and abreast of her the steamer from St. John’s. Five minutes behind came Jed Martin’s Herring Bone, and the first of the fleet was safely in.
As the discontented and muttering mob followed Code toward the little jail back of the Odd Fellows’ Hall, none noticed that the lovely schooner that had led the procession in was stealing quietly out again into the thick of the gale.
And those who did notice it thought nothing of it in the excitement of the moment, probably judging her to be some coaster who had run in to look for a leak. She had been tied up just ten minutes at the Mallaby wharf.
As the sorry procession passed the Schofield cottage, Code’s mother ran out sobbing and threw herself upon him. She had not seen her son before 280 (although orphan Josie had told her the Lass was in), for Code had been closeted with Boughton, and now her first glimpse of him was as an accused criminal.