“No, sir; except that I was to give you a letter and then follow your instructions.”
“You have no idea of the contents of this letter?”
“I haven’t the least idea, sir.”
“Very well, I shall send an officer up the river with you to-night to the Brilliant. You will find her not far below Skipwith’s, I fancy. Go on board your tug, sir, and be all ready to proceed up the river within an hour.”
The officer bowed and retired. Then I sent for my executive, Mr. Willetts, feeling as though I were in a dream. He was a plain, straightforward man with no more imagination in his composition than a boarding pike. When I read the commodore’s orders to him, he merely said, “Shall I put Captain Glenny in irons, sir?”
I had never thought of that unpleasant detail in the affair, and could have beaten Willetts for the suggestion.
“The commodore says ‘close confinement,’ sir,” he added.
“Yes, Mr. Willetts; but I think confinement to his stateroom, with possibly a sentry on the guards and another at the door of his room, will be near enough to close confinement until we get further orders. I can see nothing in this dispatch to warrant me in subjecting an officer to the indignity of irons.”
So I packed Willetts off within the hour and turned in for a sleepless night in my berth, with the problem running through my brain, “What on earth has Glenny been doing to get him into this scrape?”