“These are the fellows you are to bring in, Strong,” he said. “You have your other orders?”
“Yes, sir. I am to take ten men in Steamer Number One. And—and can Taylor be one of them, sir?”
“What, that red-headed firebrand?” exclaimed the master-at-arms smilingly. “There! Very well, then, Strong,” seeing Ned’s look of disappointment, “but, for goodness sake, keep him out of trouble.”
“Oh, I’ll be careful of him, sir. Thank you.”
“And now you are all ready? I’ll summon the patrol and pass word for’ard for Taylor.”
“You have no idea where I am to look for the men, sir?” asked Ned, while the patrol was being summoned.
“No; it will be up to you to find them. But I understand that some of them were last seen in Chinatown.”
The patrol was lined up.
Ned took command as smartly as any commissioned officer. He gave his orders and the patrol, including Herc Taylor, marched to the Jacob’s ladder on the port side of the ship, for the starboard is sacred to officers. They clambered into the drab-colored, hooded steam launch. The engineer tooted the whistle, the craft was cast off and then she cut swiftly over the choppy harbor for the landing stage.
“There they go, looking for the fellows that are playing hooky!” exclaimed a man loudly, as Ned and his detachment marched off toward Chinatown, eyed by a curious throng.