"The Commandant's compliments to Lieutenant Benson, and will the
Lieutenant and his comrades report at the Commandant's office."
Early as the hour was, the commandant was at his desk, in uniform, and received the young officers most graciously.
"Mr. Benson, and gentlemen," declared the commandant of the navy yard, "you have done your work well, and as quickly as it could have been done. I congratulate you. The Secretary of the Navy, I believe, will thank you personally, It was splendidly done. And now, if you will come around to the officers' club with me, you will find that your breakfasts have been ordered. It will be an hour and a half, yet, before it will be necessary for me to furnish you with the carriage that will convey you to the railway station."
In the presence of this much older officer the lads did not attempt to make too merry at breakfast. Seated in the dining room of the officers' mess, they listened respectfully to whatever the commandant saw fit to discuss.
The meal was about over when a marine orderly entered, crossed the dining room, stopped at a respectful distance, and saluted.
"Telegram, sir."
The commandant received the envelope, drawing out the sheet it contained.
"Lieutenant Benson, this will interest you and your comrades," pursued the commandant.
"The order revoking my command of the gunboat," thought Jack. Oddly enough, though he expected it, knew it must happen, the arrival of the moment brought a strange sinking at heart.
"I wonder how on earth it could have happened?" pursued the commandant, his eyes again turned toward the paper. "Millard has escaped from Fort Craven, and, so far, has eluded recapture!"