Week after week, hour after hour, and, as it seemed, almost inch by inch, the cutter crawled on around the wild coast of Kadiak, tapping each arm and inlet, literally combing out the full extent of the broken shore-line. So gradually they passed below the southern extremity of the island, worked up from the southeast, and one day came to anchor not far from the native settlement known as Old Harbor. Here a breakdown to their machinery kept them waiting for ten days. Meantime, the boat crews were out at their work. One day a young lieutenant came in and with some excitement asked to see the captain.
“I have to report, sir, that I think we’ve got word of those boys!” he said, eagerly, as he saluted.
“How’s that? Where? Go on, sir!”
“There’s a big boat party back from Kaludiak Bay, sir. They were in there on a whale-hunt several weeks ago. They saw a camp with three white boys and one refugee Aleut.”
“Arrest every man Jack of them and bring them in!” roared Captain Stephens.
“Already done that, sir!” reported the lieutenant. “They are in the long-boat alongside.”
“Then bring them here at once!”
A few moments later he and Mr. Hazlett found the deck crowded with a score of much-frightened natives.
“Who’s the interpreter here?” commanded the captain.
A squaw-man who for some years had lived with the natives was pushed forward. He was none too happy himself, for he expected nothing better than intimate questions regarding certain wrecking operations which for years past had gone on along this part of the coast.