“What boat is it?” inquired the latter, eagerly, throwing open the dead-light of his room and gazing out along the shore.
“It’s our boat, sir, with Lieutenant Cummings.”
“Any passengers aboard?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
The captain slammed shut the dead-light and turned moodily to his desk. He did not seem to enjoy the breakfast which one of the cook’s men presently brought to him.
“Tell Lieutenant Cummings to report as soon as he comes aboard,” he commanded.
Lieutenant Cummings, however, far from being discouraged, was much elated when he appeared, smiling, at the captain’s door.
“They slept at the village, sir,” he said. “Five persons in all. Everybody’s gone from the village but one or two old people, and these report that the boys came in there for water and to see what news they could get. They had a young native boy with them and a full-grown Aleut. They put him in irons—”
“Put him in irons!” roared Captain Stephens. “God bless my soul! Those young rascals will be sending out to look after us before long! Sailors!—and they’ve got a man in irons!”