By this time the officer in the last boat had reported himself, the crews were dismissed, the watch set, and all was silence and darkness again.
About dawn the captain, after an uneasy night, came on deck, glass in hand, to search the shore, and try to make out some sign of the fugitives; but just as he had focussed his glass, he caught sight of some one doing the very same thing, and going softly to the bows he found that the officer busy with the glass was Bosun Jones, who rose and saluted his superior.
“See anything, Mr Jones?” the captain said.
“No, sir; only the regular number of canoes drawn up on the beach.”
“Have you thought any more about what you said you heard last night?”
“Yes, sir, a great deal.”
“But you don’t think the poor lad met such a fate as you hinted at?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” said the boatswain sternly; “and I feel as if I had helped to bring him to such a death.”
“Mr Jones,” said the captain, haughtily, “you merely did your duty as a warrant officer in the king’s service. If that unfortunate boy met such a disastrous fate, it was in an attempt to desert.”
The captain closed his glass with a loud snap, and walked away, while Bosun Jones stood with his brow knit and his lips compressed, gazing straight before him as the sun rose and shed a flood of light over the glorious prospect.