“Didn’t give me time,” growled the captain surlily.
“No insolence, sir! You ought to have obeyed the first gun. You are an Englishman, and by the look of you have been long enough at sea to know the rules when you encounter a man-of-war. Now then, what ship’s this?”
“Maid of Salcombe, Plymouth.”
“Owner?”
“I am,” said the doctor quietly.
“Oh! What are you trading in?”
“I am not trading,” said the doctor quietly. “This schooner is upon a scientific expedition, under the auspices of the English Government.”
“Oh,” said the officer suspiciously; and he looked from the doctor to the skipper, and from thence ran his eye over the crew gathered forward, while the midshipman altered the pitch of his hat, turned towards Rodd, whom for the last few moments he had been ignoring, and looked him up and down in a supercilious manner which made the blood mount to the boy’s forehead, and set him staring down at the middy’s bright shoes, from whence he slowly raised his eyes as far as the belt which supported the dirk, and from there higher up to his hat, where he fixed his eyes upon the officer’s cockade and kept them obstinately there, till the lad’s nostrils began to expand, he grew as red in the face as Rodd, and his menacing eyes seemed to say, You insolent young civilian, how dare you!
“Rather a strong crew, skipper,” said the lieutenant sharply.
“Yes, sir; picked men,” replied Captain Chubb.