one of the most taciturn persons
Denison had ever met. The mate, who, having served the owners for about
twenty years, felt himself privileged, one night at supper asked him
point-blank, in his Irish fashion _apropos_ of nothing: "An' phwat part
av the wurruld may yez come from, captain?"

There were but the five of them present--the skipper, two mates,
boatswain, and Denison. Laying down his knife and fork and stirring his
tea, he fixed his eyes coldly on the inquisitive sub's face.

"From the same God-forsaken hole as you do, sir--Ireland. My name isn't
Chaplin, but as I'm the captain of this rotten old hooker I want you to
understand that if you ask me another such d------d impertinent question
you'll find it a risky business for you--or any one else!"

The quick blood mounted up to the old mate's forehead, and it looked
like as if a fight was coming, but the captain had resumed his supper
and the matter ended. But it showed us that he meant to keep to himself.

*****

The _Indiana_ made the low-lying atoll at last and lay-to outside. Those
on board could see the trader's house close to, but instead of being
surrounded by a swarm of eager and excited natives there was not one
to be seen. Nor could they even see a canoe coming off. Denison pointed
this out to the captain. Although of an evidently savage and morose
temperament he was always pleasant enough to Denison in his capacity
of supercargo, and inquired of him if he thought the trader had been
killed.

"No," Denison said, "I don't think the people here would ever kill
Martin; but something is wrong. He has not hoisted his flag, and that is
very queer. I can see no natives about his place--which also is curious;
and the village just there seems to be deserted. If you will lower the
boat I'll soon see what's wrong."

*****

The skipper called out to lower the whaleboat, put four Rotumah boys in
her, and then offered to accompany the supercargo. As he was a new man,
Denison naturally was surprised at his wanting to leave his ship at a
strange place.

"Glad enough," he said, "the landing here is beastly--lucky if we escape
getting stove-in going over the reef. Martin knows the passage well and
tackles it in any surf--wish he were here now!"

Captain Chaplin soon took that off his mind. Unconsciously Denison gave
him the steer-oar, and in a few minutes they were flying over the reef
at a half-tide, and never touched anywhere.

"Why," said Denison, "you