The Frenchman stopped and glared at Merry.
"Cursed Yankee!" he grated. "I would like to put one of zese gude blades t'rough your heart!"
"Haven't a doubt of it," said Merriwell, coolly. "That's about the kind of a man I took you to be."
Another boat got away, and the last boat was swung from the davits.
A sailor counted the men who remained and spoke to the captain. The latter said:
"At best, the boat will not hold them all. There is one too many, at least. Let the fellow in irons stay behind."
Harris heard this, and fancied his doom was sealed. He began to beg to be taken along, but one of the men gave him a kick.
The Frenchman turned on Frank.
"Do you hear?" he cried. "One cannot go. Do you make eet ze poor deval in ze iron? or do you dare fight me to see wheech one of us eet ees? Eef you make eet ze poor devval, eet show you are ze cowarde. Ha! I theenk you do not dare to fight!"
He spat toward Merry to express his contempt.