“You dog of a Huguenot!” he roared.
The seaman dodged, and the cider mug spun into the planks of a jolly boat. Then he stepped forward and said,
“Captain Valbué, the Laws of Oléron, under which we sail, say that you cannot and must not strike a seaman with any missile. I, Lanoix, will strike back if you hit me.”
But Monsieur Valbué was like a bubbling tea-pot. Seizing a hand-spike, he shot it out at the man who knew the law.
“The Laws of Oléron allow me just one blow,” blubbered Captain Valbué. “Just as the laws of England allow each dog one bite.”
As luck would have it, he missed his shot.
Lanoix leaped over the iron rail which separated the forecastle from the after part of the vessel. Then he turned around.
“Follow me here, you coward!” he shouted to the captain, “and I will have the right to crack you through the middle. Consult the Laws of Oléron under which we sail and see if they do not back me up!”
“The laws be blowed!” yelled Monsieur Valbué, now beside himself with rage. And, leaping across the rail he struck the Huguenot two sturdy blows in the face.
Jean Bart, meanwhile, steered the ship: looked on; and said nothing.