‘Ay, to be sure; I remember all about it now,’ said the lieutenant, ‘You call yourselves French officers?’ ‘And such are we, sir.’
‘Then how the devil came ye here? Mother Martin’s cellar is, to say the least of it, an unlikely spot to select as a restaurant.’
‘The story is a somewhat long one, sir.’
‘Then I haven’t time for it, lad,’ he broke in. ‘We’ve rather too much on hand just now for that. If you ‘ve got your papers, or anything to prove what you assert, I’ll land you when I come into the Downs, and you’ll, of course, be treated as your rank in the service requires. If you have not, I must only take the responsibility on myself to regard you as an impressed man. Very hard, I know, but can’t help it. Stand by.’
These few words were uttered with a most impetuous speed; and as all reply to them was impossible, I saw my case decided and my fate decreed, even before I knew they were under litigation.
As we were marched forwards to go below, I overheard an officer say to another—
‘Hay will get into a scrape about those French fellows; they may turn out to be officers, after all.’
‘What matter?’ cried the other. ‘One is dying; and the other Hay means to draft on board the Téméraire. Depend upon it, we’ll never hear more of either of them.’
This was far from pleasant tidings; and yet I knew not any remedy for the mishap. I had never seen the officer who spoke to me ashore since we came on board. I knew of none to intercede for me; and as I sat down on the bench beside poor Santron’s cot, I felt my heart lower than it had ever been before. I was never enamoured of the sea-service; and certainly the way to overcome my dislike was not by engaging against my own country; and yet this, in all likelihood, was now to be my fate. These were my last waking thoughts the first night I passed on board the Athol.