"For the last seven years, monsieur," and he showed me his large silver medal, hung on a long chain of the same metal, which he wore under his cape.
On the medal I read the name Joseph Belmont, royal pilot, No. 18. On the other side of the medal were the royal arms of England.
"But you are a Frenchman," said I to him, speaking French.
"Oui, monsieur," he replied.
I was more astonished even than before.
Williams now appeared on deck, and, addressing the pilot, said:
"Go ahead, do as you think best. My lord has given his consent."
"The sea is getting so rough," said the pilot to Williams, "that I am going to tell my sailors to heave off the tow-rope, and follow us a little ways off." So the sailboat, abandoning the tow-rope, continued to follow in our wake.
Night was coming on.
According to the usual custom, Williams handed his speaking-trumpet, the sign of command, to the pilot.