There was a roar of laughter at that, a roar which brought the troopers to a sitting posture, their fingers on their carbines. And then a smile was exchanged amongst them.
"Parbleu! but these English are proper fellows," said one to his comrade. "They come to us as prisoners, and we see at once that they are good comrades. They fall into the same trap with us too, and, having received arms, act as if they were French and not English. Now, one of them having saved the lives of all here, and having brought us to a nest which may be described as that of a hornet, they laugh and joke and make merry. Ma foi! but these English are too good to fight with. It is the rascals of Spaniards we should engage with."
"Hear 'em!" grunted the rifleman Howeley, stretched near his comrade Andrews. "That 'ere Mr. Jack's a givin' lip to the naval orficer. Ten ter one he's sayin' as how the British army's better nor the navy. Equal, I says, all the time, though the army's my choice. Mate, who's this Mr. Clifford? What's his corps? He's a smart 'un."
His mouth went agape when the worthy Andrews informed him that Tom was merely a civilian, a class upon which Howeley had, in his own particular lordly way, been rather apt to look down.
"Civilian!" he gasped. "Strike me! But——"
"He's led us grandly. He's dropped into the post of commander as if he had been trained for it, as if it were his by right. I know all that," declared Andrews. "Tell you, my lad, he'd make a proper soldier."
Meanwhile Tom had faced the naval lieutenant eagerly.
"You think I'd do as an officer, sir?" he asked.
"Indeed I do," came the answer. "A regular could not have done better than you have done. You'll be a loss——"
"To the army," burst in the irrepressible Jack, grinning widely.