It seemed, to all on board, that the Osprey had never sailed so sluggishly as she did for the next hour and a half. As they expected, no craft was to be seen on the waters of the bay as they rounded the point, but Dominique and the other pilot had been closely questioned, and both asserted that at the upper end of the bay there was a branch that curved round "like dat, sar," the latter said, half closing his little finger.
Progress up the bay was so slow that the boats were lowered, and the yacht was towed to the mouth of the curved branch. Here they were completely landlocked, and the breeze died away altogether.
"How long is this bend, Jake?" Frank asked the second pilot in French.
"Two miles, sir; perhaps two miles and a half."
"Deep water everywhere?"
"Plenty of water; can anchor close to shore. Country boats run in here very often if bad weather comes on. Foreign ships never come here. They always run on to the town."
"You told us that there were a few huts at the end."
"Yes, sir. There is a village there, two others near."
The crew had all armed themselves, and the muskets were again placed ready for use.
"You had better go round, Hawkins," Frank said, "and tell them that on no account is a shot to be fired unless I give orders. Tell the men that I am just as anxious to fight as they are, and that if they give us a shadow of excuse we will board them."