“But if we say we will not try to escape?” cried Vince.
“I vill not believes you. Non, mon ami, ve have enough of ze peine to attraper you again. Two slippery garçons. I tie you bose like ze mutton sheep, and zen if von shump to run avays he pull ze ozaire down. Vous comprenez?”
“Oh yes, I comprong,” cried Vince contemptuously. “Just like a Frenchman. An Englishman would not be afraid of a boy.”
“Vat!” cried the captain, showing his teeth, as he raised his hand to strike—when, quick as lightning, the boy threw himself into an attitude of defence; but the men seized him and dragged his arms behind his back.
“That’s right, coward!” cried Vince, half mad now with excitement.
At the word coward the captain’s face looked black as night, his right-hand was thrust into his breast pocket, and he drew out and cocked a small pistol, while Mike darted to his companion’s side, laid his hands across Vince’s breast, and faced the captain; but he was seized by one of the men, who passed the line about his wrists after it had been dexterously fastened round those of his fellow-prisoner.
“Never mind, Mike; but I like that, old chap!” cried Vince. “Well done! Let’s show him what English boys are like: he daren’t shoot us. Do you hear, Jacques? vous n’oses pas.”
“Aha! You begin by stumble blunder bad French, you canaille boy. I not dare shoot you?”
“No,” said Vince defiantly, as the pistol was presented full at his face. “You dare not, you great coward!”
“Aha, encore? You call me coward, une insulte! Mais bah! It is only a silly boy. Tie zem bose togezaire, my lad, an trow zem in ze boat. Silly boy! Like two shicken volatile go to be roace for dinnaire. Non, arretez; stop, my lad. Coward! It was une insulte. Now you apologise me.”