“I’m afraid you are not quite right, sir,” said my father sadly. “I think we shall find that the betrayal of my place was due to a smuggler who used to live in yonder cottage, information respecting whose cargo landing I was compelled, as a king’s officer, to give to the commander of the cutter. It has been an old sore, and it has doubtless rankled.”
“Oh, father!” I said sadly, “do you think this really is so?”
“Yes, Sep,” he replied, “and so do you; but don’t be alarmed, I shall not visit it upon his son. The poor lad thinks the same, I am sure, and he is half broken-hearted about it.” We reached the beach soon after, where a couple of Jacks were in charge of the boat, and soon after we were pulled alongside of the lugger, to find that the men left on board, in charge of a midshipman of about my own age, had been busy repairing damages, fishing, as they called it, the broken spar, while the lugger’s crew sat forward smoking and looking on, in company with their skipper, who rose smiling, and saluted.
“Aha! Le Capitaine Dooncaine,” he cried; “and m’sieu hees sone. I salute you both.”
“Salute me?” cried my father angrily. “After this night’s work?”
“This night’s work, mon capitaine?” he said lightly. “Vy node. I am prisonaire; so is my sheep, and my brave boys. But it ees ze fortune of var.”
“Yes; the fortune of war,” said my father bitterly.
“I do node gomplaine myself. You Angleesh are a grand nation; ve are a grand nation. Ve are fighting now. If ze sloop sail vin she vill come for me. If she lose ze capitaine vill be prisonaire, and behold encore ze fortune of war.”
“Sir,” said my father, “it is the act of pirates to descend upon a set of peaceful people as your countrymen did last night, thanks to your playing spy.”
“Spy? Espion? Monsieur insults a French gentleman. I am no spy.”