“Was it not the work of a spy to bring that French sloop here to ravage my place and steal the ore that had been smelted down?”
“True, saire, it vas bad; but ze espion was your own countrymen, saire. Ze Capitaine Gualtière does no do such not you calls dirty vorks as zat.”
“Jonas Uggleston! It was he, then?” cried my father. “I felt sure of it; but I believed you to have had a hand in it, Captain Gualtière.”
“A hand in him, sair. Ze Capitaine Ugglee-stone ask me to join him, it there is months ago, sair; but I am a smugglaire, and a shentilhomme, node a pirate.”
“Captain Gualtière,” said my father, “you once saved my boy’s life, and I have insulted you—a prisoner. Sir, I beg your pardon.”
My father took off his hat, and before he realised what was about to take place, the Frenchman had thrown his lithe arms about him and kissed his cheek.
“Sair,” he exclaimed with emotion, “I am a prisonaire, but I look upon ze Capitaine Dooncaine as a friend.”
They then shook hands, and my father coloured up as he saw the officer of the frigate look on as if amused.
“Monsieur,” said Captain Gualtière; “I am no longer the maitre here; but you vill entaire my cabine, and I pray you to take dejeuner—ze breakezefast vis me.”
The result was that we had a surprisingly good meal, and very refreshing it proved, though I was in terrible pain all the time, and kept on wondering whether I ought to eat and drink.