“There’ll be no fighting, my lad.”
“Well, sir,” replied the man, who happened to be Rogers, “I dunno as I want to fight. If I’m told to, course I shall, but it takes a lot with me to get my monkey up; and I’d rather look like a coward any day than have to fire at a man or give him a chop with my cutlash.”
“Quite right, Rogers. I don’t think those who bounce most are the bravest. How bright and clean it looks on board ship! I wonder how soon the Sirius will come back. Ah, there she goes,” he continued, as he used the glass, “sailing straight away for Saint Jacques; one could almost like to be in her for a change. Hallo!”
He looked eagerly through his glass at the passing ship, and became suddenly aware of the fact that something had attracted the attention of the officers of the French frigate, for one of the men went up quickly to an officer on the quarter-deck, and through the glass Sydney could see the gold lace of his uniform glisten as he raised one hand and pointed at the rock.
“How vexatious!” said Syd, aloud; “that officer must have seen the flagstaff.”
“No, sir; I don’t think so,” said Rogers.
“Nonsense, man! they have seen it. Look, they’re throwing the ship up in the wind, and—yes—they’re going to lower a boat. Look at the men swarming across the deck like ants. They must have seen the flagstaff. What a pity it was not taken down!”
“Beg pardon, sir; I don’t think it was the flagstaff.”
“What, then? They couldn’t see the guns.”
“No, sir; but they could have seen Mr Terry.”