“Well, I know that much,” said Roylance. “I can make them understand, but I don’t know about understanding them.”
“Begging your pardon, gentlemen,” said Strake, with a grim smile, “you needn’t trouble ’bout that ’ere. I’ve got a friend here as there isn’t a Frenchy afloat as don’t understand.”
“Whom do you mean, Strake?” said Syd, as he looked sharply at the boatswain.
“This here, sir,” he said, patting the breech of the cannon. “On’y let her open her mouth and bellow; they’ll know it means keep off.” The men laughed. “Is the gun loaded?”
“Yes, sir, with a round shot; but I’ve got grape and canister ready.”
This began to look like grim warfare, and Syd stood there waiting in silence, and gazing out seaward for the coming of the boat.
From the little battery the extent visible was rather limited, for the rock rose up high to right and left. The French frigate was right behind them, plain to be seen from the upper gun, the steep slope downward shutting it out from the lower.
A full half-hour glided by, but there was no sign of the enemy, and the men lay waiting with the sun now beating full upon them with such power that the rock grew almost too hot to touch.
“If they don’t look sharp and come,” said Strake, moving the lantern he had with him more into the shade, “my candle here will melt into hyle, and that there gun ’ill begin to speak French without being touched.”
“Surely the sun has not power enough to light the charge, Strake.”