“Oui—yes,” said Syd, who had again mounted the rough wall.
“It is good,” said the French officer. “You make fire upon us. Yes?”
“Yes; we fired.”
“You—you teach me yourself, vat ze diable you make here?”
“We hold this place as a possession of the King of England,” replied Sydney. “Can you understand?”
“Parfaitement, sare. Zen I tell you I go back to my sheep, and me come and blow you all avay. Au revoir!”
“Au revoir, Monsieur,” said Syd, exchanging bows with the French officer, who went back to the boat, sprang on board, the men pushed off, and the little garrison gave them a cheer.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” said Syd, taking off his hat to wipe his brow, as he leaped back into the battery.
“Over?” said Roylance, “not till they have been back and blown us all away.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the boatswain, “but I ’member now nuff of my old work years ago to be able to send a round shot right through that there boat, if you’ll give the word.”