“But they’re our mortial enemies, sir,” cried the boatswain, aghast.
“Let them go,” said Syd; and as the boats pushed off, with the frigate recommencing its useless fire to cover the retreat, the defenders of the little natural fort gave a hearty cheer.
“We don’t want a lot of bloodshed, Roy,” said Syd, as they congratulated one another over the refreshment they were glad to take.
“No; but I suppose we ought to have slaughtered a lot of them. We could.”
“My father used to tell my uncle, the admiral, that he was the greatest commander who could achieve a victory with the smallest loss of life.”
“Yes, sir,” said a gruff voice behind him; “but I’ve know’d your father send some awful broadsides and rakings into the enemy’s ships. Why, when we’ve gone aboard arter to take the furren captain’s sword, I’ve seed their deck all slippery with blood.”
“And I’m glad those stones are not.”
“Very well, sir, if you’re satisfied, I am; but I want to know what’s gone o’ my Pan. Hasn’t hidden hisself in that water-cave, has he?”
“I have not seen him,” said Syd, and with Roylance he climbed up to the flagstaff to see the enemy’s two crowded boats return to the frigate’s side, after which the French captain made a slight change in his position; and as they watched they saw two fresh boats lowered and row away, and then they were recalled.
Then came a long spell of waiting in miserable inaction till toward sunset, when the two boats put out again, spent a little time sounding close up to the rocks where Roylance was rescued, and were again recalled.