“Yes, sir, I’ll tell them, sir,” cried the man hurriedly; and he shuffled off as hard as he could to find those who had left him in the lurch.
“Here, you, Joe Cross,” continued the captain, “you signal to that Frenchy boatman that he is not wanted.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Cross, hurrying to the side, where he began gesticulating angrily, in spite of which the boatman persisted in coming alongside and in voluble French declaring that he was ordered to come and would not go back until he was paid.
Meanwhile a little explanation was going on between the skipper and Uncle Paul.
“Don’t want to be bumptious, sir,” said the former, “but there’s only room on board a craft for one captain. Those fellows jump at any chance to get ashore, and when they are there, there’s no knowing when you’ll get them on board again, besides which, they wouldn’t be careful, and French and English don’t get on very well together after all that’s gone by. Here, Cross, tell that jabbering Frenchman if he isn’t off, he’ll have to go back with a hole through the bottom of his boat. No, stop. Go and find Mr Craig. Tell him to set those six men something to do.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the sailor, hurrying off.
“There, it was all my fault, captain,” said Uncle Paul, smiling. “I won’t offend again. Here, Rodd, my boy, give that poor fellow a shilling for his trouble.”
Rodd hurried to the side, hailed the man, and held out the coin, telling him in very bad French what it was for; but the fellow shook his head, held up four fingers, and began shouting “Quatre!” so loudly that the skipper heard.
“Cat, indeed!” he shouted. “Just what I should like to give him. Here, come away, Mr Rodd; he shan’t have anything now.”
But Rodd did not obey at once.