“You mean that you will attack us, and the strongest wins?”
The officer was silent, and he turned his eyes upon his son, who left Rodd and took his extended hands, both standing silent for a few moments.
“No, sir,” he said at last, slowly and gravely. “Neither my son nor I can raise our hands against those who gave us liberty, almost life. Morny, my boy, we will do our duty to the last, and try to keep the poor Roi Dagobert afloat. She may live long enough, even as she has kept afloat so long. If she sinks with us—well, my boy, we shall have done our duty to him we serve, and our names may not be forgotten in our country’s rolls.”
There was silence for a few moments, which was broken at last by Rodd.
“But I say, uncle,” he cried eagerly, “you always said you had plenty of time, and—”
The young officer turned quickly upon the speaker with an eager questioning look, but before Uncle Paul could speak, Captain Chubb took off his cap and stood scratching his head in the now bright morning sunshine.
“Look here, Mr Count,” he said; “I am only a rough Englishman, and a lot of what you have been saying about mission and that sort of thing is just so much Greek to me. But do you mean to tell me that you got a ball through the bottom of your smart brig that night in Havre, and have never been able to stop the leak?”
“Yes, yes; that is so, my friend. My chief officer has tried everything that he could do, but we could not get at the place. And look yonder! The pump has been kept going ever since.”
“Well, sir,” continued Captain Chubb, “I don’t know your first mate, and I don’t want to say hard things of a man who could take that there smart craft out of the French harbour as he did that night. He is a very fine sailor, sir. But if I aren’t got a carpenter on board this schooner as would give him ninety out of a hundred and then beat him, without bringing to work the little bit I knows myself, why, I’m a Dutchman, and that I aren’t.”
“Ah!” cried the Count excitedly. “You think—”