Two of the ships ahead struck me as frigates, having their broadsides exposed to us: we had raised one line of ports, but it was possible they might turn out to be two-deckers; ships of war they were, beyond all question, and I fancied them English from the squareness of their upper sails. They, too, were consorts, making signals to each other, and closing fast on opposite tacks. The lugger was no longer equivocal: it was the Polisson, and she was standing directly for us, though it was ticklish business, since the remaining ship, a corvette, as I fancied, was already in her wake, carrying sail hard, going like a witch, and only about two leagues astern.
Monsieur Gallois had so much confidence in his heels, that he stood on, regardless of his pursuer. I thought it best to put a bold face on the matter, knowing that sufficient time might be wasted to enable the sloop of war to get near enough to prevent the privateer from again manning us. My principal apprehension was, that he might carry us all off, in revenge for what had happened, and set fire to the ship. Against either of these steps, however, I should offer all the resistance in my power.
It was just ten o'clock when the Polisson ranged up abeam of us the second time, and we hove-to. It was evident the French recognised us, and the clamour that succeeded must have resembled that of Babel, when the people began first to converse without making themselves understood. Knowing we had no small boat, Monsieur Gallois lost no time, but lowering a yawl of his own, he came alongside of us in person. As I had commanded the three Frenchmen to remain below, he found no one on deck but Marble, Diogenes, Neb and myself.
"Parbleu, Monsieur Vallingfort!" exclaimed the privateersman, saluting me very civilly notwithstanding appearances--"c'est bien extraordinaire! Vat you do vid me men--eh! Put 'em in ze zea, comme avec le Anglais?"
I was spared the necessity of any explanation, by the sudden appearance of my own three prisoners, who disregarded my orders, and came rushing up to their proper commander, open-mouthed and filled with zeal to relate all that had passed. The whole three broke out at once, and a scene that was sufficiently ludicrous followed. It was a continued volley of words, exclamations, oaths, and compliments to the American character, so blended, as to render it out of the question that Mons. Gallois could understand them. The latter found himself obliged to appeal to me. I gave a very frank account of the whole affair, in English; a language that my captor understood much better than he spoke.
Mons. Gallois had the rapacity of a highwayman, but it was singularly blended with French politeness. He had not always been a privateersman--a calling that implies an undue love of gold; and he was quite capable of distinguishing between right and wrong, in matters in which his own pocket had no direct concern. As soon as he comprehended the affair, he began to laugh, and to cry "Bon!" I saw he was in a good humour, and not likely to resent what had happened; and I finished my history in somewhat sarcastic language, portraying Mons. Le Gros's complaisance in quitting the ship and in piloting her about the bay, a little drily, perhaps. There were sundry "sacr-r-r-es" and "bêtes" uttered the while; but all came out freely and without anger, as if Mons. Gallois thought a good joke the next thing to a good prize.
"Tenez, mon ami!" he cried, squeezing my hand, as he looked round at the corvette, now less than a league distant. "You are vat you Anglais call 'good fellow.' J'admire votre esprit! You have escape admirablement, and I shall have vifs regrets now to 'ave opportunité to cultiver votre connaissance. Mais, I most laafs,--mille pardons,--you àve non too moch peep's, mais c'est impossible d'abandonner mes compatriots. Allons, mes enfants; au cânot."
This was the signal for the French to quit us; the three men I had shipped taking their departure without ceremony. Mons. Gallois was the last in the boat, of course; and he found time to squeeze my hand once more, and to renew his "vifs regrets" at not having more leisure to cultivate my acquaintance. The corvette was already so near, as to render it necessary for the Polisson to be in motion; another time, perhaps, we might be more fortunate.
In this manner did I part from a man who had not scrupled to seize me in distress, as he would a waif on a beach. By manning me, the prize-crew would have fallen into the hands of the enemy; and, making a merit of necessity, Mons. Gallois was disposed to be civil to those whom he could not rob. Odd as it may seem, I felt the influence of this manner, to a degree that almost reconciled me to the act before committed, although the last was just as profligate and illegal as any that could well be committed. Of so much more importance, with the majority of men, is manner than matter; a very limited few alone knowing how to give to the last its just ascendency.
The Polisson was not long in gathering way, after her boat was hoisted in. She passed, on the crest of a wave, so near, that it was easy to distinguish the expressions of her people's faces, few of which discovered the equanimity of that of their commander's; and to hear the incessant gabbling that was kept up on board her, day and night, from "morn 'till dewy eve." M. Gallois bowed complaisantly, and he smiled as amiably as if he never had put a hand in another man's pocket; but his glass was immediately turned towards the corvette, which now began to give him some little uneasiness. Manning us, indeed, with that fellow surging ahead at the rate he was, would have been quite out of the question.