"Mon camarade," said one, in very good French, "we are French sailors——"
"Then you have no business to be loitering here," said I, bluntly and hastily.
"Pardonnez-moi, camarade; but we cannot help it."
"Then you are prisoners of war?"
"Nay——" stammered the other.
"What then?"
"Deserters," was the candid response.
"You are very rash to be here at such a time."
"We have escaped from the castle of St. Malo, where we were shamefully treated, and are anxious to offer our services and our knowledge of the coast."
"To us?"