"Never mind, so long as the wind is fair," returned Andrew, in the same whisper. "I would rather face the sea than the devils we have left behind."
We were assisted into the boat. I holding fast to my cat, and set sail. I can give little account of the voyage. I know it was a rough and tempestuous one, and that we were many times in the greatest danger from the rocks and counter currents which make navigation in those parts so difficult.
Andrew had the helm most of the time, while Pierre, whose smuggling and other lawless exploits had made him well acquainted with the channel, directed our course. My mother sat quite still under the half-deck of the boat, and I dozed by fits, with Blanchon in my lap, who now and then uttered a peevish growl, as he vainly tried to lick himself dry.
"There comes the morning at last," said Le Febre joyously; "and here is the blessed St. Aubin's bay spread out before us, if we can but get into it. I would we had a better pilot than myself."
"Yonder comes a boat which has been out all night," said Andrew. And he stood up and hailed her in English:
"Boat ahoy!"
"Hilloa!" came back, as the stranger rapidly overhauled us. "Who are you?"
"English," was the answer. "We have ladies on board. Where are you bound?"
"To St. Aubin's," was the reply. "Follow us, and you will do well enough."
"Good!" said Andrew to my mother. "We shall land close at home. And now that we are comparatively safe, tell me, Pierre, did I not hear your voice at the tower last night?"