"Hart's a nateral born speaker, and 'as a clear 'ead," said the crowd. "'E puts it in a nutshell, and don't run to waste in words."
But the Frenchman looked puzzled.
"Comb wiz," he said; "spik En'lish besser," and he pointed over the low rise.
"Steady!" said Hart; "boys, I'm not clear as to whether we hain't bein' led hinto a hambush. It hain't nateral for shipwrecked Englishmen to find Frenchies shipwrecked too!"
"It ain't," said the crew suspiciously.
"And even if it's all right, we bein' strangers might be led into makin' a treaty without knowin' all there is to know. I vote waitin' till the officers comes up."
They squatted down on rocks and on the lumps of tussac grass till the captain and the two mates came along with the rest of the Frenchmen. Hart communicated his suspicions to the skipper, who was decidedly under the influence of alcohol.
"That's all right," said the Guffin thickly. "We can manage Frenchmen. They ain't goin' to make no French Shore question on no more of our islands. One Newfoundland's enough for me. I'll show you n'gotiations—'gotiashuns is my forte!" And he led the way over the hill. Below them they saw the wreck of a French barquantine.
"Blimy," said the crowd, with a frown, "if they 'aven't got the best part of our hisland!"
It was not to be endured by any lot of Englishmen under the sun, that the best part of this rock should be occupied by their natural foes, and soon there was evidence that in any attempt to turn the Frenchmen out the British leader would have a united nation at his back.