Brandon grasped the boathook.
"Anglais!" shouted a voice from the Marie-Celeste's boat. "Take in ze anchor an' go' vay, den ve gif you five poun'."
No answer.
"Ve gif seven poun'," persisted the man in a wheedling voice. "An' a leetle cask of ze rum."
Still no answer.
"A ver' big, goot cask of ze rum, zen," continued the Belgian. "Ve hafe eet in ze boat, see. Ver' goot rum an' seven poun'."
The dogged silence on the part of the Frolic's crew rather puzzled the Belgians. They took advantage of the delay to paddle a few strokes until their boat was within ten yards of the fishing smack's quarter.
Then Old Negus broke the silence.
"Sheer off!" he shouted. "Or we'll stave in your boat."
"Vat you mean—stave in, eh?" demanded the spokesman.