The man regarded me for a few moments with mouth agape.
"You'd best bide quiet a bit," said he. "Maybe you'll still be wandering in t' head."
"No, I am not," I maintained. "I was shot at, and my horse carried me over the cliff. But where is this craft bound for?"
The man did not answer me, but whistled down a small hatchway.
"Here, Dick, on deck wi' ye."
A man appeared, his burly head surmounted by a shock of matted red hair, and his ruddy face hidden by a long beard of similar hue.
"I be afeard Maäster Jarge be queer in 'is 'ead," whispered the first seaman in a loud aside. "He axed where we was bound for."
"France, Maäster Jarge, France," said the ruddy one in a tone that was meant to be soothing. "Us'll drop ye safe in Cherbourg afore night if this breeze 'olds."
"I am not Master George, whoever he may be," I exclaimed with considerable heat. "And I don't want to go to France, so why am I being taken there?"
Both men looked at me in astonishment.