"Fingal!" called Don Carlos. "The general is here, and he feels that the prisoners must be dealt with in a summary manner at once. He doesn't think it advisable to wait until nightfall. Better bring them up."
Here, in a moment, a situation was developed which threatened Matt's plan for entrapping Don Carlos and Pitou. The don and the general were not intending to come into the boat, but to wait on the deck while the prisoners were brought up.
"I say, below there!" called Don Carlos, in a louder voice. "Wake up, you! Where's Fingal?"
"Ahoy, don!" bellowed Matt, trying his utmost to imitate the raucous tones of Fingal's voice. "Bring the general down a minute!"
Matt's imitation was fairly good, but not good enough to deceive the keen ears of Don Carlos.
With a yell of alarm, the don sprang ashore.
"This way, general!" he shouted; "hurry! There's something wrong here."
There followed a crash, a rattling slide of some object over the sloping deck of the boat, then a shrill "Pardieu! Sacre, sacr-r-r-e tonnerre!"
Matt rushed up the ladder and looked out of the hatch.
The general was a little man, and he carried a prodigious sword and wore a pair of immense spurs on his cavalry boots. As near as Matt could judge, from what he saw, the general had tried to leap ashore and his spurs had caught in one of the guy ropes. Instead, therefore, of leaping, he fell in a heap, and had clattered and banged along the deck until he was caught and held between the side of the boat and a pile that formed part of the wharf.