"They'd have gone at it splendidly!"
"Yes," answered the Commodore; "but this is better. Only we must not give those ships time to come up, or Duchambou may change his mind, and we may have our fight on worse terms."
"I agree with you perfectly," answered Pepperell. "We will be no sticklers for trifles."
Another boat beside the Commodore's had lain rocking on the tide in the shallow water while the General was speaking to his men. At the end of his address the oars were plied vigorously, and the boat shot out from the shore. Suddenly, by tacit consent, every oar hung poised on the boat's edge, and the stalwart rowers, bending forward with upturned faces, remained motionless, their eyes fastened upon some object on shore.
"Yes, it's a white flag!" said one of them at last. "Truce? Aint we going to have a chance at the 'parley-vous?'"
A murmur of disappointment answered him.
"I do believe they've struck," said another. And the oars began to be moved again, as if the sooner their work was over the sooner the pliers would learn what they were anxious to know.
"What are you saying?" cried Mr. Royal. "What's that about truce?" he added to the man next him.
"Don't know, sir," the man answered.
"Don't you see the officer with the white flag going up to the General?" volunteered another.