The sailor’s reminiscences were interrupted by a hail of “Boat ahoy!”
Going to the side, Kenneth caught sight of the misty outline of an open fishing boat that was stealthily approaching the Marie Lescaut. There were two men in her, both standing up and facing for’ard, pushing at their oars instead of rowing in the usual fashion.
Hearing the hail from the schooner the men laid on their oars but made no attempt to reply to the midshipman’s request to take a letter to the lighthouse.
“I’ll take nowt from you, maister!” was the blunt rejoinder. “If you want to send message to lighthouse tak it yoursen!”
“Right-o, then, I will,” declared the midshipman, knowing perfectly well that he was quite unable to do so. “So you’ll take nothing from us? Not even our best wishes for a happy Christmas?”
Raxworthy meant this for mild sarcasm, but the way in which it was received by the fishermen was decidedly illuminating.
“You brass-bound gawks wish us a merry Christmas!” retorted one of the men wrathfully. “Dost call thysen a sportsman interfering wi’ a man’s livelihood on Christmas Day of all days. An’ what’s worse you be right spoilin’ the bairns’ feast! Go an’ boil your ‘ead. You’ll not be gettin’ me nor mine to fetch an’ carry for you!”
Then Kenneth began to tumble to it. The fishermen did not know that the picket-boat had been disabled and had been carried into the little harbour by the force of the gale. They were under the impression that the naval men had boarded the schooner knowing her to be a smuggler. Carrying out this duty on Christmas Day was regarded by the islanders as a particularly outstanding example of bad faith. To their minds it was as iniquitous as shooting rabbits on that day on which by custom as well as by law rabbits are protected.
The midshipman was not going to undeceive the surly fishermen by explaining that the picket-boat was disabled and had been forced to seek shelter by running alongside the French schooner. But what puzzled him was the man’s reference to “spoiling the bairns’ feast”. That no doubt accounted for the preparations in the hold of the Marie Lescaut —the partly laid table for a score or more guests.
“Don’t shove off yet,” he called out as the men prepared to return to the still invisible beach. “I don’t want to spoil the kids’ party or whatever it is.”