“Sa—!” He gave forth a particularly unpleasant sound from his throat, “You bêtes Anglish, you send my wessel to bottom last cruise, and sixty of my braves-garçons wid her. I vow I send every Anglishman I catch to look for them. S-a-a—.”
He looked so vicious that I thought he would execute his threat forthwith. I did my best, however, to put on a bold front.
“Whereabouts did this happen, Monsieur?” I asked quite coolly.
“Some twenty leagues to eastward dere,” he answered, looking hard at me.
“And which way is the tide making,” I inquired. I happened to have heard the master observe just before I went aloft, that the tide had only then made to the westward.
“It is vat you call ebb,” said the French captain.
“Then you see, monsieur, that there is no use throwing us overboard just now, because we should drift away to the westward, and your late vessel and crew must be somewhere to the eastward,” said I, as boldly as I could, though I had no little difficulty in getting out the words.
“Ah! you von Jack-a-napes, you von poule—littel fighting coc, I see,” he remarked in an altered tone. “Vell, you stay aboard; you sweep my cabin; you like dat better dan drown.”
“Certainly, monsieur, very much better,” said I, considerably relieved; “I shall be very happy to serve you in any way I can, consistent with my honour, and perhaps you’ll let this boy here help me?”
“Bah, no!” answered the captain, giving a contemptuous glance at poor Toby. “He only fit to sweep out de fore hold.”