“Well, well, I believe you, Finnahan,” said the captain in a kind tone. “We have got them, and we must take them at once to Sir Samuel Hood. We need care very little about the brig now.”
Chapter Sixteen.
Old friends.
“Hadn’t you better, sir, see what they contain?” observed Mr Saunders. “It’s just possible, too, that the commander of the brig knows their contents, and will communicate it verbally to the French admiral, or perhaps he may have duplicates on board.”
“I don’t think he has that, sir,” I remarked. “I saw the packet delivered to the French lieutenant, and he certainly did not open it, though I can’t say whether he knows the purport of the despatches.”
“It’s likely enough that he does, though; and at all events we must prevent him, if we can, from communicating with his admiral,” said Captain Macnamara. “When he finds that you have made your escape, he’ll be eager to be off, and still more so if he discovers that the despatches are missing. Send a boat, Mr Saunders, at once to watch the movements of the brig. Heave the cable short, and be ready to sail the moment we get a breeze.”
Mr Saunders left the cabin to carry out the orders he had received. I hadn’t yet told the captain of the way the brig was taken from me, and of the mutiny. I now, by his desire, gave him a detailed account of the circumstances.
“There’s no blame attached to you, Finnahan,” he said; “though as far as I can make out, the French officers didn’t behave in an honourable way, and I hope those mutinous scoundrels will get their deserts before long. I’m sorry they are our countrymen, but I can show them no favour on that account. If we take the brig, every one of them will be hanged.”