“And you, monsieur, you speak French also?”
Devereux replied that he did a little.
“That is very nice, indeed,” said the young Frenchman. “We will talk together, and I shall no longer fear dying of ennui.”
After this, Alphonse was constantly with Devereux, and when the latter was better, he brought his fiddle and played many a merry tune to him. Indeed, the young Frenchman, by his light-hearted gaiety, his gentleness, and desire to please, became a general favourite fore and aft.
“Ah, mounseer, if there was many like you aboard the frigate which went down, I for one am sorry that I had a hand in sending her there,” exclaimed Reuben Cole one day, in a fit of affectionate enthusiasm.
Alphonse, who understood him, sighed. “There were many, many; but it was the fortune of war.”
“But, suppose, Reuben, we come up with the other, and have to treat her in the same way, what will you say then?” asked Paul.
“Why, you see, Paul, the truth is this: if the captain says we must fight and sink her, it must be done, even if every one on us had a mother’s son aboard. I stick up for discipline, come what may of it.”
The ship was within one or two days’ sail of the West Indies, when, as Paul was on deck, he heard the man at the mast-head shout out, “A sail on the lee-bow standing for the westward.”
“It is the Alerte,” thought Paul, “and we shall have more fighting.” Others were of the same opinion. Instantly all sail was made in chase. The crew of the Cerberus had been somewhat dull of late, except when the little Mounseer, as they called Alphonse, scraped his fiddle. They were animated enough at present. Even the sick and wounded were eager to come on deck. Devereux especially insisted that he was able to return to his duty. Mr Lancet said that he might not suffer much, but that he had better remain out of harm’s way, as even a slight wound might prove fatal. He would listen to no such reasoning, and getting Paul to help him on with his uniform, he crawled on deck.