“I’m not so sure of that,” said I. “My uncle thinks a good deal of gaining honour, and I believe he’d rather take an enemy’s frigate after a hard-fought action, than capture a Spanish galleon without a blow.”
“Well, it’s the proper spirit,” said Hanks, with a sigh. “The revenue service don’t nourish it much, though. Take my advice; get out of it as soon as you can; or,” he continued with much feeling, “it will spoil you otherwise, depend on it.”
We continued walking the deck for some time longer. We then sat down to rest, watching the coast, from which we were about three miles distant.
Jack was at the helm, and the rest of our people were giving a hand to the sheets, as the wind had veered a little to the westward.
The smugglers were seemingly fast asleep, with the exception of the skipper, who had lighted a cigar to console himself under his mishap.
Chapter Ten.
The Tables Turned—Console Myself with the Fiddle—Set the Frenchmen Dancing—Captain Didot—My Place of Imprisonment—Escape—Greater Danger—Frighten my Friends.
Everything was going on as tranquilly as possible. Hanks was sweeping the horizon with his glass, looking out for the cutter, when suddenly, without the slightest warning, I saw the sentry’s pistol knocked out of his fist, and he himself hove headlong into the sea. Away flew the skipper’s cigar, and up he jumped as lively as a cricket, and, with two of his men, threw himself upon Hanks, who, taken unawares (his eyes engaged in his telescope), was bundled overboard. I tried to catch him by the leg, but his old blue trousers tore in my grasp, and a big Frenchman dealt me such a blow on the head that I was for an instant stunned.