Guert was listening eagerly to all that was said. He was obtaining new ideas and information as to the manner in which plunder taken at sea by all sorts of war-ships may be marketed.
"It's the war law of buccaneering," he thought. "If England and America were at peace, then our business would be piracy."
It was not easy to make it seem right, and he gave that up, trying to settle his conscience with the assertion that it was one of those things which cannot be helped.
"It ought to be helped," he thought. "Ships of war ought to do the fighting and let the unarmed ships go free. I don't like it! But I'm a privateersman myself, just now."
Back went the boat to the Noank and Mynheer Opdyke kept his word. It was a misty night, and before morning there was nothing worth noticing upon the deck, unless it might be something amidships that was covered by a tarpaulin. That, however, had been read and understood by the lookouts in the tops of the British corvette.
"The privateer carries a pivot-gun," her captain had said. "Three guns each broadside? Remarkably full crew? All right. She's a dangerous customer to leave afloat. We must make an end of her."
That next day was spent on shore by most of the Noank's crew. Not one of them was willing to remain in Brest, however. The best chance that the rescued prisoners, for instance, seemed to have for ever getting home was in the Noank.
"Besides," they said to each other, "some of us may get out in prizes, before long. We may win prize-money, too."
One day more went by, and it was near evening when Captain Avery said to Guert Ten Eyck:—
"No, my boy, you won't go ashore again. Our water-casks and the provisions are coming aboard. The Opdykes have done wonderfully well by us. I never saw better lighter work. I can't say at what hour we may be ready to put to sea."