"And his boots, old Big; did you see his boots?"
"Yes, they looked good water-tighters," said Bigley quietly, and he
seemed now to have settled down into his regular old fashion, while Bob
Chowne was getting saucy.
"And then his hands! Did you see his hands?" continued Bob. "I thought
at first I could not eat the bread and butter he had touched. I don't
believe he ever washes them."
"Why, he had quite small brown hands," said Bigley. "Mine are ever so
much larger."
"Yes, but how dirty they were!"
"It was only tar," said Bigley. "He has been hauling new ropes. Look,
some came off on my hand when he had hold of it."
"I don't care, I say it was dirt," said Bob obstinately. "He's a
Frenchman, and Frenchmen are all alike--nasty, dirty-looking beggars."
"Well, I thought as he brought us down in the cabin here, and gave us
that warm drink and the bread and butter, what a pity it was that French
and English should ever fight and kill one another."
"Yah! Hark at him, Sep Duncan," cried Bob. "There's a sentimental,
unnatural chap. What do you say?"
"Oh, I only say what a difference there is between Bob Chowne now and
Bob Chowne when he lay down in the bottom of the boat last night, and
howled when old Big made him get up and row."
"You want me to hit you, Sep Duncan?"
"No," I said.
"Because I shall if you talk to me like that. Old Big didn't make me.
I was cold and--"
"Frightened," I said.
"No, I wasn't frightened, sneak."
"Well, I was, horribly," I said. "I thought we should never get to
shore again. Weren't you frightened, Big?"
"Never felt so frightened before since I got wedged in the rocks," said
Bigley coolly.
"Then you are a pair of cowards," cried Bob sharply. "I was so cold and
wet and stiff I could hardly move, but I never felt frightened in the
least."
I looked at Bigley, and found that he was looking at me; and then he
laid his head against the bulkhead, and shut his eyes and laughed till
the tears rolled down his cheeks, and I laughed too, as the picture of
ourselves in the open boat came before me again, with Bigley ordering
Bob to get up and row, and him shivering and sobbing and protesting like
a child.
"What are you laughing at?" he cried. "You've got out of your trouble
now and you want to quarrel, I suppose. But I sha'n't; I don't want to
fight. Only wait till we get across, you won't laugh when old Jony
Uggleston comes down on you both for taking the boat. I shall say I
didn't want you to, but you would. And then you've got my father and
your father to talk to you after that."
But in spite of these unpleasant visions of trouble, which he conjured
up, Bigley and I still laughed, for, boy-like, the danger passed, its
memory did not trouble us much. We had escaped: we were safe; Bob was
making himself ridiculously comic by his hectoring brag, and all we
wanted to do was to laugh.
In the midst of our mirth, and while Bob Chowne was growing more and
more absurd by putting on indignant airs, the hatchway was darkened
again by the French skipper's petticoats and boots, and directly after
he stood before us smiling and rubbing his hands.
"Aha, you!" he said. "You better well, mosh better. I make you jolly
boys, eh?"
"Yes, sir, we are much better now," I exclaimed, holding out my hand.
"We are so much obliged to you for helping us as you have."
"Mon garcon, mon ami," he exclaimed; and instead of shaking hands, he
folded me in his arms and kissed me on both cheeks. I stepped back as
soon as I was free, and stood watching as he served Bigley the same, and
then took hold of Bob, whose face wore such an absurdly comical aspect
of horror and disgust, that I stood holding my breath, and not daring to
look at Bigley for fear I should roar with laughter.
"Dat is well," exclaimed the skipper. "It is done, my braves. Good--
good--good. You tink I speak Engleish magnificentment, is it not?"
He looked round at us all, and nodded a great many times. "Now you are
warm dry, come on ze pont and see my sheep. Ze belle chasse maree. She
sail like de bird. Is it not? Now come see."
We went on deck, and found as he took us about amongst the crew of seven
men, all wearing petticoat canvas trousers, that the big lugger was very
dirty and untidy, wanting in paint, and with the deck, or pont as the
skipper called it, one litter of baskets, packages, and uncoiled ropes.
On the other hand she seemed to be very long and well shaped, and her
masts, which were thick and short, had large yards and tremendous sails,
which in a favourable wind sent her through the water at a very rapid
rate.
"Aha! You lofe my sheep," said the skipper, as he watched our faces.
"You tink she run herselfs very fas, eh?"
We expressed our pleasure, which was the greater that we could see now
that the two bold masses which formed the entrance to the Gap were right
before us; but even now, as far as we could judge, six or seven miles
away.
We took a good deal of notice of this, for it showed us how far we had
been driven out by the fierce little gale of the previous night; and as
I looked over the stern at where our boat was being towed along in the
foam, and was thinking that we must have had a narrow escape, the French
skipper clapped me on the shoulder, laughed, and said:
"You wonder you not go to feed ze fishes at ze bottom? Yes, much; et
moi aussi. Ah, mon brave, you nearly go, and--no boat--no boy--no
noting. Hah!"
I shivered as I realised the truth of what he said, and was musing over
what was to come, when Bigley came to me, for the skipper had gone to
his men.
"Don't tease Bob," he said. "Don't say anything to him about being
queer last night, nor about me bullying him. He couldn't help it."
"Oh, I sha'n't say anything," I said.
"He couldn't help it," whispered Bigley again. "No more could I."
We all grew very serious then, for as we neared the shore, there was the
question to think over about meeting our fathers, and what they would
say. Would they be exceedingly angry with us, or talk quietly about our
narrow escape?
I found that my companions were thinking as I was, for Bigley said
quietly:
"I'm afraid my father will be very cross."
"So am I," was my reply, when Bob came to where we were gazing over the
bulwark shoreward, and said sulkily:
"I say, I don't want to be bad friends with you two. My father's sure
to give me a big wigging for letting you persuade me to go. Well, I
don't mean that," he added with a droll twinkle of the eye, as he saw us
stare, "what I mean is, hadn't we all better stick together, and share
the blame?"
"Yes, of course, Bob," I said; and I felt quite pleased with his
frankness, when if he didn't go and spoil it all again by saying:
"I thought it would be best, because it would be nicer for you."
Our conversation was stopped by Captain Gualtiere coming up, and
pointing westward.
"Look you!" he exclaimed, "see, mes amis, la _Saucy Lass_."
"So it is," cried Bigley eagerly, as he shaded his eyes, and gazed at
the lugger in full sail about a couple of miles away, and making for the
same point as we--"so it is: it's father's lugger."
"Oui, my young frien," said the French skipper; "and he has been to
sweep ze sea to try and find you boys."