 | CHAPTER VI. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Unto his life; he that will seek the one
Must venture for the other, or lose both.”
Tatham.
It was now certain that le Feu-Follet was not in the Bay
of Salerno. By means of the lofty spars of the ship, and
the aid of glasses, the whole coast had been effectually surveyed,
Lyon had given it up, had wore round, and was standing
along the land again, towards Campanella, a disappointed
man. As Cuffe expected the next wind from the westward,
he continued on to the northward, however, intending to go
off Amalfi, and question any fisherman he might fall in with.
Leaving the ship slowly pursuing her course in that direction,
then, we will turn our attention to the state of the
prisoners.
Ghita and her uncle had been properly cared for, all this
time. The gunner's wife lived on board, and, being a
respectable woman, Cuffe had the delicacy to send the poor
girl forward to the state-room and mess of this woman.
Her uncle was provided for near by, and, as neither was
considered in any degree criminal, it was the intention to
put them ashore, as soon as it was certain that no information
concerning the lugger was to be obtained from them.
Ithuel was at duty again, having passed half the morning in
the fore-top. The shore-boat, which was in the way on
deck, was now struck into the water, and was towing astern,
in waiting for the moment when Carlo Giuntotardi and his
niece were to be put in possession of it again, and permitted
to depart. This moment was delayed, however, until the
ship should again double Campanella, and be once more in
the Bay of Naples, as it would have been cruel to send two
such persons as the uncle and niece adrift, at any material
distance from their proper place of landing.
It was very different with Raoul Yvard, however. He
was under the charge of a sentry on the berth-deck, in
waiting for the fearful moment when he should be brought
forth for execution. His sentence was generally known in
the ship, and with a few he was an object of interest;
though punishment, deaths in battle, and all the other
casualties of nautical life, were much too familiar in such a
war to awaken anything like a sensation in an active
cruising frigate. Still, some had a thought for the prisoner's
situation. Winchester was a humane man, and, to his
credit, he bore no malice for his own defeat and sufferings;
while in his capacity of first-lieutenant, it was in his power
to do much towards adding to the comfort of the condemned.
He had placed the prisoner between two open ports, where
a climate, and had ordered a canvass bulk-head to be placed
around him, giving Raoul the benefit of a state-room for his
meditations at so awful a moment. His irons, too, had
been removed as useless; though care had been had to take
away from the prisoner everything by which he might
attempt his own life. The probability of his jumping
through a port had been discussed between the first and
second lieutenants; but the sentry was admonished to be on
his guard against any such attempt, and little apprehension
was felt, Raoul being so composed and so unlikely to do
anything precipitately. Then it would be easy to pick him
up, while the vessel moved so slowly. To own the truth,
too, many would prefer his drowning himself, to seeing him
swinging at a yard-arm.
In this narrow prison, then, Raoul passed the night and
morning. It would be representing him as more stoical
than the truth, if we said he was unmoved. So far from this,
his moments were bitter, and his anguish would have been
extreme, were it not for a high resolution which prompted
him to die, as he fancied it, like un Français. The numerous
executions by the guillotine, had brought fortitude
under such circumstances, into a sort of fashion, and there
were few who did not meet death with decorum. With our
prisoner, however, it was still different; for, sustained by a
dauntless spirit, he would have faced the great tyrant of the
race, even in his most ruthless mood, with firmness, if not
with disdain. But, to a young man and a lover, the last
great change could not well approach without bringing with
it a feeling of hopelessness, that, in the case of Raoul, was
unrelieved by any cheering expectations for the future. He
fully believed his doom to be sealed, and that, less on
account of his imaginary offence as a spy, than on account
of the known and extensive injuries he had done to the English
commerce. Raoul was a good hater; and, according
to the fashion of past times, which we apprehend, in spite of
a vast deal of equivocal philanthropy that now circulates
freely from mouth to mouth, and from pen to pen, will continue
to be the fashion of times to come, he heartily disliked
the people with whom he was at war, and consequently, was
ready to believe anything to their prejudice that political
his life would be viewed as a trifle, when put in the scales
against English ascendency, or English profit. He was
accustomed to think of the people of Great Britain as a
“nation of shop-keepers,” and, while engaged himself in a
calling that bears the brand of rapacity on its very brow,
he looked upon his own pursuit as comparatively martial
and honourable; qualities, in sooth, it was far from being
without, as he himself had exercised its functions. In a
word, Raoul understood Cuffe, as little as Cuffe understood
him; facts that will sufficiently appear in the interview
which it has now become our office to relate.
The prisoner received one or two friendly visits in the
course of the morning; Griffin, in particular, conceiving it
to be his duty to try to cheer the condemned man, on
account of his own knowledge of foreign tongues. On these
occasions, the conversation was prevented from falling into
anything like the sombre, by the firmness of the prisoner's
manner. With a view to do the thing handsomely, Winchester
had caused the canvass bulk-head to include the guns
on each side, which of course gave more air and light within
the narrow apartment, as it brought both ports into the little
room. Raoul adverted to this circumstance, as, seated on
one stool, he invited Griffin, in the last of his visits, to take
another.
“You find me, here, supported by a piece of eighteen on
each side,” observed the prisoner, smiling, “as becomes a
seaman who is about to die. Were my death to come from
the mouths of your cannon, Monsieur Lieutenant, it would
only meet me a few months, or perhaps a few days sooner
than it might happen by the same mode, in the ordinary
course of events.”
“We know how to feel for a brave man in your situation,”
answered Griffin, with emotion; “and nothing would
make us all happier than to have it as you say; you in a
good warm frigate, on our broadside, and we in this of our
own, contending fairly for the honour of our respective
countries.”
“Monsieur, the fortune of war has ordered it otherwise—
but, you are not seated, Monsieur Lieutenant.”
“Mon pardon—Captain Cuffe has sent me to request you
it may be agreeable to yourself, Monsieur Yvard.”
There is something in the polished expressions of the
French language, that would have rendered it difficult for
Griffin to have been other than delicate in his communications
with the prisoner, had he been so disposed; but, such
was not his inclination; for, now that their gallant adversary
was at their mercy, all the brave men in the Proserpine
felt a disposition to deal tenderly with him. Raoul was
touched with these indications of generosity, and, as he had
witnessed Griffin's spirit in the different attempts made on
his lugger, it inclined him to think better of his foes. Rising,
he professed his readiness to attend the captain, at that very
moment.
Cuffe was waiting in the after-cabin. When Griffin and
the prisoner entered, he courteously requested both to be
seated, the former being invited to remain, not only as a
witness of what might occur, but to act as interpreter in
case of need. A short pause succeeded, and then the captain
opened the dialogue, which was carried on in English,
with occasional assistance from Griffin, whenever it became
necessary.
“I greatly regret, Monsieur Yvard, to see a brave man
in your situation,” commenced Cuffe, who, sooth to say,
apart from the particular object he had in view, uttered no
more than the truth. “We have done full justice to your
spirit and judgment, while we have tried the hardest to get
you into our power. But the laws of war are severe, necessarily,
and we English have a commander-in-chief who is
not disposed to trifle in matters of duty.”
This was said, partly in policy, and partly from a habit
of standing in awe of the character of Nelson. Raoul
received it, however, in the most favourable light; though
the politic portion of the motive was altogether thrown away,
as will be seen in the sequel.
“Monsieur, un Français knows how to die in the cause
of liberty and his country,” answered Raoul, courteously,
yet with emphasis.
“I do not doubt it, Monsieur; still, I see no necessity of
things being pushed to that extremity. England is as liberal
of her rewards, as she is powerful to resent injuries. Perhaps
of sacrificing the life of a brave man, in so cruel a
mode.”
“I shall not affect to play the hero, Monsieur le Capitaine.
If any proper mode of relieving me, in my present crisis,
can be discovered, my gratitude will be in proportion to the
service rendered.”
“This is talking sensibly, and to the purpose: I make no
doubt, when we come to a right understanding, everything
will be amicably arranged between us. Griffin, do me the
favour to help yourself to a glass of wine and water, which
you will find refreshing this warm day. Monsieur Yvard
will join us; the wine coming from Capri, and being far
from bad; though some do prefer the Lachrymæ Christi
that grows about the foot of Vesuvius, I believe.”
Griffin did as desired, though his own countenance was
far from expressing all the satisfaction that was obvious in
the face of Cuffe. Raoul declined the offer; waiting for the
forthcoming explanation with an interest he did not affect to
conceal. Cuffe seemed disappointed and reluctant to proceed;
but, finding his two companions silent, he was obliged
to make his proposal.
“Oui, Monsieur,” he added, “England is powerful to
resent, but ready to forgive. You are very fortunate in
having it in your power, at so serious a moment, to secure
her pardon for an offence that is always visited in war with
a punishment graver than any other.”
“In what way can this be done, Monsieur le Capitaine!
I am not one who despises life; more especially when it is
in danger of being lost by a disgraceful death.”
“I am rejoiced, Monsieur Yvard, to find you in this frame
of mind; it will relieve me from the discharge of a most
painful duty, and be the means of smoothing over many
difficulties. Without doubt, you have heard of the character
of our celebrated admiral, Nelson?”
“His name is known to every seaman, Monsieur,”
answered Raoul, stiffly; his natural antipathies being far
from cured by the extremity of his situation. “He has
written it on the waters of the Nile, in letters of blood!”
“Ay, his deeds, there, or elsewhere, will not soon be forgotten.
He is a man of an iron will; when his heart is set
means be lawful, and the end is glory. To be frank, Monsieur,
he wishes much for your lugger, the le Few-Folly.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Raoul, smiling ironically—“Nelson is
not the only English admiral who has had the same desire.
Le Feu-Follet, Monsieur le Capitaine, is so charming, that
she has many admirers!”
“Among whom Nelson is one of the warmest. Now, this
makes your case so much the easier to be disposed of. You
have nothing to do but put the lugger into our hands, when
you will be pardoned, and be treated as a prisoner of war.”
“Does Monsieur Nelson authorize you to make this proposal
to me?” asked Raoul, gravely.
“He does. Intrusted with the care of his country's interests,
he is willing to overlook the offence against her, under
the law of nations, to deprive the enemy of the means of
doing so much harm. Put the lugger into our hands, and
you shall be sent to an ordinary prison-ship. Nay, merely
let us into the secret of her position, and we will see to her
capture.”
“Monsieur Nelson doubtless does no more than his duty,”
answered Raoul, quietly, but with an air of severe self-respect.
“It is his business to have a care for English
commerce, and he has every right to make this bargain.
But the treaty will not be conducted on equal terms; while
he is doing no more than his duty, I have no powers.”
“How?—You have the power of speech; that will suffice
to let us into the secret of the orders you have given the
lugger, and where she is probably to be found, at this moment.”
“Non, Monsieur; I have not even that power. I can
do nothing that must cover me with so much infamy. My
tongue is under laws that I never made, when treachery is
in question.”
Had Raoul assumed a theatrical tone and manner, as
might have been expected, probably it would have made very
little impression on Cuffe; but his quiet simplicity and
steadiness carried conviction with them. To say the truth,
the captain was disappointed. He would have hesitated
about making his proposition to an officer of the regular
French marine, low as even these stood, at that day, in the
he expected a greedy acquiescence, in a plan that
offered life as a reward, in exchange for a treachery like
that he proposed. At first he felt disposed to taunt Raoul
with the contradiction between what he, Cuffe, conceived to
be his general pursuits, and his present assumption of principles;
but, the unpretending calmness of the other's manner,
and the truth of his feelings, prevented it. Then, to do
Cuffe, himself, justice, he was too generous to abuse the
power he had over his prisoner.
“You may do well to think of this, Monsieur Yvard”—
observed the captain, after a pause of quite a minute. “The
interest at stake is so heavy, that reflection may yet induce
you to change your mind.”
“Monsieur Cuffe, I pardon you, if you can pardon yourself,”
answered Raoul, with severe dignity in his manner,
rising as he spoke, as if disdaining civilities which came
from his tempter. “I know what you think of us corsairs—
but an officer in an honourable service, should hesitate long,
before he tempts a man to do an act like this. The fact that
the life of your prisoner is at stake, ought to make a brave
seaman still more delicate how he tries to work on his terrors
or his principles. But, I repeat, I forgive you, Monsieur,
if you can forgive yourself.”
Cuffe stood confounded. The blood rushed to his heart;
after which, it appeared as if about to gush through the pores
of his face. A feeling of fierce resentment almost consumed
him; then he became himself again, and began to see things,
as was his wont, in cooler moments. Still he could not
speak, pacing the cabin to recover his self-command.
“Monsieur Yvard,” he at length said, “I ask your forgiveness,
sincerely, and from the bottom of my heart. I
did not know you, or such a proposal would never have
insulted you, or disgraced a British officer, in my person.
Nelson, too, is the last man living, to wound the feelings of
an honourable enemy; but we did not know you. All privateersmen
are not of your way of thinking, and it was
there we fell into our mistake.”
“Touchez-la,” said Raoul, frankly extending his hand.
“Monsieur le Capitaine, you and I ought to meet in two
fine frigates, each for his country's honour; let what would
friendship. I have lived long enough in votre Angleterre,
to understand how little you know notre France; mais
n'importe. Brave men can understand one another, all over
the world; for the little time which is left me, we shall be
friends.”
Cuffe seized Raoul's hand, and even a tear escaped him,
as he squeezed it warmly.
“This has been a d—d miserable business, Griffin,” said
the captain, as soon as he could speak without betraying
weakness, “and one no man will ever find me employed in
again, though a fleet as large as that up in the Bay yonder
were the price.”
“I never thought it would succeed, sir; and, to say the
truth, I never hoped it would. You 'll excuse me, Captain
Cuffe, but we English don't give the continentals exactly
the credit they deserve; and particularly the French. I
thought it wouldn't do, from the first.”
Cuffe now repeated his apologies; and after a few expressions
of friendly esteem on both sides, Raoul returned to his
little room, declining the captain's offer to occupy one of the
cabin state-rooms. Griffin was soon back again, and then
the conversation was resumed between the two officers.
“This is altogether a most painful business, Griffin,”
observed Cuffe. “There is no doubt that Monsieur Yvard
is technically a spy, and guilty, according to the forms of
law; but I entertain not the smallest doubt of the truth of
his whole story. This Ghita Caraccioli, as the girl calls
herself, is the very picture of truth; and was actually in
Nelson's cabin the day before yesterday, under circumstances
that leave no doubt of the simplicity and truth of
her character, while every part of the tale corresponds with
the other. Even the veechy, and this pursy old podestâ,
confirm the account; for they have seen Ghita in Porto
Ferrajo, and begin to think the Frenchman came in there
solely on her account.”
“I make no doubt, Captain Cuffe, that Lord Nelson will
give a respite, or even a pardon, were the facts fairly laid
before him,” observed Griffin, who felt a generous interest
in preserving the life of Raoul, the very man he had endeavoured
to destroy by fire only a few weeks before; but such
generated by war.
“This is the most serious part of the affair, Griffin.
The sentence is approved; with an order that it shall be
carried into effect this very day, between the hours of sunrise
and sunset; while here it is already noon, and we are
to the southward of Campanella, and so distant from the
flag-ship, as to put signals out of the question.”
Griffin started; all the grave difficulties of the case glancing
upon his mind in a moment. An order, according to
the habits of the service, and more especially an order of
this serious character, was not to be questioned; yet here
was a dilemma in which there appeared no means of
relief.
“Good God, Captain Cuffe, how unlucky! Cannot an
express be sent across by land, so as yet to reach the flag-ship
in time?”
“I have thought of that, Griffin, and Clinch has gone
precisely on that errand.”
“Clinch!—Pardon me, sir; but such a duty requires a
very active and sober officer!”
“Clinch is active enough, and I know his besetting weakness
will have no power over him to-day. I have opened
the way for a commission to him, and no one in the ship
can go to Naples in a boat sooner than Clinch, if he really
try. He will make the most of the afternoon's breeze,
should there be any, and I have arranged a signal with him,
by which he may let us know the result even at the distance
of eight or ten miles.”
“Has Lord Nelson left no discretion in the orders, sir?”
“None; unless Raoul Yvard distinctly consent to give
up the lugger. In that case, I have a letter, which authorizes
me to delay the execution, until I can communicate
directly with the commander-in-chief.”
“How very unlucky it has been, all round! Is there no
possibility, sir, of making up a case that might render this
discretion available?”
“That might do among you irresponsibles, Mr. Griffin,”
answered Cuffe, a little sharply; “but I would rather hang
forty Frenchmen than be Brontéd by Nelson, for neglect of
duty.”
Cuffe spoke more strongly than he intended, perhaps; but,
the commander of a ship-of-war does not always stop to weigh
his words, when he condescends to discuss a point with an
inferior. The reply put a check upon Griffin's zeal, however,
though the discourse did not the less proceed.
“Well, sir,” the lieutenant answered, “I'm sure we are
all as anxious as you can be, to avert this affair from our
ship. 'T was but the other day, we were boasting in the
gun-room, to some of the Lapwing's officers that were on a
visit here, that the Proserpine never had an execution or a
court-martial flogging on board her, though she had now
been under the British ensign near four years, and had been
seven times under fire!”
“God send, Griffin, that Clinch find the admiral, and get
back in time!”
“How would it do, sir, to send the vice-governatore to
try the prisoner; perhaps he might persuade him to seem to
consent—or, some such thing, you know, sir, as might justify
a delay. They say the Corsicans are the keenest-witted
fellows in all these seas; and Elba is so near to Corsica,
that one cannot fancy there is much difference between their
people.”
“Ay, your veechy is a regular witch!—He made out so
well in his first interview with Yvard, that no one can doubt
his ability to overlay him, in another!”
“One never knows, Captain Cuffe. The Italian has
more resources than most men; and the Signor Barrofaldi
is a discreet, sensible man, when he acts with his eyes open.
Le Feu-Follet has cheated others besides the vice-governatore,
and the podestâ!”
“Ay, these d—d Jack-o'-Lanterns are never to be
trusted. It would hardly surprise me to see the Folly coming
down, wing-and-wing, from under the land, and passing
out to sea, with a six-knot breeze, while we lay as still as a
cathedral, with not air enough to turn the smoke of the galley-fire
from the perpendicular.”
“She's not inside of us, Captain Cuffe; of that we may
be certain. I have been on the main-top-gallant-yard, with
the best glass in the ship, and have swept the whole coast,
from the ruins over against us, here to the eastward, up to
as a sparanara.”
“One would think, too, this Monsieur Yvard might give
up, to save his own life, after all!”
“We should hardly do it, I hope, Captain Cuffe?”
“I believe you are right, Griffin; one feels forced to
respect the privateersman, in spite of his trade. Who knows
but something might be got out of that Bolt? He must
know as much about the lugger as Yvard himself.”
“Quite true, sir; I was thinking of proposing something
of the sort, not a minute since. Now, that 's a fellow one
may take pleasure in riding down, as one would ride down
the main tack. Shall I have him sent for, Captain Cuffe?”
The captain hesitated; for the previous experiments on
Ithuel's selfishness had failed. Still, the preservation of
Raoul's life, and the capture of the lugger, were now objects
of nearly equal interest with Cuffe, and he felt disposed to
neglect no plausible means of effecting either. A sign of
approbation was all the lieutenant needed; and, in a few
minutes, Ithuel stood, again, in the presence of his captain.
“Here is an opportunity for you to fetch up a good deal
of lee-way, Master Bolt,” commenced the captain; “and I
am willing to give you a chance to help yourself. You
know where you last left the Few-Folly, I suppose?”
“I don't know but I might, sir,” answered Ithuel, rolling
his eyes around him, curious to ascertain what the other
would be at. “I don't know but I might remember, on a
pinch, sir; though, to own the truth, my memory is none
of the most desperate best.”
“Well, then, where was it? Recollect that the life of
your late friend, Raoul Yvard, may depend on your
answer.”
“I want to know!—Well, this Europe is a curious part
of the world, as all must admit, that come from Ameriky.
What has Captain Rule done now, sir, that he stands in such
jeopardy?”
“You know that he is convicted as a spy; and my orders
are to have him executed, unless we can get his lugger.
Then, indeed, we may possibly show him a little favour;
as we do not make war so much on individuals, as on
nations.”
Cuffe would probably have been puzzled to explain the
application of his own sentiment to the case before him; but,
presuming on his having to deal with one who was neither
very philosophical nor logical himself, he was somewhat
indifferent to his own mode of proceeding, so that it effected
the object. Ithuel, however, was not understood. Love for
Raoul, or the lugger, or, indeed, for anything else, himself
excepted, formed no part of his character; while hatred of
England had got to be incorporated with the whole of his
moral system; if such a man could be said to have a moral
system at all. He saw nothing to be gained by serving
Raoul, in particular; though this he might have done did
nothing interfere to prevent it; while he had so strong an
aversion to suffering the English to get le Feu-Follet, as to
be willing even to risk his own life, in order to prevent it.
His care, therefore, was to accomplish his purpose, with the
least hazard to himself.
“And, if the lugger can be had, sir, you intend to let
Captain Rule go?” he asked, with an air of interest.
“Ay, we may do that; though it will depend on the
admiral. Can you tell us where you left her, and where
she probably now is?”
“Captain Rule has said the first, already, sir. He told
the truth, about that, before the court. But, as to telling
where the lugger is now, I 'll defy any man to do it! Why,
sir, I 've turned in, at eight bells, and left her, say ten or
fifteen leagues dead to leeward of an island, or a light-house,
perhaps; and on turning out at eight bells, in the morning,
found her, just as far to windward of the same object.
She 's as oncalculating craft as I ever put foot aboard of.”
“Indeed!” said Cuffe, ironically; “I do not wonder that
her captain's in a scrape.”
“Scrape, sir!—The Folly is nothing but a scrape. I 've
tried my hand at keeping her reck'nin'.”
“You!”
“Yes, sir, I; Ithuel Bolt, that 's my name, at hum' or
abroad, and I've tried to keep the Folly's reck'nin', with all
the advantage of thermometer, and lead-lines, and logarithms,
and such necessaries, you know, Captain Cuffe;
and I never yet could place her within a hundred miles of
the spot where she was actually seen to be.”
“I am not at all surprised to hear this, Bolt; but what I
want at present, is to know what you think may be the precise
position of the lugger, without the aid of the thermometer,
and of logarithms; I've a notion you would make out
better, by letting such things alone?”
“Well, who knows but I might, sir! My idee of the
Folly, just now, sir, is that she is somewhere off Capri,
under short canvass, waiting for Captain Rule and I to join
her, and keeping a sharp look-out after the inimies' cruisers.”
Now, this was not only precisely the position of the lugger
at that very moment, but it was what Ithuel actually believed
to be her position. Still, nothing was farther from
this man's intention than to betray his former messmates.
He was so very cunning, as to have detected how little
Cuffe was disposed to believe him; and he told the truth, as
the most certain means of averting mischief from the lugger.
Nor did his ruse fail of its object. His whole manner had
so much deceit and low cunning about it, that neither Cuffe
nor Griffin believed a word he said; and after a little more
pumping, the fellow was dismissed in disgust, with a sharp
intimation that it would be singularly for his interest to look
out how he discharged his general duties in the ship.
“This will never do, Griffin,” exclaimed the captain, vexed
and disappointed. “Should anything occur to Clinch, or
should the admiral happen to be off, with the king, on one
of his shooting excursions, we shall be in a most serious
dilemma. Would to God, we had not left the anchorage, at
Capri! Then, one might communicate with the flag, with
some certainty. I shall never forgive myself, if anything
fatal actually take place!”
“When one does all for the best, Captain Cuffe, his mind
ought to be at ease, and you could not possibly foresee
what has happened. Might not—one wouldn't like either—
but—necessity is a hard master—”
“Out with it, Griffin—anything is better than suspense.”
“Well, sir, I was just thinking that possibly this young
Italian girl might know something about the lugger, and, as
she clearly loves the Frenchman, we should get a strong
purchase on her tongue, by means of her heart.”
Cuffe looked intently at his lieutenant, for half a minute;
then he shook his head in disapprobation.
“No, Griffin, no,” he said, “to this I never can consent.
As for this quibbling, equivocating Yankee, if Yankee he
be, one wouldn't feel many scruples of delicacy; but to
probe the affections of a poor, innocent girl, in this way,
would be going too far. The heart of a young girl should
be sacred, under every circumstance.”
Griffin coloured, and he bit his lip. No one likes to be
outdone, in the appearance of generosity, at least; and he
felt vexed that he should have ventured on a proposition
that his superior treated as unbecoming.
“Nevertheless, sir, she might think the lugger cheaply
sold,” he said, with emphasis, “provided her lover's life
was what she got in exchange. It would be a very different
thing were we to ask her to sell her admirer, instead
of a mere privateer.”
“No matter, Griffin. We will not meddle with the
private feelings of a young female, that chance has thrown
into our hands. As soon as we get near enough in with
the land, I intend to let the old man take his boat, and carry
his niece ashore. That will be getting rid of them, at least,
honourably and fairly. God knows what is to become of the
Frenchman.”
This terminated the conference. Griffin went on deck,
where duty now called him; and Cuffe sat down to re-peruse,
for the ninth or tenth time, the instructions of the
admiral.
| CHAPTER VI. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |