Chapter 16

You are safe;
Nay, more,--almost triumphant. Listen, then,
And hear my words of truth.

Marino Falierlo.

It was just four o'clock, P.M., when the Dawn and the Polisson parted
company; the former steering on her old course for Brest, while the latter
continued her cruise. The lugger sailed like a witch, and away she went
towards the chops of the channel, on a bow-line; leaving us to stand
towards the French coast--close-hauled, also, but on the opposite tack.

It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the feelings with which we four, who
were eye-witnesses of all that passed, witnessed the proceedings. Even
Diogenes was indignant. As for Marble, I have already alluded to his state
of mind; and, if I had not, the following dialogue, which took place at
sunset, (the first that occurred between us in private since the second
capture,--while the French were eating their suppers,) would serve to
explain it.

"Well, Miles," the mate drily observed, "whatever we have to do, must be
done at once. When shall we begin?--in the middle, or in the
morning watch?"

"Begin _what_, Moses?" I asked, a little surprised at the settled manner
in which he put his question.

"To throw these Frenchmen overboard.--Of course, you don't mean to let
them carry your ship into Brest?"

"Why not? We were bound to Brest when we fell in with them; and, if they
_will_ take us there, it will only save us the trouble of doing it
ourselves."

"Don't be deceived by any such hope, Miles. I've been in the hands of
Frenchmen, before I knew you; and there is little hope of getting out of
them, so long as the ship and cargo will pay for detention. No, no, my
dear boy; you know I love you better than anything on 'arth, my dear, old
soul of a mother, and little Kitty, excepted,--for it wouldn't be
religious to like you better than my own flesh and blood,--but, after
these two, I like you better than any one on 'arth; and I can't be quiet,
and see you run your property into the fire. Never let the ship go into
France, after what has happened, if you can help it."

"Can we possibly help it? Or do you propose that four men shall re-take
this vessel from seventeen?"

"Well, the odds are not so great, Miles," Marble rejoined, looking coolly
round at the noisy set of little Frenchmen, who were all talking together
over their soup; certainly not a very formidable band in a hand-to-hand
encounter, though full of fire and animation. "There are four of us, and
only seventeen of them, such as they are. I rather think we could handle
'em all, in a regular set-to, with fists. There's Neb, he's as strong as a
jackass; Diogenes is