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M. de la Pailletine gave the order, and sent a shot to meet her from one of the four guns in the prow. As the thunder of it died away and the smoke cleared, he waited for the Englishman's reply. There was none. The frigate held on her course, silent as death. III. The Frigate. The two English captains stood on the quarterdeck, side by side, the tall man and the dwarf.
We should leave the harbour here in four days' time that is to say, on the 23rd, if the weather holds, and not later than six o'clock in the morning. It may possibly be earlier, but that will depend to some extent on the wind." M. de la Pailletine by this time was white with passion. He began to comprehend that his guest would not dare to speak thus without some high authority to back him.
By day, indeed, these officers, as well as the chaplain, had the use of the Commodore's room, a fairly spacious chamber in the stern, shaped on the outside like a big cradle, with bulging windows and a couple of lanterns on the taffrail above, that were lit when evening closed in. But at night, or in foul weather, M. de la Pailletine reserved this apartment for his own use.
Now just as Tristram underwent this shock of surprise, from a point about three yards above his head another person was watching the boat with some curiosity. This was the Commodore, M. de la Pailletine, who stood on the poop with his feet planted wide and his hands clasped beneath his coat-tails. He was wondering who this visitor could be.
"But this is trivial," exclaimed the French Commodore, frowning. "If Monsieur will excuse me, it is scarcely so trivial as it looks. Captain Barker is within ten paces of the powder-magazine. Moreover, between him and the powder-magazine there is a door." M. de la Pailletine jumped in his shoes. He rushed aft to the companion leading to the captain's cabin and called on him to surrender.
"Take it back, monsieur take back a weapon no man better deserves to wear. Forget that you are my prisoner: and, if I may beg it, remember rather that you are my friend." The face of the little hunchback flushed crimson. He hesitated, took back the sword clumsily, hesitated again, then swiftly held out his hand to M. de la Pailletine, with a smile as beautiful as his body was deformed.
Captain Runacles and his heroes then ran back and entrenched themselves in the forecastle; and to advance to close the hatchway was certain death. Nor were they forced to surrender until long after the English flag was hauled down: and, indeed, were only silenced when M. de la Pailletine hit on the happy idea of setting fifty men to work with axes to lay open the frigate's deck.
A score and a half of men were lost over this piece of work. However, the forecastle was carried at last by means of it; and the prisoners were brought on deck among them Captain Runacles, with his right hand disabled. "Are you the gallant captain of this frigate?" asked M. de la Pailletine, doffing his hat; for as yet he had received no sword in token of the Merry Maid's surrender.
A fresh supply of ammunition was drawn from the citadel and the fighting crew of each vessel increased by fifty men, with a few Swiss artillerymen from the batteries of Bourgogne, Auguenois and Santerre. In all this M. de la Pailletine lent the readiest aid.
Immediately they began to make all possible haste with sails and oars. Captain Salt withdrew to the cabin in dudgeon and M. de la Pailletine took his place. From their benches below the slaves heard his voice shouting out orders right and left, and at once they had to catch up their oars and row.
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