In the Kings Name | Page 4

to exchange a shabby cap for his cocked hat, "Let me have your sword a minute, sir, and I'll make it like a razor."
Hilary hesitated for a moment, and then drew it, and held it out to the gunner, who went below, and by the time the young officer had had a good inspection of the lugger, Billy came back with his left thumb trying the edge of the sword.
"I wouldn't be too hard on 'em, sir," he said, with mock respect.
"What do you mean, Billy?"
"Don't take off too many Frenchies' heads, sir; not as they'd know it, with a blade like that."
"Are we gaining on her, Leigh?" said the lieutenant.
"Just a little, sir, I think; but she creeps through the water at an awful rate."
The lieutenant looked up at the white sails, but nothing more could be done, for the Kestrel was flying her best; and the water bubbled and sparkled as she cut her way through, leaving an ever-widening train behind.
There was no chance of more wind, and nothing could be done but to hold steadily on, for, at the end of half an hour, it was plain enough that the distance had been slightly reduced.
"However do they manage to make those luggers sail so fast?" exclaimed the lieutenant impatiently. "Leigh, if this turns out to be another of your mares' nests, you'll be in disgrace."
"Very well, sir," said the young man quietly.
And then to himself: "Better make some mistake than let the real thing slip by."
The arms were not served out, for that would be but a minute's task; but an arm chest was opened ready, and the men stood at their various stations, but in a far more lax and careless way than would have been observed on board a larger vessel, which in its turn would have been in point of discipline far behind a vessel of the present day.
The gulls and kittiwakes rose and fell, uttering their peevish wails; a large shoal of fish fretting the radiant surface of the sea was passed and about a dozen porpoises went right across the cutter's bow, rising and diving down one after the other like so many black water-boys, playing at "Follow my leader;" but the eyes of all on board the Kestrel were fixed upon the dingy looking chasse maree, which apparently still kept on trying hard to escape by its speed.
And now the time, according to Billy Waters' judgment, having come for sending a shot, he stood ready, linstock in hand, watching the lieutenant, whose one eye was gazing intently through the long leather-covered glass.
"Fire!" he said at last. "Well ahead!"
The muzzle of the piece was trained a little more to the right, the linstock was applied, there was a puff of white smoke, a heavy deafening roar; and as Hilary Leigh gazed in the direction of the lugger, he saw the sea splashed a few hundred yards ahead, and then dip, dip, dip, dip, the water was thrown up at intervals as the shot ricochetted, making ducks and drakes right across the bows of the lugger.
"Curse his impudence!" cried the lieutenant, as the men busily sponged out and began to reload Long Tom; for the lugger paid not the slightest heed to the summons, but sailed away.
"Give her another--closer this time," cried the lieutenant; and once more the gun uttered its deep-mouthed roar, and the shot went skipping along the smooth surface of the sea, this time splashing the water a few yards only ahead of the lugger.
"I think that will bring him to his senses," cried the lieutenant, using his glass.
If the lowering of first one and then another sail meant bringing the lugger to its senses, the lieutenant was right, for first one ruddy brown spread of canvas sank with its spar into the lugger, and then another and another, the long low vessel lying passive upon the water, and in due time the cutter was steered close up, her sails flapped, and her boat which had been held ready was lowered, and Leigh with three men jumped in.
"Here, let me go too," exclaimed the lieutenant; "you don't half understand these fellows' French."
Hilary flushed, for he fancied he was a bit of a French scholar, but he said nothing; and the lieutenant jumped into the boat. A few strokes took them to the dingy lugger, at whose side were gathered about a dozen dirty-looking men and boys, for the most part in scarlet worsted caps, blue jerseys, and stiff canvas petticoats, sewn between the legs, to make believe they were trousers.
"Va t'en chien de Francais. Pourquoi de diable n'arretez vous pas?" shouted the lieutenant to a yellow-looking man with whiskerless face, and thin gold rings in his ears.
"Hey?"
"I say pourquoi n'arretez vous pas?" roared the lieutenant fiercely.
"I ar'nt a Dutchman. I