I was then ordered, privateer fashion, to lower a boat, and to repair on board the lugger with my papers.  When old I had no stern or quarter-boat to lower, the Frenchman Manifested surprise; but he sent his own yawl for me.  My reception on board the Polisson was a little free for Frenchmen.  The captain received me in person, and I saw, at a glance, I had to deal with men who were out on the high seas, with the fear of English prison-ships constantly before their eyes, in quest of gold.  I was not invited into the cabin, a crowded, dark and dirty hole, for, in that day, the French were notoriously foul in their vessels, but was directed to show my papers seated on a hen-coop.

As everything was regular about the register, manifest and clearance, I could see that Monsieur Gallois was not in a particularly good humour.  He had one, whom I took to be a renegade Englishman, with him, to aid in the examination, though, as this man never spoke in my presence, I was unable precisely to ascertain who he was.  The two had a long consultation in private, after the closest scrutiny could detect no flaw in the papers.  Then Monsieur Gallois approached and renewed the discourse.

“Vy you have no boat, sair?” he asked.

“I lost my boat, three days since, about a hundred leagues to the southward and westward.”

“It is not have bad veddair!—­Why you got no more marins in your sheep?—­eh!”

I saw it would be best to tell the whole truth, at once; for, were I to get any aid from this lugger, the facts, sooner or later, must be made known.  Accordingly, I gave the Frenchman, and his English-looking companion, a full account of what had occurred between us and the Speedy.  After this narrative, there was another long conference between Mons. Gallois and his friend.  Then the boat was again manned, and the captain of the lugger, accompanied by his privy-counsellor and myself, went on board the Dawn.  Here, a very cursory examination satisfied my visiters of the truth of my story.

I confess, I expected some commendation from a French man, when he heard the ready manner in which we had got our vessel out of the hands of the Philistines.  No such thing; an expressive ‘bon’ had escaped Mons. Gallois, once or twice, it is true; but it was apparent he was looking much sharper for some pretext to make us a prize himself, than for reasons to commend our conduct.  Each new aspect of the affair was closely scanned, and a new conference with the adviser was held, apart.

“Sair,” said Mons. Gallois, “I have mosh regret, but your sheep is bon prize.  You have been prisonnier to ze English, ze enemy of la France, and you shall not capture yourself.  L’Amerique is not at war—­is neutral, as you shall say, and ze Americains cannot make ze prize.  I considair your ship, monsieur, as in ze hand of ze English, and shall capture him. Mes regrets sont vifs, mais, que voulez vous?  Ze corsair most do his devoir, ze same as ze sheep national.  I shall send you to Brest, vere, if you be not sold par un decret, I shall be too happy to restore votre batiment—­Allons!”