The French captain then asked us if we knew where we were, and whether there was any danger.  We replied that we were among the sands, and that it would be difficult to get her out of them with that wind, and impossible until the tide turned.

“When will the tide turn?” said the captain.

“In an hour or less,” replied Bramble, appealing to me.

I replied in the affirmative.

“Well, then, you will take this vessel clear of the shoals, my men; and if you do not, your lives are worth nothing.—­Hold pistols to their heads,” continued he to the officer, “and the moment that the ship touches, blow their brains out.”

Here Bramble, to my astonishment, went on his knees.

“Spare our lives,” said he, “and we will take the vessel safe to the French coast;” at the same time he gave me a pinch.

“If you do not you shall not live a minute,” said the captain (another pinch from Bramble).  I now understood him, and I also went down on my knees, and pretended to cry.  “We can’t take her out if this weather lasts,” said I, whimpering.  “It’s impossible.”

“No, no! not if this weather lasts,” said Bramble, “but as soon as it changes we will do it.”

“Very well, so long as you do it when you can, that is all I ask.  Now,” said he to the officer he had before addressed, “you’ll have twenty men—­keep a sharp lookout—­and don’t lose a moment in getting under way as soon as you can.”

The captain then returned to the privateer with the rest of the men, leaving the ship in charge of the prizemaster.  The privateer was boomed off; but whether she dropped her anchor near to us, or remained under way, I could not tell.  The men who had held the pistols to our heads now went away with the others to plunder, according to the manners and customs of all privateers’ men, of whatever nation they may happen to be.  Bramble and I walked aft.

“Pinned once more, by all that’s blue!  Well, it can’t be helped—­but we’re not in a French prison yet.”

“Why did you go down on your knees to those fellows?” said I, rather sulkily.

“Why, because I wished them to think we were chicken-hearted, and that we should not be watched, and might have a chance—­who knows?”

“Two against twenty are heavy odds,” replied I.

“That depends upon whether you trust to your head or your arms.  It must be headwork this time.  You see, Tom, we have so far a chance that we cannot weigh till it clears up—­they know that as well as we do.  I’m pretty sure it will be thick all to-morrow, and perhaps longer; so you see something may turn up by that time.  We are well in, and right in the Channel, for vessels up or down.  I say again we are not in a French prison yet.  They can’t take her out of this—­we must do it; and we may run on shore if we like:  and I tell you what, Tom, if it wasn’t for Bessy, I’d just as soon that my brains should be blown out as that these French fellows should take such a rich prize.  Now let’s go below—­we mustn’t be seen talking together too much; but look out sharp, Tom, and watch my motions.”