replied Uncle Paul. "From what we saw and what we heard, it
was something much more important than that. Why, hang it, captain,
they wouldn't have turned out the garrison and manned all the forts to
stop the progress of a smuggler, would they?"

"We wouldn't at Plymouth, sir; but there's no knowing what Frenchmen
will do. But there, I give in. It must have been something stronger
than that, and I am beginning to think that squire here's right, and
that yon vessel, the--the--the--"

"_Jeanne d'Arc_" cried Rodd.

"Right," snorted the skipper. "She was something of a privateer, on
mischief bent, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if we was to hear
something more about her. I don't know, though; if the storm blows
itself out before morning we shan't lie long here in harbour, but make
away south as fast as I can make the schooner bowl along."

"Then you think the weather will hold up soon?" said Rodd.

"Nay, I am not going to think, squire; I'll wait until I can be sure.
Anyhow, I won't fill my pipe till we get aboard."

"Then you mean to try soon?" cried Rodd eagerly.

"Why not?" replied the skipper gruffly. "Look yonder; what do you say
to that?"

"That" was the presence of Joe Cross, who was being ushered into the
dining-saloon by the waiter, to announce that the wind had sunk a bit
and only came in squalls, between two of which he thought he could
easily run the boat alongside of the schooner.

And he did--while the next morning broke almost absolutely calm.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A QUESTION OF FEAR.

It was as if all the bad weather had been left behind, for after a
little snatch or two, as Joe Cross called them, the cruise down south
had been glorious.

The bluff, good-humoured sailor explained to Rodd what he meant by a
snatch, something after this fashion.

"You see, sir, after we started from Havre the weather seemed to be a
bit sorry for itself for being so dirty, and you know how we bowled
along down south till the wind got into a tantrum again--got out of bed
the wrong way, as you may say, and then everything was wrong. We were
getting into the Bay, you see, where it comes quite natural to lay all
that day. In the Bay of Biscay O! Then Nature got all out of sorts
again. It seemed as if she was waxy to let us have it so comfortable,
and made a snatch to drag us back again. But the old man was one too
many for her, and kept on for them two bad days, when we sailed out of
her reach an