But while I reflected thus the boats traversed the space of water
between the brig and the wharf, and ranged up alongside the landing
steps. Then, with more excited jabber and shouting, the Frenchmen
tumbled over the gunwales and up the steps to the top of the wharf,
where they stood in a bunch, waiting for further orders. As the last of
them ascended the steps, with me bringing up the rear, I glanced across
the water toward the spot where I expected the cauffle to appear, and
pretended that I caught sight of a cloud of dust rising beyond the
trees. As a matter of fact there really was an effect of sunlight that
might very easily have been mistaken for a dust cloud, and it was this
appearance that gave me the inspiration to act as I now did.

"Look!" I exclaimed excitedly to Favart, pointing at the same moment
across the water--"do you see that cloud of dust yonder? That is
undoubtedly the cauffle coming along the road; and we must hurry with
our arrangements, or we shall be too late. This way, Monsieur Favart,
if you please. Come along, lads!" And I led them all at a rapid rate
across the open space and into the compound belonging to the smallest
barracoon.

"Straight across, and into the barracoon itself," I panted, making a
great show of hurry and excitement; and the Frenchmen streamed through
the gate like a flock of sheep. As the last man entered, I flung the
gate to, dropped the bar into its place, and blew a piercing blast on a
whistle which I carried. Then, replacing the whistle in my pocket, I
drew forth a pistol, and placed my back against the gate.

At the first sound of the whistle the Frenchmen halted abruptly,
instinctively guessing that it was a signal of some sort, while Favart
turned in his tracks and flung a fierce glance of inquiry at me.
Something in the expression of my face must have given him the alarm, I
think, for after a prolonged stare he suddenly came striding toward me.

"Halt, monsieur!" I cried sharply, levelling the pistol at him.
"Another step, and I fire! Look behind you."

He did so, and beheld eighteen English sailors, armed with muskets,
cutlasses, and pistols, file out of the open door of the barracoon and
draw up as if on parade.

"What does this mean, monsieur?" demanded Favart, glaring at me
murderously.

"Simply that you and your men are my prisoners, monsieur," answered I.
"Nay, do not move, I beg you,"--as the Frenchmen seemed to be preparing
for a rush. "