“O-ho! We are very high and mighty, it seems!” retorted the stranger, angrily. “Like should have like for meals. I will not be so civil as I first intended. Tell your Commandant that my name is Rabentine--Captain Rabentine. I have the honor of commanding _La Belle Cerise_, privateer, of St. Malo.” “A French privateer!” ejaculated Rupert. “Just so,” went on Captain Rabentine, looking from the drummer to his escort, up at the fort, and back again to the drummer, with some appearance of suspicion. “I had thought you were a navy frigate,” rejoined Rupert, promptly. “We are getting rusty for the want of a little fighting.” The other seemed slightly taken aback at this statement. “Perhaps you may have such a chance even yet,” he growled. “Well, Captain Rabentine,” cried the boy, courteously, “what else am I to say to the Commandant? For surely you took not all this trouble merely to let us know whom our visitor might be?” “Inform him,” shouted the privateer Captain, waxing wroth, “that I had intended simply to lay in harbor here and weather out the coming gale. That a good prize-ship is more to my liking than an empty fort! Perhaps there might even have been a case of rare wine sent ashore by way of compliment. But as he chooses to be so distant, and sends a drummer-boy as fitting ambassador to a French Captain, I shall give myself the pleasure of--But, pshaw! there is no money in this for my owners. Inform your Commandant that I have a mind to anchor farther up the harbor, where the shelter is good, for a few days. That I will not molest him if he leaves me alone. There you have it in a nutshell. Go, and haste quickly with the answer.” Gravely turning on his heel the drummer strode back up the hill, joined his waiting escort, and marched with them to the fort. He was gone upon this pretended mission some little time; quite long enough further to exasperate the privateer Captain. “Truly ’tis a matter of wonderful ceremony,” he sneered, when Rupert, after repeating the former precautionary measures with his escort, was once more at speaking distance. “All this folderol is wearisome. Your Commandant may regret not having sent an officer before we are through with the thing. Did you sufficiently impress him with the fact that I am not one to be trifled with? Does he realize that his garrison can scarcely outnumber my crew? _La Belle Cerise_ carries one hundred and fifty-four as natty sailors as ever swung boarding-pikes, and at a pinch we can spare a round hundred for landing-party and still have enough on board to work our biggest guns. He should be thankful that I show an inclination to leave his puny fort untouched. What has he to say?” “Our two nations being at war at the present time,” announced the drummer, guardedly, “I am to tell you that we can offer no harbor unless you care to surrender yourself and crew as prisoners, and your ship as lawful prize. Failing this, you must--”