So unexpected was the effect, and so tickling--this grim old veteran revealing in himself the Eternal Child who hides behind us all--that the Frenchmen at their guns, hearing in the silence the sudden ripple of a boy's laughter, whispered among themselves that the Englishman had a woman aboard. III The breeze was very light and fast falling away. Old Ding-dong kept one eye on his topsails, and one on his foe, sliding towards him across the water. "Like the Shadow o Death a'most, ain't she?" said the old man in hushed voice--"so still-like and stealy." He dropped a kind eye on the boy's face. "Makes ye think first time, don't it?--I mind Quiberon. Guts feel fainty like." He renewed his watch. The twinkle had left his eyes. He had withdrawn deep down into himself. Somewhere in the centre of that square body sat his mind, alert, cat-like, about to pounce. The shadow of the _Cocotte_ fell across the sea nearly to their feet. The wind breathed on the waters, dulling them. The languid topsails swelled faintly. The old man spun the wheel. The _Tremendous_ swung towards her enemy. Delicately across the glittering floor the two ships drew towards each other, wary as panthers about to fight. There was dead silence, alow and aloft. Only the tricolour at the enemy's fore flapped insolently; and the red-cross flag, at the mizzen gaff of the sloop, licked out a long tongue and taunted back. "That's Mouche at the wheel," grunted the old Commander--"her skipper. A fine fighter, but treecherous like em all.... Funny thing no one on deck only him. Swarmin with men too, I'll lay." The French skipper too was at the wheel: a dapper little personage, black-a-vised, with fierce moustachios and eye-tufts. He wore a huge tricorne, and vast tawdry epaulettes. "How do you, sair?" he called, all bows and smiles and teeth, as the two ships came within biscuit-toss. "Vair please to meet you once more." "Queer lingo, ain't it?" muttered old Ding-dong. "All spit and gargle. Comes from eatin all them frogs, I reck'n. Stick in their throats or summat." He raised his voice. "Same to you and many on em," he growled. "I ain't seen that dirty phiz o your'n in the Channel since our little bit of a tiff off the Casquets last May. I yeard tell you was in the West Indies conwalescin a'ter an attack o de _Tremendous_!" He chuckled at his joke. The Frenchman shrugged and smiled. "So I wass, sair, a while back. And now here--on express pisness; the Emperor's pisness." "What's up?" asked the Englishman bluffly. "Tired o waitin to wop Nelson? Goin to embark the Armee o England straight off?" "Not yet," replied the other, showing his teeth. "All in goot time, my Captain. This first--this pit of pisness I do for my Emperor." "Seems to me that Emperor o your'n must be put to the push if he's druv to gettin a mucky little pirit like you to do his business," grumbled the other. The Frenchman waved the insult aside with utmost good humour.