"You speak French, I hope, sar?" said the man. "And you speak English!" responded the captain, with a side look and a grin at Hardy. "It's no business of yours whether I speak French or not. Start your yarn." And the man, clearly understanding what was said, began. CHAPTER VII. THE FRENCH MATE I have said that the man, clearly understanding the captain's meaning, began; but it was not a beginning, nor a middle, nor an end, that could be set down in black and white in that Frenchman's speech. It was most barbarous English, yet intelligible when helped along by the captain's and Hardy's questions. It must be given in plain words to be readable, and thus spoke that sinister-looking man: "My name is Pierre Renaud. I am chief mate of the barque that was just now nearly running into you. We are from Cape Town to Bordeaux. That dog threatens my throat." The man flashed the poniards of his eyes at the Newfoundland, who was like an organ with one key going, trembling in its shaggy and splendid bulk with a low, sulky, dangerous growling. "Down!" said the captain, and the animal stretched its fore legs. "What brings you aboard us?" "Fear," replied the man, with a slight shrug and a look of arching eyebrow at his questioner, and a roll of the eye over him, as though he saw something singular in his face and manner. "A man loves his life and will jump to save it. I thought we should crush our bows in and founder." "You did not stay to help your captain and encourage the men to preserve your ship," said Captain Layard, dabbing the dog's head to keep him quiet. "The captain fell dead in a fright," responded the Frenchman, with another shrug, "and I chose to save myself." "I saw a man fall," exclaimed Hardy. "Was that you that rushed along the poop?" "How can I answer you?" replied the Frenchman. "We were all rushing." "The captain fell dead!" said Captain Layard, in a musing way. "It's evident that French sea-captains die easily. When did you strike this fog?" "I cannot say precisely. Some hours since," was the reply. "When we heard the barking of a dog we knew that a ship was near, and we judged by the barking that she was approaching. We lighted fires upon the decks, and when the glare gave us a sight of you the sailors lost their senses, and ran about shouting and screeching. They were too mad to obey orders. The captain fell as I ran past him, his hands clasped upon his heart, and as he had all along complained of the weakness of that organ, I am certain he died of disease." "Your countrymen are not good sailors," said Captain Layard. The Frenchman grinned ghastly, and Sailor rumbled afresh with a stiffening of his level fore legs as though he must rise. "If I had been your captain," continued Layard, "I should have saved my flying-jib boom and topgallantmast, and my sailors would not have rushed about and torn their throats open with the shrieks of fear--that womanly spirit!"