“This,” said he formally, “is Rory McHale, captain of the lugger, Erin, now lying at Brest.” Then, speaking to McHale, he went on: “And this is Mr. Ethan Carlyle, in the service of the Confederated Colonies of America.” The two thus introduced shook hands, and McHale said: “Faith, sir, the tide have turned at last; ye’ll bate the English, so ye will; for ye have the French with ye now, and that is all ye needed.” “I trust that you are right,” said the lad. “England will now be forced to divide her attention between the Colonies and France; and so our chances will be increased.” “Are ye riding to Brest, may I ask?” inquired the Irishman. “We are,” answered Ethan. “So am I; and if it’s not pushing meself for’ard too much I’ll be glad to ride in your company, sir.” “You are very welcome, Captain McHale. You are going to join your vessel, I suppose.” “I am. She is all ready for another cruise, and I’ve been to Paris to see her owners and get instructions.” “You are in the merchant service, then?” “Not a bit of it. The Erin is a privateer, faith, and as smart a little vessel as ever cut the water.” “Ah, indeed.” “She’s French built and Irish manned,” continued Captain McHale. “And though I do say it meself, she’s done more damage to the Saxon than any other craft of her tonnage that ever slipped out to sea by the light of the stars.” Longsword had been examining the young sailor carefully while he talked to Ethan. Now he asked: “Are ye of the west of Ireland, Captain McHale?” “I am, sure,” answered the other. “I thought so. When ye see an Irishman wid straw colored hair and blue eyes he’s always a sailor. There’s some of the blood of the old Vikings in ye all. King Brian beat the Danes at Clontarf, but he didn’t drive them all out of the land. And if ye went back far enough, McHale, I’ll go bail ye’d find your ancestors wid winged helmets on the heads of them and beards a foot long.” The yellow haired man laughed. “Maybe so,” said he. “I’ll not be denying it.” After they had ridden together for some minutes, Ethan asked: “Have you seen anything of a carriage on the road, Captain McHale?” “I have. One passed me some hours ago. A fat Frenchman in it demanded the road of me and flew into a rage because I would not leap me horse into a ditch to accommodate him. He seemed to be in a great hurry, so he did.” “Our man,” said Ethan to Longsword. “No doubt of it,” answered the dragoon. The seaman looked from one to the other questioningly. “Ye are wanting this gentleman, then?” asked he. “We are,” said Longsword. “And we’re wanting him more than we ever wanted anything in our lives before.” “You may come up wid him.” “It’s not likely, if he is hours ahead of us.” “One of his horses had a limp; I think it had cast a shoe. This was the real cause of the Frenchman’s anger, I think.” The speaker looked from one to the other once more. “Does he know that ye are after him, may I ask?” “He may suspect. But he is not sure.”