THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
bright new fore-topsail bore the arms of Spain, and the long pennons floating from her trucks and poles proclaimed the high condition of her passengers.
Bras-de-Fer cleared his ship for action and called his men aft.
“There, my fine fellows,” he cried, “is steel worthy of your metal. Let it not be said that Saucy Sally takes her sustenance from the weak and cowardly and flirts her helm to the powerful. Yonder is your prize. She has thrice your bulk and complement—three gun tiers and twenty score of men. So much the more honor! For in her hold are gold and silver bright and new minted from the Spanish treasury, and wines for fat priests, which shall run no less smoothly down your own proper throats. Yonder she is. Take her. Follow where I shall lead and she is yours for the asking.”
A roar of approval greeted him, and the manner in which the rascals sprang to their places showed that, if they growled at his discipline, they were ready enough for this opportunity.
If the Spanish vessel had aught of fear of
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