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Away beyond it, a mile or so distant, a sail was
standing out to sea. "There she go," he said.
"There!" The Frenchman gazed and stared, his face growing white.
The man's wicked temper awoke, and turned to vent itself upon the
messenger. "And where have you been that you come here only now
with this? Answer me!"
The half-caste shrank terrified before his fury. His explanation,
if he had one, was paralyzed by fear. Levasseur took him by the
throat, shook him twice, snarling the while, then hurled him into
the scuppers. The man's head struck the gunwale as he fell, and he
lay there, quite still, a trickle of blood issuing from his mouth.
Levasseur dashed one hand against the other, as if dusting them.
"Heave that muck overboard," he ordered some of those who stood
idling in the waist. "Then up anchor, and let us after the
Dutchman."
"Steady, Captain. What's that?" There was a restraining hand
upon his shoulder, and the broad face of his lieutenant Cahusac,
a burly, callous Breton scoundrel, was stolidly confronting him.


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