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"I asked her if she'd have some fruit pie or cake. She didn't look up nor answer. She's chucked most of what I took in about the cabin." At this moment Captain Acton cried out, halting as he uttered the words with his eyes fixed in the direction of Old Harbour: "Bless my soul! what can have happened? Is the French Flotilla in sight?" At that moment the man at the mast-head with the telescope still at his eye, shouted the magic words: "Sail ho!".
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He picked up his hat and bounded outside. He found Croaker seated on the chicken yard fence, gravely surveying his ancient and mortal enemy, the old game cock, and whispering guttural insults that fairly made the rooster bristle with anger. "What can be the meaning of it?" said Captain Acton. "Yes, the French have landed, but not just in the way they like. One of our frigates—I haven't got to hear her name—chased a French privateersman ashore five miles up the coast yesterday afternoon; after taking out of her ten thousand pounds in gold, which the beggars had sneaked from a British West Indiaman off Dungeness two or three nights before, they set her on fire. I had a mind this morning to ride over and view the wreck or what remains of her." The boys wriggled their way through the thicket of sumach, and reached a clump of golden-rod inside the road fence just as Wilson came out of the lane..
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