He was instantly wide awake. Was
the stranger French? Thank Heaven, no! She was Dutch built, and as her
flag showed, Dutch owned. Hurrah!
His cheer attracted the attention of the crew, and much wondering the
sailors drew him up on deck. "A Frenchman," was the verdict in gruff
Dutch. George did not understand Dutch, but he instantly guessed their
meaning.
"Not I," he cried, in English, and was delighted to be answered in the
same tongue by the skipper.
George's account of his escape, translated by the captain, set the fat
Dutchmen a-rolling. And, after the lad had had the good square meal
the skipper ordered for him, he spent the evening in going over his
adventures again. The jolly-hearted English lad became an immediate
favourite with the sailors and the soldiers, for, as he soon learnt,
the ship was a Dutch transport carrying troops and stores for the war
in Spain.
"Where are we, sir?" George inquired of the skipper next morning when
he came on deck, to find a clear sky, and land faintly seen on the
starboard bow.
"Off the Isle of Wight, my lad," replied the Dutchman.
"Can't you put me ashore, captain?" he pleaded.
The master smiled and shook his head.
"Impossible, boy; you must go with us to Spain.
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