He understood it a minute later, however, when the brown sail ran up the mast and, holding the tiller between his knees, Barebone hauled in the sheet hand over hand and steered a course out to sea.
He looked back over the foot of the sail and waved his hand.
"Sans rancune!" he shouted.

"C'est entendu!" The Captain's own words.
The "Petite Jeanne" was already round to the wind, and the Captain was bellowing to his crew to trim the sails.

It could scarcely be a chase, for the huge deep-sea fishing-boat could sail half as fast again as her own dinghy.

The Captain gave his instructions with all the quickness of his race, and the men were not slow to carry them out.

The safe-keeping of the prisoner had been made of personal advantage to each member of the crew.
The Captain hailed Barebone with winged words which need not be set down here, and explained to him the impossibility of escape.
"How can you--a landsman," he shouted, "hope to get away from us?
Come back and it shall be as you say, 'sans rancune.' Name of God! I bear you no ill-will for making the attempt." They were so close together that all on board the "Petite Jeanne" could see Barebone laugh and shake his head.