"There's a barrel an' eight boxes o' sacks o' salt aboard," said the
practical Jean Lafitte. "What'd you want so much salt for?"
"'Twas yon varlet's idea," said I, "when he laid in the ship's stores.
But I had a mind that, to my taste, no salt is better than that made
by the Manning plantation mines. But now," I added, "to your
breakfast, after you have bathed."
"Peterson," said I, after they had left me, and pointing to the chart,
"lay her west by south. I want to run inside the Timbalier Shoals."
"Very shallow there, Mr. Harry--just look at the soundings, sir."
"That's why I want to go. Hold on till you get the light at this
channel here, southeast of the Côte Blanche. You'll get a lot of
floating hyacinth, but do what you can. I'll take my trick, as soon as
I get a bite to eat. By night we'll be over our hurry and we can all
arrange for better sleep."
"And then--I--ahem! Mr. Harry, what are your plans?" He was just a
trifle troubled over all this.
"My plans, Peterson," said I, "are to anchor off Timbalier to-night,
to anchor in this channel of Côte Blanche to-morrow--and to eat
breakfast now." Saying which I left him gloomily shaking his head, but
laying her now west by south as I had made the course.
"The glass is falling mighty fast, Mr. Harry," he called over his
shoulder to me by way of encouragement.