The rain came down dismally, and the chill of the night was very

considerable, as I learned soon after ceasing my own exertions. The

men made some sort of shelter for themselves by turning up the long

boat and the dingey on edge, crawling into the lee, and thus finding a

little protection. All but John, my cook. That calm personage, every

time I turned, was at my elbow in the dark, standing silent, waiting

for I knew not what. For the first time, I realized the virtue of his

waterproof silk shirt. He seemed not to mind the rain, although he

asked my consent to put his bundle and his book under the shelter. I

stooped down at the firelight, curious to see the title of his book.

It was familiar--The Pirate's Own Book!

"Where you catchee book, John?" I asked him.

"Litlee boy he give me; him 'Melican book. I lead him some. Plenty

good book."

"Yes," said I; "I see. That boy'll make pirates of us all, if we

aren't careful."

"That book, him tellee what do, sposee bad storm," said John proudly.

"I know."

I walked over to where Peterson lay, his pipe now lighted by some

magic all his own. We now could see more plainly the furred and yellow

gleam of the lighthouse lamp. Peterson's concern, however, was all for

the Belle Helène.

"I hate to think of her out there all by herself," said he.

"So do I, Peterson. I hate also to think of all that ninety-three we

left out there."

We were standing near the edge of the ladies' shelter, and I heard

Mrs. Daniver's voice as she put out her head at the edge of the

tarpaulin.

"I thought you said all the ninety-three was gone," said she with some

interest, as it appeared to me.

"No, we only had the last bottle of that case at luncheon, Mrs.

Daniver," said I. "There are yet other cases out yonder."

"It's a bad night for neuralgia," said she complainingly.

"It is, madam. But I don't think I'll pull out again. And I am

rejoiced that you are not troubled now with seasickness,--that you

never are." Which last resulted in her dignified silence.

Through the night, there came continually the clamoring of the wild

fowl in the lagoon back of us, and this seemed to make the boys

restless. It was Jean Lafitte, next, who poked his head out from under

the tarpaulin.

"I've got the gun all right," said he, "and a lot of shells. In the

morning we'll go out and get some of those ducks that are squawking."

"Yes, Jean," said I; "we're in one of the best ducking countries on

this whole coast."

"That's fine--we can live chiefly by huntin' and fishin', like it says

in the g'ographies."




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