"If the wind should shift," said I, "we may have to do that for quite
a time. I don't know whether the lighthouse keeper has a boat or not,
and the channel lies between us and the light--it makes out here
straight to the Gulf. But now, be quiet, my sons, and see if we can't
all get some sleep. I'll take care of the fire."
I passed a little apart to hunt for some driftwood, my shadow, John,
following close at hand. When I returned I found a muffled figure
standing at the feeble blaze. Helena raised her eyes, grave and
serious.
"It was splendid," said she in a low tone of voice, addressing not so
much myself as all the world, it seemed to me.
"Get back in there and go to sleep," said I. And, quietly she obeyed,
so far as I might tell.
For my own part, I did not seek the shelter of the other boat, but,
wrapped in sweater and slicker, stood in the rain, John at my side.
Once in a while we set out in the dark to find more wood for the
little fire. In some way the long night wore on. Toward morning the
rain ceased. It seemed to me that the rocking search-light of the
Belle Helène made scarce so wide an arc across the bay. The
lighthouse ray shone less furry and yellow through the night. The wind
began to lull, coming in gusts, at times after some moments of calm.
The roll of the sea still came in, but sometimes I almost fancied that
the surf was bellowing not so loud. And so at length, the dawn came,
softening the gloom, and I could hear the roar of the great bodies of
wild fowl rising as they always do at dawn, the tumult of their wings
rivaling the heavy rhythm of the surf itself.
The advancing calm of nature seemed to quiet the senses of the
sleepers, even in their sleep. Gently making up the fire for the last
time, as the gray light began to come across the beach, I wandered
inland a little way in search of the fresh water lagoon. Its edge lay
not more than two or three hundred yards back of our bivouac. So, as
best I might, I bathed my face and hands, and regretted that such
things as soap and towels had been forgotten with many other things.
Not irremediable, our plight; for now I could see the Belle Helène
still rolling at her anchor, uneasy, but still afloat; and in the
daylight, and with a lessening sea, there would be no great difficulty
in boarding her as we liked.
Presently the others of the party were all afoot, standing stiffly,
sluggishly, in the chill of dawn; and such was the breakfast which my
boy John presently prepared for us, that I confess I began to make
comparisons not wholly to his discredit. Now, for instance, said I to
myself, had it been Mrs. Daniver who had been forgotten on board
ship--but, of course, that line of reasoning might not be followed
out. And as for Mrs. Daniver herself, it was only just to say that she
made a fair attempt at comradeship, considering that she had retired
without any aid whatever for her neuralgia. Helena seemed reticent.
The men, as usual, ate apart. I did not find myself loquacious. Only
my two young ruffians seemed full of the enjoyment possible in such a
situation.