“Vat for you loaf, hey!” he snapped fiercely.  “By Gar, I teach you.  I work four—­seek—­hour an’ nodding to eat.  You say ze Capitaine send you; bah! eet vas not so—­nevaire!  Vat you hav’—­hey?”

The negro mumbled something through thick lips, and the irate mate gripped him by the collar of his jacket, shaking the fellow as he might a dog, and hurling him half across the deck.

“Sacre!  I keel you for five cent.  Queek now—­jump!  Put all on right way, by Gar, or I show you.  Here you—­ze brandy furst.”

The steward slunk into the passage leading to the pantry, and the Creole, turning, saw me.

“Ah, M’sieur; I saw you not.  Pardon ze roughness, but consider, no dinare, an’ I been on deck seek hour; no sleep, no eat, only work.  I lose ze tempair, M’sieur.”

“That is not to be wondered at,” I answered, affecting good humor.  “Has the first mate been ashore?”

“Oui, M’sieur; asleep in the sun, I bet you.  Bah! any man could watch the sea from the cliff.  Dat job not need ze furst officer.  Sacre! but ’t is a dog’s life at sea.”

I nodded my head, too busily engaged with my own thoughts to give much consideration to his troubles.  Still, this situation, as revealed by Broussard’s complaints, would afford us a respite of at least four hours.  If this was the Creole’s watch below, then Herman would keep the deck.  Even lying there at anchor those fellows would not leave the crew alone.  There was too much at stake, and besides there must still remain a look-out ashore.  However it was a relief to know that the German had nothing of importance to communicate to Henley, no occasion even to come below.  Broussard sank back into a chair, watching the frightened negro hurry back and forth.  At last, satisfied that everything available had been produced, the former strode across to the table, jerked out a chair, and waved his hand toward me in invitation to join him.

“The lazy dog!  ’T is likely all you will get, M’sieur.  Maybe you eat with me—­hey?  Or would you wait for ze Capitaine?”

“I ’ll take pot-lunch with you, Broussard,” I agreed genially, speaking loud enough so the negro would overhear.  “I ’ve got to get accustomed to camp fare, and am hungry enough to begin.  Besides, Captain Henley is laid up in his berth with a sick headache, and does n’t wish to be disturbed.  He told me to tell you, Louis.”

“Yes, sah!  Shall Ah make you sum coffee, sah?  Massa Broussard he don’t nebber drink none.”

“Yes, and, by the way, Louis, take a lunch in to the lady; fix up something neat if you can, and let me know when it is ready.  All right, Broussard, a nip of that brandy would help me.”

He passed the bottle, and a clean glass across the table, watching me pour out the liquor with a sarcastic smile.

“You know ze Capitaine before, maybe?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, wondering what he could be aiming at, but willing to give him a free rein.  “Only since he tapped me on the head back in the cellar.  However, he has been square with me, and seems to be a pretty good fellow.”