“God guide us!” I exclaimed, so soon as I could trust myself to speak.  “This is a hard ending to all our toil, nor do I understand how it came about.”

“Sacre!” commented De Noyan, glancing across at the fellow.  “It looked to me as if yonder canting preacher either was taken with a fit, or sought to make ending here of two papists.”

I turned to face the grim-faced sectary, still too thoroughly winded by his late exertions to try the lift of a Psalm.

“See here, sirrah,” I began angrily in English, “perhaps you will explain what sort of a Connecticut trick you attempted to play there in the current?”

He twisted his narrow eyes in my direction, apparently studying the full meaning of my words before venturing an answer.

“I know not what you mean, friend,” he returned at last, in that deep booming voice of his.  “Did I not perform my work with the best of ye?”

“Ay, you were man enough after we went overboard, but why, in the name of all the fiends, did you make so foul a leap, bringing us into such imminent peril?” The gleam of his eyes was no longer visible, but I marked the rise of his great shoulders, his voice rumbling angrily, like distant thunder, as he made reply.

“Why did I make the leap, you unregenerated infidel, you thick-headed heretic?  Why did I?  Better were I to ask why you ran the boat’s nose into that bubbling hell.  Why did I?  What else saved us losing every pound we carried, together with the woman, you cock-eyed spawn of the devil, only that Ezekiel Cairnes possessed sufficient sense to throw himself in the way, upbearing the bulk of the strain?  The water was somewhat deeper than I supposed, and my feet found no bottom, yet ’t was the best thing to do, and the only hope of steadying the boat.  Better for you and that grinning papist yonder to be on your knees thanking the Almighty He sent you a man this day, than lie there like so many hooked cods, gasping for breath with which to abuse one of the Lord’s anointed.  Yet ’tis but righteous judgment visited upon me for consorting with papists and unbelievers.”

Feeling the possible justice of his claim I hastened to make amends to the wrathful and worthy man.

“You may be right,” I admitted slowly.  “Certainly we will return thanks for deliverance each in his own way.  As for me, I greatly regret having mistrusted your act.  Perhaps it was best, yet I think we have small chance ever to use this boat again.  It appears badly injured.  However, we must await daylight to note the damage.  In the meantime, let us make shift to camp; a hot fire will dry our limbs and clothing, and put us in better humor for the morrow.”

CHAPTER XVIII

A HARD DAY’S MARCH