To my
surprise and relief, it was Broussard who came down the companion
stairs, driving the steward before him.
"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.
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