“Have you quite recovered from your seasickness by this time, Mrs. Daniver?” I asked politely.
“Seasickness?” She raised an eyebrow in protest. “I never was seasick in my life—not even in the roughest crossings of the Channel, where others were quite helpless.”
“It is fortunate to be immune,” said I. “People tell me it is a terrible feeling—they even think they are going to die.”
Jean Lafitte, I found, had made quite a serviceable shelter, throwing a tarpaulin over one of the long boat’s oars. We pushed our fire to the front of this, and after a time induced the ladies to make themselves more comfortable. Only with some protest did my hearty pirates agree to share this shelter which made our sole protection against the storm.
CHAPTER XXXIII
IN WHICH WE ARE CASTAWAYS
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.