Their curiosity satisfied they sat down to the table, and the cook, a Frenchman, bearded, stout, and as far removed in cleanliness and skill from the conventional idea of a French chef as can be imagined, served them.
Dare roused Ben, who woke in full possession of his wits and proceeded immediately to meet the crew on their own ground of familiarity. The cook pointed out two places which they were told to take, and they breakfasted with the others.
Silence hung over the table—that is, a conversational silence—until all food in the immediate vicinity had been consumed. Then some of the men went on deck. Others returned to their berths.
Ben questioned the cook, who was not averse to gossip, as to the hour of their arrival, and discovered that they had arrived at St. Pierre at five o'clock, and that it was now ten.
"Didn't hear a sound," confessed Ben. "Dog-tired we was, both of us. You fellers nearly made us food fer the fishes last night."
"Tiens!" said the cook. "An' your boat, she has give me the one fright. Mon Dieu, it was to think the ship she was killed!"
"Well, all's well that ends well," said Ben soothingly. "What say if we goes on deck?" he added to Dare.
Dare jumped at the suggestion and made for the companion-way. Ben followed him.
Those of the crew who were on deck were idly smoking and gossiping, overlooked by the mate who, seated on the cabin roof, was keeping an officious eye on both ship and men.
Ben led the way casually to the rail near the break-deck, where they were fairly well isolated, and seating himself, motioned to Dare to follow his example.