"In Carucueira."
"Where?" I exclaimed with astonishment.
"La Grande Terre de Guadaloupe, him called now—Carucueira in the days of painted warriors."
"I have been ill—weak, Benoit."
"Ya—massa le capitaine have leaden shot in him body."
"Impossible—my arm was broken by a ball which, however did not penetrate deep, though I have lost much blood."
"Oui—ya; but shot go very fast in the air—massa le capitaine no see him enter."
"Ah, that is all bosh, old Snowball."
"Ah—pardonnez—mong Dew—ya, oui," continued poor Benoit, whose language was a strange medley; "shot be in here massa."
"Where?"