—"The Bon-Dié is not the Wind," cried Stéphane: "He is like the Wind, but He is not the Wind."...
—"Ah! soc-soc!—fouinq!... More better past praying to care we be not upset again and eaten by sharks."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
... Whether the little chabin prayed either to the Wind or to the Bon-Dié, I do not know. But the Wind remained very quiet all that night,—seemed to hold its breath for fear of ruffling the sea. And in the Mouillage of St. Pierre furious American captains swore at the Wind because it would not fill their sails.
V
Perhaps, if there had been a breeze, neither Stéphane nor Maximilien would have seen the sun again. But they saw him rise.
Light pearled in the east, over the edge of the ocean, ran around the rim of the sky and yellowed: then the sun's brow appeared;—a current of gold gushed rippling across the sea before him;—and all the heaven at once caught blue fire from horizon to zenith. Violet from flood to cloud the vast recumbent form of Pelée loomed far behind,—with long reaches of mountaining: pale grays o'ertopping misty blues. And in the north another lofty shape was towering,—strangely jagged and peaked and beautiful,—the silhouette of Dominica: a sapphire saw!... No wandering clouds:—over far Pelée only a shadowy piling of nimbi.... Under them the sea swayed dark as purple ink—a token of tremendous depth.... Still a dead calm, and no sail in sight.
—"Ça c'est la Dominique," said Maximilien,—"Ennou pou ouivage-à!"
They had lost their little palettes during the night;—they used their naked hands, and moved swiftly. But Dominica was many and many a mile away. Which was the nearer island, it was yet difficult to say;—in the morning sea-haze, both were vapory,—difference of color was largely due to position....
Sough!—sough!—sough!—A bird with a white breast passed overhead; and they stopped paddling to look at it,—a gull. Sign of fair weather!—it was making for Dominica.