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Updated: May 11, 2025
"We have, my lord," I replied, holding myself to calmness, striving to speak with apparent respect for his rank. "We are four, altogether; one has his wife along to cook for us." "You are voyaging from New Orleans?" "Nay; from the savannahs of Red River, where we enjoyed a good season of sport." "You are French?" "A natural guess, yet a wrong one, Señor. I am of English blood." "Saprista!
"Bog it may be," retorted a sharper, petulant voice, the sound of which was oddly familiar, "but I tell you this, Señor, 'tis on this very shore French gallants come hunting from New Orleans. There is dry land in plenty beyond the fringe of reeds." "Saprista! there may be, as there may be water in Hell, but I 'll never tangle my boat amid that mass of cane to make its discovery.
It required the greater part of an hour to get our rude rock rampart in such condition as to satisfy the military taste of the Chevalier even measurably, and during that time we toiled as men must when their lives are soon to depend upon the result of their labor. "Saprista!" he commented at last, wiping his streaming brow, and gazing about him critically.
"By the true cross!" he exclaimed at last, as if his breath had barely returned, "you gave me a start such as I have not often had in all my soldiering. Yet you are no ghost; your aspect is altogether too healthful for one condemned to exist upon air. Saprista! you must have a light foot to steal thus on me unheard. Who are you, fellow? What do you here upon this soil of Spain?"
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