e, overslung with sack,
the night of the royal Duke's visit, and the footpads were on him, I
carried him on my back to the lodge of Rozel Manor. The footpads had
scores to settle with the great Rozel."

For a moment the Seigneur stared, then roared again, but this time with
laughter.

"By the devil and Rollo, I have sworn to this hour that there was no man
in the isle could have carried me on his shoulders. And I was right, for
Jersiais you're none, neither by adoption nor grace, but a citizen of
the sea."

He laughed again as a wave swept over them, drenching them, and a sudden
squall of wind came out of the north. "There's no better head in the
isle than mine for measurement and thinking, and I swore no man under
eighteen stone could carry me, and I am twenty-five--I take you to be
nineteen stone, eh?"

"Nineteen, less two ounces," grinned Buonespoir.

"I'll laugh De Carteret of St. Ouen's out of his stockings over this,"
answered Lempriere. "Trust me for knowing weights and measures! Look
you, varlet, thy sins be forgiven thee. I care not about the fleeces, if
there be no more stealing. St. Ouen's has no head--I said no one man in
Jersey could have done it--I'm heavier by three stone than any man in
the island." Thereafter there was little speaking among them, for the
danger was greater as they neared the shore. The wind and the sea were
against them; the tide, however, was in their favour. Others besides
M. Aubert offered up prayers for the safe-landing of the rescued and
rescuers. Presently an ancient fisherman broke out into a rude sailor's
chanty, and every voice, even those of the two Huguenots, took it up:

"When the Four Winds, the Wrestlers, strive with the Sun,
When the Sun is slain in the dark;
When the stars burn out, and the night cries
To the blind sea-reapers, and they rise,
And the water-ways are stark--
God save us when the reapers reap!
When the ships sweep in with the tide to the shore,
And the little white boats return no more;
When the reapers reap, Lord give Thy sailors sleep,
If Thou cast us not upon the shore,
To bless Thee evermore:
To walk in Thy sight as heretofore
Though the way of the Lord be steep!
By Thy grace,
Show Thy face,
Lord of the land and the deep!"

The song stilled at last. It died away in the roar of the surf, in
the happy cries of foolish women, and the laughter of men back fro