Wish't we was in," said he. "No use trying to anchor unless
we must, anyhow--she'll ride mighty wet out here. Better buck on into
it."

So we bucked on in, till five, till five-thirty, till six, and all
the boat's lights revealed was a yellow circle of fog that traveled
with us. Wet and chilled, we two stood at the wheel together, in such
hard conditions that no navigator and no pilot could have done much
more than grope.

"We must have missed her!" admitted the old skipper at last. "I don't
fancy the open gulf, and I don't fancy piling her up on some shore in
here. What do you think we should do, Mr. Harry?"

"Listen!" said I, raising a hand.

"There's no bell-buoy," said he.

"No, but hark. Don't you hear the birds--there's a million geese and
swans and ducks calling over yonder."

"Right, by George!" said he. "But where?"

"They'd not be at sea, Peterson. They must be in some fresh-water lake
inside some key or island. On the Long Key there's such an inland
lake."

"It's beyond the channel, maybe?" said he. But he signaled Williams to
go slow, and that faithful unseen Cyclops, on whose precious engines
so much depended, obeyed and presently put out a head at his hatch,
quickly withdrawing it as a white sea came inboard.

"We'll crawl on in," said Peterson. "The light can't be a thousand
miles from here. If only there was a nigger man and a dinner bell
beside the light--that's the trouble. And now--good God! _There she
goes!_"

With a jar which shook the good boat to the core, we felt the bottom
come up from the depths and smite us. Our headway ceased, save for a
sickening crunching crawl. The waves piled clear across our port bow
as we swung. And so we hung, the gulf piling in on us in our yellow
rimmed world. And at the lift and hollow of the sea we rose and
pounded sullenly down, in such fashion as would have broken the back
of any boat less stanch than ours.

Here, in an eye's flash, was danger tangible and real. I heard a
shriek from the cabin aft, and called out for them all to keep below
and keep the ports closed. Peterson had the power off in an instant,
and swung her head as best he could with the dying headway; but it
only put her farther on the shoal.

"It's the Timbalier Shoals!" he screamed. "Oh, d---- it all! We'll
lose her, now." I recalled that his concern seemed rather for his boat
than the lives she carried.

Jean Lafitte came bounding up the companionway, his face pale, but
ready