other end of the vessel, by the old man, "We don't even see the
pointers, nor the star Antares, red as he is. Not one is distinct."

No care troubled the other fugitives.

Still, when the first hilarity they felt in their escape had passed
away, they could not help remembering that they were at sea in the month
of January, and that the wind was frozen. It was impossible to establish
themselves in the cabin. It was much too narrow and too much encumbered
by bales and baggage. The baggage belonged to the passengers, the bales
to the crew, for the hooker was no pleasure boat, and was engaged in
smuggling. The passengers were obliged to settle themselves on deck, a
condition to which these wanderers easily resigned themselves. Open-air
habits make it simple for vagabonds to arrange themselves for the night.
The open air (_la belle étoile_) is their friend, and the cold helps
them to sleep--sometimes to die.

This night, as we have seen, there was no _belle étoile_.

The Languedocian and the Genoese, while waiting for supper, rolled
themselves up near the women, at the foot of the mast, in some tarpaulin
which the sailors had thrown them.

The old man remained at the bow motionless, and apparently insensible to
the cold.

The captain of the hooker, from the helm where he was standing, uttered
a sort of guttural call somewhat like the cry of the American bird
called the exclaimer; at his call the chief of the brand drew near, and
the captain addressed him thus,--