other, I thought one more mightn't be noticed; so I put Aunt
Cecile's red cap on the back of my head, and my hands in my pockets like
the rest, and, as we French say, I circulated till I found the galley.

'"What! Here's one of 'em that isn't sick!" says a cook. "Take his
breakfast to Citizen Bompard."

'I carried the tray to the cabin, but I didn't call this Bompard
"Citizen." Oh no! "Mon Capitaine" was my little word, same as Uncle
Aurette used to answer in King Louis' Navy. Bompard, he liked it; he
took me on for cabin servant, and after that no one asked questions; and
thus I got good victuals and light work all the way across to America.
He talked a heap of politics, and so did his officers, and when this
Ambassador Genet got rid of his land-stomach and laid down the law
after dinner, a rook's parliament was nothing compared to their cabin. I
learned to know most of the men which had worked the French Revolution,
through waiting at table and hearing talk about 'em. One of our
forecas'le six-pounders was called Danton and t'other Marat. I used to
play the fiddle between 'em, sitting on the capstan. Day in and day out
Bompard and Monsieur Genet talked o' what France had done, and how the
United States was going to join her to finish off the English in this
war. Monsieur Genet said he'd justabout make the United States fight for
France. He was a rude common man. But I liked listening. I always helped
drink any healths that was proposed--specially Citizen Danton's who'd
cut off King Louis' head. An all-Englishman might have been
shocked--that's where my French blood saved me.

'It didn't save me from getting a dose of ship's fever though, the week
before we put Monsieur Genet ashore at Charleston; and what was left of
me after bleeding and pills took the dumb horrors from living 'tween
decks. The surgeon, Karaguen his name was, kept me down there to help
him with his plasters--I was too weak to wait on Bompard. I don't
remember much of any account for the next few weeks, till I smelled
lilacs, and I looked out of the port, and we was moored to a wharf-edge
and there was a town o' fine gardens and red-brick houses and all the
green leaves in God's world waiting for me outside.

'"What's this?" I said to the sick-bay man--old Pierre Tiphaigne he was.
"Philadelphia," says Pierre. "You've missed it all. We're sailing next
week."

'I just turned round and cried for longing to be amongst the laylocks.

'"If that's you