All fell to laughing at him, for he was spitting oaths and curses like any cat; the clothes were stripped from him, half the great beard was flamed away, and a brand had smitten him across the face, blackening him and bringing the claret from his nostrils in a stream. “The day of miracles isn’t passed yet,” cackled Frontin. “Faith, we left you a Dutchman and up you come a black Guinea-man!” “Give me your breeches, damn you,” roared Vanderberg, who was furious. “Go to the devil,” said Frontin, and turned to draw a cup of wine, but Vanderberg struck him from one side and sent him senseless into the snow. Now Vanderberg stripped one of the men, donned the wet clothes, and sent the fellow running naked in his boots through the rain and snow for the _Irondelle_. Then, repenting the blow and perhaps a little afraid, he roused Frontin to life and held wine to his lips. “Fiend take me, it was a foul blow,” said he. Frontin gulped the wine, staggered up, and felt his jaw. He gave the captain one look from his glittering eyes, then shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he said lightly, while the men gaped, expecting a fight. “Come, to work! We must get these chests and bags to the cove.” So that matter passed over, for the moment, though more than likely it drew certain results in train. Frontin showed them how to make a _travois_ of poles, on which the chests might be dragged by two men. The first was loaded with a chest and sent off, and a second was made and sent off likewise, Frontin and the fourth man dragging it, while Vanderberg followed with one of the bags of small loot pulling from his wide shoulders. When they neared the cove, the man who had gone to clothe himself now came running, with word that the tide was high and the ketch was floated from the shoal. Sure enough, they sighted the _Irondelle_ on an even keel and drifting with the currents toward an inner ledge of rocks, though there was a drift of wind and rain offshore. Now, with the gold safely garnered, wakened thoughts of safety, and there was a wild race down to the cove. Tumbling into the boat, they rowed to the ketch and fell to work; she was a sorry thing enough, but better than naught, and there was no time to lose, the tide being at flood.