Crawford, who took small part in all this gaiety, tired of looking on and presently went up into the bows. He stood there smoking, his eyes watching the play of lights in the northern sky that fought the dim, sunny twilight in the south. There Iberville found him presently, when he strolled up with La Potherie, and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “What, dreaming of stars? Come and try our excellent Canary. To-morrow Martigny will return with the pinnace, we’ll land guns and men, and crack this nut of Nelson. Ha! Art thinking of the Star Woman, eh?” “Admitted. The name lingers. Do you know more of her than Perrot told?” “Nay, Perrot is the only white man who has ever seen her.” Here Bacqueville de la Potherie struck in with avid interest. He was the avowed historian of the expedition, and was eager to learn of all things, while his open curiosity, his frankness and intelligence, endeared him to every one alike. “Tell me about this Perrot--I have heard of him before this. And the Star Woman----” Iberville obliged, and concluded with a laugh, “So, you see, our friend Crawford may yet set forth into the wilderness to seek her! Eh, Crawford? Why so gloomy, man?” “Why so merry?” Crawford smiled. “It may be that I shall seek her. Who knows? I’m not gloomy, but your gay scene is not for me. I’m looking over the horizon.” “You’ll die of that looking, one day.” “Ay. And how better?” Iberville nodded soberly, his spirit perfectly comprehending that of Crawford. “How better, indeed? There’s blood of mine in those dark forests ashore. My brother Chateauguay lies under the pickets of that fort, which I have taken once or twice ere this, and shall take again. Well, I fight for my king while you fight for a dream--and devil shrive me if I’d not like to seek the Star Woman with you! Don’t look too long at those lights in the sky--ah, but you should see them in winter, as I have seen them from yonder shores! Some say they foretell storm in summer. The Indians call them the spirits of dancing dead men. Faith, there’ll be dead men dancing ashore once I get a mortar to bear on that accursed fort behind its cloak of trees! Come, Bacqueville, leave our man of destiny to dream----” The other two departed, and Crawford presently went to the cabin which he shared with Fitzmaurice of Kerry. In ten minutes he was sound asleep to the whine of fiddles and the soft throatings of flutes. It was broad daylight when he wakened to a great tumult of trampling feet on the decks, mingled with roars of joyous shouts and exultant oaths. The chaplain burst in upon him and in furious delight dragged him bodily from his berth. “Up and on deck, ye sluggard! Here the fleet’s in sight--Serigny’s come at last, and we’re standing out to meet ’em! Up, ye lazy divil!”