The _Sea Gull's_ fires were banked, only a thin vapor arising from the stack which instantly disappeared.

In the opposite direction there was a wide expanse of water, quiet as a mill-pond in spite of a fresh breeze, revealing in the distance the faint blue blur of a far-off coast line.

Nothing broke the vista except the white sails of two sloops, evidently fishing boats, far off on the horizon.

It was an ideal spot in which to lie--to quietly hide in during the hours of daylight, probably never approached but by stray fishermen.

Ashore everything appeared primitive and uninhabited, except for one of the _Sea Gull's_ small boats beached directly opposite, the crew hidden in the brush.
I walked leisurely around the cabin transom, peering into the boat swung astern, so as to better familiarize myself with its equipment, meanwhile keeping a wary eye on the cabin below, where the negro was clearing the table, and then, satisfied I had everything photographed upon the mind, sauntered forward toward the bridge, aiming to exchange greetings with the Creole mate.