At this point in the novel, said Blurtso, Blurtseau Lundif and his friends have intercepted the British sugar ship and are fleeing for their lives…
Claude did as directed, with the British sloop behind, until pursuer and pursued were lost from sight beneath the watery peaks. Blurtseau, who could no longer see the enemy ship, turned to descend the rigging, but before he could, a wall of water struck the schooner, causing the hull to rock and roll, and throwing our hero—as if he had been pitched from a catapult—into the frothing jaw of the sea. His companions watched in horror as he soared, head over hooves, describing a perfect parabola across the moonlit sky.
“Blurtseau!” called Pableau.
“Blurtseau!” called Josette.
“Blurtseau!” called Claude. But their comrade could not hear, or if he could, he could not reply, and the rudderless ship, steered now by the storm, drew quickly away, leaving our hero bobbing like a cork on the writhing water.
“We must turn and find him!” cried Pableau.
“Turn whither?” said Claude.
“Blurtseau is an excellent swimmer,” said Pableau. “I’m sure he’s secured a plank, or piece of driftwood, and is paddling for calmer seas. If we circle, describing a broader and broader circumference, we’ll cross him with our bow.”
“Yes,” said Claude, “when the storm has settled.”
And so they waited, tossed and turned in the belly of the gale, until the sky cleared. By dawn the British frigate, carried east with the careening clouds, was no longer to be seen, and the Zurrabelle was free to begin her search.
They sailed for fourteen days and fourteen nights, each day broadening the scope of their search, and each day encountering only sea. On the morning of the fifteenth day Pableau, perched on the foremast, thought he had spied his lost friend, but he was soon dismayed when closer inspection revealed a dark-grey dolphin. Josette, who had been holding up bravely, burst into tears, and Claude drew slowly and solemnly upon his pipe.
Are you really a descendant of Don Quijote’s Rocinante?! Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! I’ve never met a celebrity before! Do you mind if I walk along? Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! A real live celebrity! I’ll bet you’ve got a million stories! Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! A descendant of Don Quijote’s Rocinante! Do you mind if I walk along? Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! Will you tell me a story?! Will you tell me a story?! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! A real live celebrity!
I suppose some people get depressed at Christmas, said Blurtso. And New Year’s, said Harlan. I suppose, said Blurtso, the memories make you reflect on what you do and don’t have. Too often, said Harlan, on what you don’t. Is there any more cocoa? said Blurtso. Yes, said Harlan, plenty. And whipped cream? Yes, said Harlan, a full can.