April 6th. I was sound asleep when my skipper Bernard awoke me by throwing up sand at my window. I opened it, and on my face, on my chest, in my very soul, I felt the cold delicious breath of the night. The sky was a clear blue gray, and alive with the quivering fire of the stars. The sailor, standing at the foot of the wall, said: "Fine weather, sir." "What wind?" "Off shore." "Very well, I'm coming." Half-an-hour later I was hurrying down to the shore. The horizon was pale with the first rays