They had tobacco, plenty of it--American, that had never paid duty to France.

They wanted chocolate and crackers.

Harvey rowed back to arrange with the cook and Disko, who owned the stores, and on his return the cocoa-tins and cracker-bags were counted out by the Frenchman's wheel.

It looked like a piratical division of loot; but Tom Platt came out of it roped with black pigtail and stuffed with cakes of chewing and smoking tobacco.

Then those jovial mariners swung off into the mist, and the last Harvey heard was a gay chorus: "Par derriere chez ma tante, Il'y a un bois joli, Et le rossignol y chante Et le jour et la nuit....
Que donneriez vous, belle, Qui l'amenerait ici?
Je donnerai Quebec, Sorel et Saint Denis." "How was it my French didn't go, and your sign-talk did ?" Harvey demanded when the barter had been distributed among the We're Heres.
"Sign-talk!" Platt guffawed.