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diff --git a/78652-0.txt b/78652-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..422afef --- /dev/null +++ b/78652-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8558 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78652 *** + +[Illustration: SHE PRESSED MORE CLOSELY THE HAND OF HER LITTLE BROTHER. + + Frontispiece.] + + + + + A FISHER GIRL OF FRANCE + + FROM THE FRENCH OF + FERNAND CALMETTES + + _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR_ + + NEW YORK + DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1892, + BY + DODD, MEAD & COMPANY. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS. + + + CHAPTER 1 PAGE 1 + “ 2 “ 7 + “ 3 “ 17 + “ 4 “ 27 + “ 5 “ 38 + “ 6 “ 46 + “ 7 “ 55 + “ 8 “ 66 + “ 9 “ 74 + “ 10 “ 85 + “ 11 “ 93 + “ 12 “ 102 + “ 13 “ 109 + “ 14 “ 119 + “ 15 “ 129 + “ 16 “ 138 + “ 17 “ 148 + “ 18 “ 157 + “ 19 “ 165 + “ 20 “ 172 + “ 21 “ 180 + “ 22 “ 195 + “ 23 “ 205 + “ 24 “ 216 + “ 25 “ 222 + “ 26 “ 229 + “ 27 “ 241 + “ 28 “ 256 + “ 29 “ 265 + “ 30 “ 274 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + + FACING PAGE + + SHE PRESSED MORE CLOSELY THE HAND OF HER + LITTLE BROTHER, _Frontispiece_ + + THE “BON-PÊCHEUR” SPED GLADLY NORTHWARD, 12 + + THE JUG BETWEEN HIS FEET, 26 + + ALL THE FORTUNE OF THE CREW FLOATED WITH THE CURRENT, 38 + + THE WHITE NIGHT SEEMED TO PENETRATE HIS HEART, 50 + + NEAR HER, A SAILOR CALLED OUT, 70 + + A SAD RETURN, 84 + + SHE SAW THE LITTLE VILLAGE WITH THE WHITE HOUSE, 88 + + THE OLD WOMAN BARRED THE DOOR, 100 + + SHE QUICKENED HER PACE, PRESSING HER HEAVING CHEST, 104 + + THE NEXT NIGHT ELISE SAW HER FATHER AGAIN, 128 + + SHE WOULD SEE AGAIN THOSE SHE LOVED, 140 + + HE WAS HAPPY BECAUSE HER CONFIDENCE HAD RETURNED, 162 + + “ARE YOU GOING TO WAIT THERE UNTIL YOU ARE DRY,” 170 + + “FATHER, IF YOU WILL HELP I WILL FIND YOU,” 192 + + HE UTTERED A SERIES OF MODULATED BARKS, 212 + + HIS RIGID FINGERS STOOD OUT STIFFLY, 238 + + “CALM YOURSELF, ELISE, WE SHALL MAKE THE OTHERS LAUGH,” 252 + + SHE HAD PICKED UP SOMETHING TO DEFEND HERSELF, 262 + + SHE WISHED TO CARRY HIM AWAY, 284 + + + + +A + +FISHER GIRL OF FRANCE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +To-morrow at daybreak they will go aboard together, Elise Hénin and +her little brother Firmin. They have put on their Sunday clothes to +say farewell to their mother, who sleeps on the slope of the dune in +a corner of the old graveyard. Nine years has the poor woman lain +there in the peace of her last sleep--deaf forever to the noise of the +tempests which roused her so often, of old, to the vigil of anxious +nights. + +She went from the cares of life a long time before her husband. He was +swallowed up by the sea, which never gave back his body. One night, +when the wind was not high--one hardly knows how it came about--he +was caught in a fatal current and was lost, with his boat and six +companions, in the wild eddies of the most dangerous shoal on that +coast. In some shelter for shipwrecked sailors, beneath the wave, he +is waiting for a day, perhaps not distant, when a mighty tempest shall +stir the depths and, opening his prison of sand, return his body to +earth again. + +His death brought ruin to his family. Although he was a skipper, yet +his boat was all he owned. Earning more or less at the risk of the +tides, he was returning from a profitable cruise with a happy heart and +a full purse, for he had sold his fish at a good price at the market of +Boulogne. The sea had all in its grip--man, boat, and earnings. + +From the road that climbed the dune one could see the spot beneath one +on the horizon. The color of the sea was lighter there than over the +depths, and the rays of the sun made it glisten with a silvery sheen. +It seemed so smiling that one would have declared it harmless. + +Elise stopped as her thoughts wandered to that accursed gulf. She +pressed more closely the hand of her little brother, as a mother who +fears for her child’s safety. + +For it was she who had brought him up, this twelve-year-old brother, +whom she loves for his sturdy figure and his robust health. She has +had one idea only, that of making him a good sailor. It was she who +sang him sailors’ songs to put him to sleep when little; it was she +who carried him, hardly awake, along the dune crests to show him the +far-off ships and to direct his first look to what was going on at sea. +It was she, too, who took him to the harbor that he might play among +the rigging. + +Then, when they were old enough, they had gone with their father on +his boat, learning to handle it. Elise knew as much about fishing as a +sailor. Her father was very proud of her. He had her always aboard, and +it was a miracle that she had not been lost with him. But that week +she had been kept at home, because Firmin was ill. She wished to take +care of him herself, and would not trust him to strange hands. And so +they had become orphans, sister and brother, without protection and +without bread. + +But to-day their fortune seemed assured. They had been engaged on a +sloop for the coming herring fishery. Elise had persuaded the skipper, +her cousin and godfather, to take them on his boat notwithstanding the +prejudice which sailors in petticoats generally inspire. She was as +strong as a man and asked less wages, and this was so much in her favor. + +For herself it was enough that she was to be with her brother, apart +from whom she would have been too unhappy to live. + +“I am proud of you,” she said gayly, “you will make a fine ship’s boy. +I was afraid to remain at home alone. Come, make haste, we have still +many things to arrange for our departure.” + +And with a lengthened step she hurried the boy along the sandy dune +road. It was high noon. The strong June sun, directly overhead, darted +down its burning rays, but the young girl did not appear to feel them. +Lithe and alert, she moved along, with figure erect and back slightly +arched, in all the vigor of her nineteen years. + +Her graceful contour stood out distinctly against the sky. It had +little of that masculine strength that marks savage beauties, but under +her brown corset and gray skirt one could divine the clear-cut outline +which distinguishes the purer races. + +Hurrying her brother along, she soon gained the crest of the dune; then +she stopped abruptly, with an involuntary start, for at the turn of the +road she saw before her the figure of a strapping young fellow, his +arms swinging as he walked, and his face pale and a little sad. + +“You have frightened us, Silvere. It is not the time for a stroll. Are +you expecting any one?” + +“Yes, you, Elise. I had an idea that you would come here, and I +ventured, in order to have a last word with you. Is it decided that you +are to sail to-morrow?” + +“Certainly! we have to earn our bread.” + +“If you would but consent, I would manage to earn enough for us both. +Elise, it breaks my heart to see you injure yourself with men’s work.” + +“What would you have? I know no other, nor have I a taste for any +other.” + +“If you would marry me, you would have only to keep the house. Will you +make me wretched by refusing me again?” + +“Silvere, I do not wish to give you pain, but it is not right of you to +urge me always against my duty. I have told you my determination. I do +not intend to marry until the day when my little Firmin shall be of an +age to be a real sailor. It is my duty to help him, since I am the same +as his mother.” + +“We would aid him together.” + +“No, he would not be at all happy if he knew that he was an expense to +another. And then, I am ambitious that he should become a skipper as +his father was. I could not give myself up to this if I married you. +When one has a house one should devote one’s self to it.” + +“Then you leave me no hope?” + +“As I have told you, wait. Give me time to bring up the child. I will +not refuse after that.” + +“All the same, it is a long time to wait.” + +Elise had not let go the hand of her brother, which she held pressed in +her own. She felt it stirring, tugging. + +“What do you wish, my little man, what troubles you?” + +“Bend down, I wish to whisper to you.” + +And his lips raised toward his sister’s ear, in a grumbling tone the +lad told his trouble. He did not wish his sister’s marriage to be put +off on his account. He was old enough to go to sea alone. He pressed +his point with an energy one would not have expected in a lad of his +years. As he spoke he put on a resolute air, and under his close-cut +hair his strong features expressed so vigorous a will that Elise was +much disturbed. + +“You are a brave boy, but you are too young to go without me. Never +mind. I shall not be unhappy as long as we are together and you love +me.” + +With her sweetest look she smiled at the lad, then, turning toward +Silvere, she gave him her hand. + +“Silvere, since our engagement is to be long, come with me to the +graveyard. Let us exchange our vows over the grave of my mother.” + +And pensively, without speaking further, she walked on, supported on +one side by her lover while on the other she led her brother. + +The graveyard was near at hand. Above its low wall could be seen, lost +among dusty tamarisks and brambles already turning brown, some stone +tombs and some crosses of worn-out wood, tottering and almost uprooted +by the west wind. It was well called the field of the dead, for under +the pitiless sun it seemed a desert indeed. Silvere stopped short at +the melancholy sight. With an unconscious gesture, he held back the +young girl. + +“Elise, do not let us plight our troth here. It is too sad.” + +“Nevertheless, come. Mother will not be happy if we fail in respect. I +have no one but her to advise me, since my father is beneath the sea.” + +Along the narrow footpaths she led the young man to the highest +point of the cemetery, where there was the least shelter. There, +in a forgotten corner, a slab, defaced and broken at the corners, +alone marked the spot which the children knew to be their mother’s +resting-place. + +“Mother,” said Elise solemnly, “since our dead father’s soul is no more +with us, it is thy wish which I would obey. Make thy soul pass into +mine.” + +And on her knees beside Silvere, their two hands joined, she waited for +the mother’s blessing to penetrate her heart. + +An alkaline vapor rose from the overheated soil, and came suffocatingly +to their nostrils. Silvere had a feeling of faintness. He rose, trying +to lift Elise, but for some time still she remained at prayer, invoking +on her brother and herself the protection of the dead. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +It was hardly daybreak when Elise and Firmin appeared on the wharf, +pushing before them a wheelbarrow, on which were their sailors’ kits. +They were the first to arrive. The tide had gone out and, aground in +the mud, the sleeping boats seemed to await in the silence of the dawn +the hour for waking. Such of them as were being made ready for sea +could be told by the marks of recent overhauling and their newly tarred +rigging. Here lay the _Bon-Pêcheur_, a sloop, broad in the waist but +tapering gracefully, and well-designed to cut the waves. All was in +order on deck. The closed hatches showed that supplies were stowed away +and everything ready. + +Elise stopped short. From the head of the wharf, across the masts and +rigging, she could perceive the Bay of Somme, which the sun was just +softly lighting up. Since her childhood she had known this great clear +bay, with its gray outlines softening away into fog. She would not see +it again that night. Every day she had come faithfully to give it a +look. She loved it, not only when the tide was high and it reflected +the brightness of the heavens in its palpitating waves, but when, +though bare at low tide, it was still beautiful, with its banks of red +sand and its streams of water winding through it to the great sea. + +Each day she had seen on the opposite bank the outline of the town of +Saint-Valery, raised like a fortress on a rock of verdure. Then she +had turned her happy eyes toward her own modest fishing hamlet, which, +on this side of the bay, sheltered itself discreetly behind the sandy +dunes. She would see none of these things that night. She loved them +truly, as one loves one’s birthplace, but she loved also the great sea +which, four miles away, marked by a crystal line, all white with foam, +the limit of the bay. Elise had often crossed that line in her father’s +boat, and during three years of fishing she had been accustomed to sea +life, but she had never quitted the waters of the English Channel, and +it was in new seas that she was to be through the long hard-worked +months of a fishing cruise. Her breast swelled with longing and a vague +inquietude, and she let her thoughts wander toward that infinity of +heaven and water. + +The sands of the bay disappeared little by little under the rising +tide, whose surface, swept by ripples, announced a steady breeze. It +was an excellent omen. In less than six days they ought to be on the +fishing-grounds, a hundred miles north of Scotland. + +But, coming back to the thought of her departure, Elise went down +from the wharf to the sands, and deposited her burden just under +the bows of the _Bon-Pêcheur_, and, while Firmin went to return the +wheelbarrow, she seated herself on her sack, her hands joined, her +thoughts wandering to the far-distant region with which she was to make +acquaintance. Absorbed in her revery, she did not hear heavy steps +behind her, and started under a strong hand which struck her familiarly +on the shoulder. + +“Elise, you are earlier than the tide. They are good sailors who rise +before the fish.” + +“Should it not be so, Cousin Florimond? One must take trouble if one +wishes to escape it.” + +“You are right. That is a good sailor’s rule. Do you know, you look +very well under your new sou’wester? The keenest eye could hardly tell +you from the other sailor lads.” + +“I will be a man when work is to be done, Cousin Florimond. I have no +fear of work.” + +“_Parbleu!_ All will turn out well if your Firmin does not show himself +obstinate. He is a little inclined that way. He does not always do as +one tells him.” + +“Have no fear, Cousin Florimond, he will obey you as willingly as his +father. Surely, that is one’s duty to the skipper.” + +“Surely. Besides I shall not favor him more than any other. Fishing +is hard work, but it makes good sailors. In three seasons he will +understand his business. Then you will be able to leave him alone and +talk of a husband. A husband is never lacking to a worthy girl.” + +Then, with that rolling step which sailors affect so much on land, +the skipper walked to the boat’s stern. He seemed to step with the +whole weight of his body upon the ground, but hardly had he felt the +guards of the sloop under his hand than he recovered his agility, +notwithstanding his great leather boots and his oil-suit. Taking +advantage of the rudder-post and of the sloping side of the boat, in +three tugs of his arms, and four steps, he hoisted himself on deck. And +there, striding about, he was truly superb with his tall figure, his +broad shoulders, his curving chest, his strong arms, and his sturdy +back. The sailor is beautiful only on his boat. + +At that moment Florimond had the bearing which inspires all leaders at +the hour of action. He inhaled long draughts of the breeze, and with +keen eye he examined the sky to see the signs of the weather. + +“Look then, Elise, the weather seems not half bad. One never lies idle +when one works with the breeze. Hand over the sacks.” He stretched +his arm out to receive them, and then, lying down flat, reached down, +seized the girl with both hands and, raising himself all at once, +lifted her on deck. + +“Now you are one of the crew, Elise. If the others are disagreeable, I +will protect you. Every man has his rights on a boat.” + +“Thanks, Cousin Florimond, but, as long as I do my work without +flinching, they will have no reason to speak ill of me. If they are +disagreeable, I will defend myself.” + +“Shall not I be there to make them hold their tongues?” said a little +voice, behind the young girl, a boy’s voice, bold and confident. It was +Firmin, who had returned. He planted himself, with his arms crossed and +his head thrown back, before his sister. + +“There is one man who talks against us. I have heard him! I will make +him eat his words.” + +And as if to defy the enemy he awaited, he looked resolutely at the +hamlet. + +From it the sailors were coming in a body, their wives and children +with them. They walked silently beside a cart, which made its way +slowly under the weight of their kits. When they reached the boat, +there broke out at once the noise of getting aboard and the shouts +of farewell. For the tide was beginning to lick the keel of the +_Bon-Pêcheur_, and the women and children ran for safety to the wharf +where, crowded together, they awaited her departure. Softly the sea +lifted the sloop, which floated like a sea-gull on the wave. + +“Hoist the jib and the stay-sail. Hoist the jigger.” And the canvas, +forward and aft, spread itself as if to try the breeze. + +“Trip the anchor!” And the chain, as the anchor came home, ground +against the gunwale. + +“Hoist the main-sail!” Two hundred and twenty yards of canvas rose +in air by force of hand. All tugged together, Elise among the rest. +Knowing that she was watched she strained every nerve; her body grew +rigid at the work. “Oh! hiss!” Her voice sounded clear above the hoarse +shouts of her companions. “Oh! hiss!” The pulleys groaned under the +ropes, and the great sail hung ready to take the wind. + +“Give her a full.” The top-sails snapped out. All the canvas was +trimmed to catch the breeze, and, set in motion by a shift of the helm, +the _Bon-Pêcheur_ sped gayly northward in the freshness and purity of +the morning. + +But a small boat hailed them. A rope was thrown, and Silvere, climbing +up it, quickly reached the deck. He walked straight to the skipper, and +in a rough tone explained the reason of his coming. He had an account +to settle with Barnabé. + +Barnabé was called. He was a hap-hazard sailor, half landsman half +seaman, such as are engaged for the herring fishery. + +An unruly wag and a great bungler at work, he had not his equal in +gathering a crew about him to listen to his bluster. He was brave +when occasion called for it, through vanity, and he had acquired the +reputation among the fishermen of a man who feared nothing. Although +his character was known, he was engaged from force of habit. When one +has to choose among landsmen, one man is as good as another. + +His quarrelsome tongue spared no one. Scarcely had he learned of +Elise’s engagement than he began to trouble the whole village with his +threats. Was it right to allow women to steal men’s work? Theirs would +be strong arms to handle the canvas in the teeth of a squall! And the +night before, in an outburst of drunken speech, he had made threats. +They would see if he would allow his bread to be eaten by this Lison. +He would rather send her head-first overboard. + +[Illustration: THE “BON PÊCHEUR” SPED GAYLY NORTHWARD. + + Chap. 2.] + +As soon as he was awake that morning Silvere had heard these threats, +and, changed as they were in passing from mouth to mouth, they alarmed +him greatly. His character was sweet and thoughtful; he had thus a +tendency to exaggerate the worst side of things, and, lost in fear for +Elise, he had run to the pier, but too late. Then he had thrown himself +into his boat, urging it on in order to overtake the _Bon-Pêcheur_ and +prevent trouble. Like all gentle men, he had over-excited himself that +he might appear more strong. When he saw himself face to face with +Barnabé, he raised his voice, to intimidate him. + +“You were talking of Elise last night. If you dare to trouble her, I +will make an end of you when you return.” + +“Where do you get a right to defend her? Is she your wife? She is not +in love with you, I fancy, you old tub with gaping seams.” + +“I speak, because we are betrothed.” + +“She has promised herself to you, you great snuffer of the moon? She +has, then, a fancy for sallow men only.” + +“Be quiet, great blackguard, or I will take down your conceit.” + +“Don’t try it, I have my stingers to defend me.” + +And Barnabé showed his fists doubled up for attack. Small, but thickset +and muscular in proportion, he squared himself on his short legs +before the tall man who stood before him, taken aback by his uncertain +movements. + +A fight appeared imminent. The deck was nearly deserted, the greater +part of the crew busying themselves in arranging their effects in the +forecastle. Two men stationed in the bow took no notice, busy as they +were in managing the jib, while astern, the sailor at the jigger, +while he handled his sheet, looked on and laughed like an amateur of +fisticuffs. He seemed truly happy at this unexpected exhibition which +was coming off so near him. As to the skipper, not being able to leave +the tiller, he swore and threatened; then, despairing of silencing the +adversaries, he tried to drown their voices, and shouted his orders at +his loudest. + +“Ready to come about. Let go the jib-sheet.” + +And the boat tacked, drawing away at right angles to avoid a perilous +set of the current; but all the same the quarrel continued, more +clamorous and more deafening. + +“Great child of misery, sailor by sufferance, you gape in the seams. +You should be careened and calked.” + +“Wretched landlubber, ship’s cook, you should remain in your pantry. +The fish which has gone ashore is spoiled for the sea.” + +“Speak for yourself, you badly salted codfish.” + +“Wretched worm.” + +In vain the skipper shouted: “Keep away to starboard.” The men no +longer heard him, and the jib, remaining as it was, forced the boat +in an exasperating fashion to port. The skipper broke out in fury, +stamping excitedly, and leaning forward shouted: + +“Enough, Silvere, I cannot steer the boat. We are at the harbor bar.” + +His shouts mingled with those of the sailor astern, who was urging +Barnabé on. + +“Hou! Hou! Little one, take a reef in the big fellow’s sail! He is +going to run. Overhaul him amidships.” + +Barnabé, as if obeying these suggestions, squared himself like an +athlete throwing out his defiance. + +“Come alongside a little, old wreck. Look out for the grapnels.” + +“I am not afraid of you, you are like a fish, strong in the head only.” + +And among these clamors the useless calls of the skipper: + +“Quiet there! Thunder! We are sagging off a point. We shall strike. +Starboard!” + +But his orders did not reach the bow, so thoroughly were they cut off +by the torrent of angry words which came clamoring forth like the noise +of a tempest. And above all this tumult could be heard the voice of the +sailor astern: + +“Hou! Hou! Little one, overhaul the big fellow amidships! He is too +tall-masted, he will be weak in squalls. Capsize him; turn him keel +upward.” + +Barnabé advanced with his fists thrust forward. But in an instant +Silvere’s great hands came down upon him, sent him rolling over and +over even to where the sailor stood, picked him up again like a beaten +dog, and, holding him over the boat’s side, shook him above the yawning +abyss beneath. + +“Let go,” bawled the sailor at the jigger, laughing uproariously; “let +go; he is fat enough to float alone.” + +Silvere still kept shaking him. + +“Barnabé, swear never to do any harm to Elise. Swear, or I will drop +you.” And his two hands tightened their grip. + +Barnabé uttered a cry like that of a wounded beast--a cry which cut +the air with its shrillness. From the forecastle came hurrying all the +sailors, snatched from their work by this despairing appeal. Elise was +foremost. She took in the situation at a glance; rushing to the guards +she caught hold of Barnabé, and with a half turn of her arm threw him +on the deck at the skipper’s feet. + +But at the same instant without a shock, gently, like a porpoise as he +rises, the _Bon-Pêcheur_ lay over on her side. + +“Aground! Thunder!” and the skipper’s shout went like a shiver through +the crew. The pressure of the wind on the sails pressed the keel still +further into the sand. “Let go all!” And in an instant every sail was +flapping, and the _Bon-Pêcheur_ lay still, lying well over, a sight at +once laughable and pitiable, like a stranded whale. + +Then, indeed, there were outbursts of rage on the deck. Silvere and +Barnabé were threatened. Elise was accused. It was her fault. Was not +the skipper forewarned? Women are always the cause of trouble. And +Florimond thought to himself that perhaps the sailors were right. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Then followed a tedious waiting. + +At first thought, the situation did not appear very serious. If the +_Bon-Pêcheur_ could not get off unassisted, she could easily be drawn +into deep water by a few turns of the wheels of a tug. By good fortune +the bar on which she had stranded was so hard that there was no fear of +those shifting sands, which, now washed away, now washed back again, +end by piling themselves up about a boat and holding her fast in their +clutch. + +In still days one could have slept there a year through without running +more danger than in one’s bed; but the Southern sky did not promise +settled weather. There was a look that betokened the presence of wind, +and, if it should rise, it would bring on a heavy swell in a quarter of +an hour, and in that case the _Bon-Pêcheur_ would be rolled about like +a cask. + +Silvere had gone off in his boat, charged to take the necessary steps +to summon a tug from the nearest point possible. It was early morning +when he left. They had watched him until he had reached the wharf, and +then, from the numbers crowded together on the end of the quay, could +tell that the alarm had been given. But now night was approaching. +Time enough had passed to account for any ordinary delays, and the +men of the _Bon-Pêcheur_, standing about on the deck, watched the sea +anxiously. + +Florimond was the most impatient of all. Climbing on the gunwale he +searched the horizon with his glass. Steamers passed and repassed, +staining the sky with their train of smoke, but all held an unchanged +course, far away from the _Bon-Pêcheur_. Not one of them looked like a +tug, with its gray hull and red band. + +At the same time the threatened wind from the south began to rise, and +with it came a heavy and laboring swell. Florimond could not contain +himself longer. He strode from bow to stern, distracted between the +coming danger and the belated succor. + +Seated at the foot of the mast, Elise abandoned herself to melancholy +thoughts. Although in no way responsible for their running aground, she +felt after all an indirect responsibility. It was a wretched beginning +of a sailor’s life for her. + +She had her arm about Firmin and the two, sister and brother, in +their attitude of distress, seemed like shipwrecked mariners. When he +cast his eye on them in his restless walk about the deck, Florimond, +thinking of the sloop perhaps lost, and of the ruin which he laid at +their doors, gave them a surly look of disapprobation. And all the +crew, sharing the skipper’s feeling, contemptuously left them alone. + +Barnabé was triumphant. He went among the men, exciting them against +Elise. Why should they not demand at once that this creature of +ill-luck be put ashore. Her nets should be kept to make good the +injury of which she had been the cause. As he talked, he turned toward +Elise with threatening gestures. + +Firmin could not keep down his anger. He freed himself from his +sister’s arm and advanced, his little fist clenched. + +“Have you not had enough, Barnabé? I will give you as much more as you +wish.” + +But the landsman knew this time that he was backed by the others. He +would risk his revenge. With foot and hand he sent the child reeling +heavily against the bulwark. There was a hard dull thud as he struck. +Elise sprang to her feet, and ran to her brother’s help. It was the +signal for an outburst. The men, mad with anxiety, were by this time +ready for anything. They came headlong at Barnabé’s cry. + +“Let us make an end of this Lison! She eats our bread! She sends her +lover to shipwreck us! Overboard with her!” + +And losing their heads at his outcries, full of desire for vengeance, +without stopping to think, the sailors closed around their victim, each +man involuntarily stretching out his arms to seize her. On her knees, +bent forward, Elise hid her pale face between her arms, while she +covered Firmin with her body. Then she closed her eyes, to escape the +sight at least of death. Her fingers dug themselves into her blouse. +She felt herself dragged, then lifted up and carried along; she had a +feeling of space, a fear of the yawning gulf. Resigned, without hate +and without bitterness, she gave way to her distress and murmured: + +“Farewell, dear Firmin, I am going to our father!” + +Suddenly she felt herself falling. She struck on the boat’s edge, then, +half stunned, fell headlong into the sea. Entangled in the folds of her +oilskin dress, she struck out blindly like a drowning cat. It seemed +to her as if a gulf opened beneath her, and that brutal laughter and +jeering outburst from overhead sought her out and followed her, even +under the wave. Her ears hummed, her eyes opened despairingly, the +water in her throat strangled her. Then, vaguely, came a supreme desire +to live; she was in a last revolt at this wrong of destiny, which +forced her to die before her time, and splashing unconsciously, she +came to the surface again. It was for an instant only, merely time to +draw one more breath of air and life. Then, and this time without hope +and nearly without consciousness, she sank under her own weight. + + * * * * * + +What freshness! what peace! Her temples beat less strongly, and her +chest rose and fell quietly, as her breath came and went. Who, then, +had seized her and snatched her from nothingness? All her senses came +to life again. What was this? Oaths and bad language! _Tonnerre!_ +School of sharks! Pirates! + +She opened her eyes. She was on the deck, and bending over her a young +blond sailor, with eyes like the gray of the skies, and with a pleasant +voice, watched her with a respectful admiration. + +“Mam’selle Elise, it is I, Chrétien; do you recognize me? The rascals +would have drowned you, like a fly in a great cup. I was just in time +to save you.” + +“Sharks! Pirates!” Then Elise saw Florimond, armed with a grapnel, +striking right and left among the sailors. Near her, by the side of the +unconscious Firmin, she discovered Barnabé stretched senseless, his +forehead slashed with blood. + +“Firmin, my child!” + +At that instant, at a sinister whistling in the rigging, there was a +sudden outburst. + +“The wind! It is coming to destroy us!” + +Elise raised herself. Tottering still, she kept her feet by a strong +effort of will. With an uncertain step she reached Firmin, collected +all her energies, and, finding her strength come back as she put it to +the test, raised the boy in her arms and carried him to the forecastle. +There she put him into a bunk, covered him warmly, and tucked him in +well. Then, dripping still, without waiting to put on dry clothes, +without taking breath even, she hurried back, to be ready for anything +in facing this new assault of death. + +A great wave was advancing at frightful speed, threatening to engulf +the sloop under its mass. Its crest, white with spray, was hardly a +hundred fathoms away. The sailors ran to and fro, arms in air like +crazy men, except Florimond, who, counting only on the jigger, held +himself ready. + +“A man to the helm! Keep to starboard!” + +Whoever took the tiller would meet all the force of the wave. What of +that! Elise ran forward. + +“No, not the girl! _Tonnerre!_ She is too weak in the arms.” + +But the wave was now not more than twenty fathoms away. There was no +time for hesitation. Elise stayed at her post. + +“Hold hard! _Tonnerre!_” + +The sailors clung desperately to the ropes. The wave broke over them. + +“Courage, Lison, port, port! _Tonnerre!_” + +With all the strength of her muscles, with all her might and main, +Elise threw her weight on the tiller. The sloop careened in a mad +plunge, as if she was lying down to die. The masts almost touched the +water. Everything rolled about the deck, the flying rigging, the ropes, +and the body of Barnabé. The men were up to their waists in water. +Elise kept her footing. Then a new uproar! Everything again afloat! +The sloop righted, careened, plunged! A blow harder than any yet drove +her forward. As she righted, she lay on an even keel. She was afloat. +“Hoist all sail!” As if giddy with joy, swept onward in safety by the +wind, the _Bon-Pêcheur_ darted forward, forgetting all past dangers. + +Proud of her flowing sail she was off, weathering buoys and beacons, +coming about according to the currents. She had such a frenzy of speed +that she hardly saw the tug, which was soon far astern. It came too +late with its gray hull and red band, and see-sawing on its paddles, +kept on its course to find the wreck that was a wreck no longer. + +And presently, the _Bon-Pêcheur_, having passed all present danger, +ran northward before the wind under full sail. + +Behind her the Bay of Somme was no more than a white speck. The dunes +of St. Quentin and those of Berck melted into a blue line. The heights +of Etaples and the cliffs of Boulogne appeared and disappeared in their +turn, then the sands of Gris-Nez and then--nothing more, nothing but +the sea which, now lighted by the rays of the setting sun, soon grew +dark under the shadows of night. + +When she saw the Channel behind them and danger at end, Elise left the +tiller to return to the forecastle, where she could be with Firmin. The +boy had recovered consciousness. He had no wound. The shock of the blow +alone had upset him. + +If a sailor has a little fever, he is badly off in his close and +ill-ventilated quarters under deck. They are but one great room, +occupied in common. Eating, drinking, and cooking go on there, and +roundabout gape the sleeping bunks. There is no air. Daylight comes +only through the opening to the deck. The hatch serves at once as a +door and a window. When the weather is bad it must be closed, and +nothing can be worse than the air in that confined little place. It is +flavored with fish chowder, soiled clothes, grilled onions, and tobacco +smoke. Seated about on their chests, some of the sailors manage their +potato soup and fish between two whiffs of a pipe, while, in the bunks, +those who have the next watch are sleeping two by two. + +Ordinarily at this time, one hears nothing but the noise of eating +and the snoring of the sleepers. When he is not working the sailor is +little of a talker. But on this night, at each roll, a groan broke the +half silence. It came from Barnabé, who had been picked up half dead, +and put in the last bunk, to get well or die, as his lot might be. + +Never be ill on a fishing-boat. A plank without mattress or coverings +makes a hard bed. Sailors have kind hearts, but it is a matter of pride +with them to appear insensible to suffering of their own or of others. +And for the dolorous moans of a wounded man they have no more ears than +for the lamentations of an old woman. It is a tradition among them that +a man should die without making a noise. + +Elise felt otherwise. She was a woman, and, though fate had made her +take up a man’s work, she was born, like other women, to nurse and to +heal. She was stirred to the bottom of her heart at each wail of the +wounded man, whose condition she could imagine. They had slipped the +unhappy wretch, without giving him further attention, into a bunk in +which ordinarily two men slept together to keep each other warm, and +there he rolled about at the caprice of the waves. The blow of the +grapnel, which the skipper had dealt him, had laid his forehead open, +and the pitching of the sloop kept his wound raw by grinding it against +the plank. + +Twenty times had Elise wished to run to his help, but Firmin’s hand was +in hers, and he held her fast at every attempt. + +“You are not kind, Firmin. I will not be gone long. You are +molly-coddled. You have only to go to sleep. It is Barnabé’s turn to be +helped.” + +“No, he has been too hateful to you. Your helping him will not prevent +his making you wretched.” + +But a rougher blow made the boat shake, and a more heartrending wail +came from the last bunk. Elise freed her hand. + +“Let me go, Firmin, I do not love you when you are selfish.” + +She went directly to the bunk where Barnabé lay groaning. Nothing could +be seen in that dark hole. She called for help. It was Chrétien who +came--Chrétien, the young blond with the pleasant voice. + +“Hurry, Mam’selle Elise. It will be your watch soon, and you have not +slept.” + +“One should think of the sick before one’s self.” + +“If you will let me, I will take your watch. A man runs less risk.” + +“Thanks, Chrétien, I am not afraid of the fatigue, but I will change +my watch with you from necessity. I can be useful here. Bring a light +quickly.” + +Chrétien lighted a candle stuck in the neck of a bottle. By its gleam +Elise made out the wounded man, who was rolling from side to side, his +mouth open, his lips dry. + +Without loss of time she set to work, heart and soul. Going to the +bunk, she mopped up the blood from the boards, and hurried for her bags +and bundles, which she brought to wedge Barnabé in. She improvised +compresses, and made a bandage and put it on. Then she took the largest +bowl, filled it with warm water and rum, and carefully lifted it to +the wounded man’s mouth. At the refreshing odor he opened his eyes, +sought the drink with eager lips and, his thirst quenched, fell back, +throwing at Elise a long look of recognition. + +At the same moment came whistling through the hatch a blast of fresh +air, which whirled about the heavy vapors of the place and, passing +over the candles, put them out, one after another. + +“It is pleasant down here, my lads. On deck a wind to skin the devil.” + +And notwithstanding the darkness, Florimond, from old acquaintance with +the place, went from bunk to bunk to wake the men of the next watch. + +“Come! Time for the relief. It is the others’ turn for the chowder.” + +The men shook themselves and stretched their legs. When they had groped +about and found their oilskin hats, they made their way among the +boxes, and went out through a new inrush of fresh air. + +The others came from the deck to take their places. The hatch was shut +again, the candles lighted, and Florimond, seeing Elise, clapped her +roughly on the shoulder. + +“You are a fine sailor! Without the help of us both, the sloop would +have wallowed like a dead whale. They did not despise you then, those +fellows. It was an ugly moment, all the same.” + +And without further words, happy in the assurance of duty done and a +dinner earned, Florimond sat himself down on the chest by the side of +Elise, the jug of cider between his feet and the foaming bowl on his +knees. Soup tastes better when it has been well earned. + +[Illustration: THE JUG BETWEEN HIS FEET AND THE FOAMING BOWL ON HIS +KNEES. + + Chap. 3.] + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +Everywhere the sea, but not everywhere fish. During the five days +that they had been on the grounds, a hundred land miles north of +Scotland, the _Bon-Pêcheur_ had spread her nets in vain. She had cast +them to right and left, she had followed up boats which were on the +grounds before her, but in whatever place, at whatever depth they +were stretched, they had caught nothing but the worthless white-nose +herring, who travel in small companies. + +It was the black noses that they were after. They are the true +travellers. There are millions in a single school. + +The herring often reveals his presence by his peculiar odor, by his +oily trail, and by his peeping and chirping, for he makes a noise like +that of rain falling on water. The _Bon-Pêcheur_ had neither seen nor +heard anything. + +Florimond was in despair. He kept the men putting out and taking in +the nets without cessation. On a stretch many thousand feet long they +would take nothing but a hundred white noses; those bony troublers +of the nets who were not worth salting. The men became unreasonable, +and showed their disappointment by their negligence and by their +carelessness at work. They wished to go further north. Perhaps the +fish were belated. It would be better to go to meet them than to wait. + +Florimond would not yield. They were in the latitude where the herring +showed themselves every year at this time. They would see them if they +kept a sharp lookout. The men were not convinced, and the longer their +search proved useless, the less hesitation had they in showing their +discontent. + +Elise, on the other hand, displayed great zeal in backing Florimond in +this fight against bad luck. She won in this way the ill-will of the +crew, who accused her, without ceasing, of flattering the skipper and +encouraging him in his obstinacy. First and foremost with her was duty. +She would never allow Firmin to hesitate to obey an order. Often when +she found him dilatory, or kicking at the sailors’ taunts, she would +coax him back to obedience and good humor, two things which a sailor +should never lack. + +When she had a chance, she looked after Barnabé. At first she had taken +the time from sleep to watch him. When she was not free herself, when +she was on duty, she sent Firmin to see if the wounded man needed drink +or to have his wound dressed. + +The lad, less forgetful of injuries, lent himself with a bad grace to +these generous actions. Elise scolded him, and tried to punish him by a +severe look, but she was quickly disarmed before his square face, which +took on a comic pretence of being frightened at her reproof. + +In fact, without Elise, Barnabé would have died of neglect. In his +overworked life the sailor cannot take care of his fellows, since +he has all he can do to find time for eating and sleeping. But as +Florimond said, women know how to spin out the time, and for Elise the +moments seemed to stop short, so much care did she give him and so +heartily. + +Barnabé knew what it cost her, for thanks to her and his strong +constitution he was nearly well. He had not yet been on deck, but was +about the forecastle, which he filled with his sonorous voice. When +his companions came in be seized on them and called them to witness +the merits of Elise. He praised her with the same violence with which +he had slandered her, never failing to exclaim that she was worth the +whole crew, skipper included. He had heard them tell how she had taken +the helm when they were aground, and he did not hesitate to declare to +every one that without her they would have been biting the sands at the +bottom of the sea. + +He said so much and said it so noisily, this brawling Barnabé, that +Florimond became impatient of hearing it, and was offended at seeing +his authority as skipper weighed in the balance against the prestige of +a young girl. They would be saying next that Elise alone had saved the +boat. Child as she was, would she have been able to withstand such a +blow had he not softened the shock by his play of the jigger-sail, at +the risk of being carried away with the canvas? + +He would not acknowledge it to himself, but he was jealous at +witnessing this growing reputation of a stranger on his own boat. He +took care that Elise should not be on duty when there was a chance +for her to show her courage or strength. He affected to consider her a +weak and feeble creature, in order to belittle her in her standing as a +sailor. He spoke to her in a tone of fatherly consideration. + +“You do not sulk over the work, Lise, but you have not strength for it. +It is not to be expected that you should. It would be unreasonable to +demand as much work from you as from the others.” + +“But, Cousin Florimond, do I not work hard enough? I try to let no one +see a difference.” + +“I do not say no, but a strong arm cannot be had by wishing. A woman +has never a man’s strength.” + +Elise revolted against this undeserved censure. She turned pale and the +tears rushed to her eyes, but she held them back that no one might see +her trouble. + +“Do you think I have been a failure through lack of strength, cousin? +What will become of me, if you do not stand my friend?” + +Florimond was a better man than appearances made him out. He had the +highest opinion of Elise, but he did not wish it to be seen by the +crew, and, embarrassed at his own injustice, he broke off his talk +abruptly. + +“Come, Lise! Talking is not everything, we must work. The nets must be +set, it is the slack of the tide.” + +The quarter of an hour of rest which the sea takes at the changing +of the tide comes, in that open sea, two hours after it comes on the +coast. It is the best time for fishing, for there is no movement of +the water, nothing to sweep the fish from the net. + +The almanac announced the slack for that morning at nine o’clock. It +was then six. It was high time to begin their preparations. + +The soundings showed conditions that the herring fancy; forty fathoms +of water over a bed of gravel. The breeze was favorable. Though very +light, it had kept up fairly fresh since the last squall. The sea was +not quite smooth, and yet had not enough swell to trouble the fish. It +was after the full moon and, according to all signs, the fish ought to +swim high. + +Florimond took a sharp look at the weather and, having taken counsel of +his experience, gave out his orders with the full force of his lungs. + +“Come then, my lads, all on deck. Get the floats ready.” + +These floats are barrels to which the net is fastened when it is set. +Around the middle of each are some ten turns of rope of a fathom’s +length each, and this is let out or taken up according as it is desired +that the net shall lie high or low in the sea to intercept the fish. +Overhauling the floats is the first thing to be done. They are brought +from where they are stored, their ropes are arranged at the proper +length, and they are piled up on deck to be at hand the moment they are +needed. + +But one would have said that the skipper had not been heard. Elise +alone stepped forward. All the other hands stayed in the forecastle, +silent and motionless, as if they were obeying a command. + +Nevertheless the hatch was half open, and there was nothing to prevent +his voice reaching those for whom it was meant. Florimond repeated his +order in a rough tone. He was not more successful than before. Then +he ran to the hatch, and with a blow of his foot forced it wide open. +Bending over the gaping hole, and making a trumpet of his two hands, he +shouted with all the strength of his lungs: + +“Do you hear me, deaf ears? All on deck! Get the floats out!” + +His shout resounded menacingly; the boarding of the forecastle +vibrated; but the men did not move. + +“Have a care! I am going for a marline-spike; I will warm your legs, if +you are frozen there! Have a care! _Tonnerre!_” + +Then there was a movement in the place, a noise of words rapidly +interchanged in a low tone, and of steps coming from all sides. One by +one, silently, mechanically, as if moved by the same thought, the men +climbed the hatchway ladder and massed themselves on the deck, firm, +resolute, all crying at the same time: + +“There is no use in fishing here any longer. You are making us lose the +season. We wish to go north.” + +Florimond was not the man to allow himself to be intimidated, young +as he was. He was barely twenty-five, but he overawed them all by his +tall figure and his powerful bearing. He had been a sailor since his +earliest youth. He had a trained eye and sound judgment on everything +connected with the sea. He had the reputation of being one of the best +skippers on their coast, and proud of his standing, no threats could +make him flinch before a sailor. The men knew him well, and knew that +he could hold his own alone against a dozen of them. He looked them +over from head to foot, and said haughtily: + +“You know the orders; get the floats ready. Two fathoms of rope.” + +“No, we will not set the nets, unless further north.” + +“_Tonnerre!_ Get the floats, or I will take you back to port. There you +can explain your reasons to the Commissaire of Marines.” + +The sailors looked at one another. Chrétien, the most timid, began to +hesitate. The others seized him and forced him back into the ranks. + +“We will duck you, if you turn traitor.” + +Elise stepped toward him. + +“Come, Chrétien. A sailor’s ear should hear the captain’s orders.” + +He seemed bewildered. He wavered, and his glance went from his comrades +to Florimond, as if demanding direction or counsel. All at once he +shook his shoulders, stuck out his elbows, and throwing off the hands +that tried to hold him back, ran forward to obey. + +For some time Elise had been looking for Firmin. She saw him at last, +sheltered behind a group of big fellows, and divined by his frowning +brow and his fixed glance that he was in sympathy with the mutinous +steps of his companions. With a bound she was at his side. She took +him by the shoulder and drew him away with a movement of maternal +authority, at the same time vigorous and wheedling. But the little man +was intoxicated by the air of insubordination which was about the deck. +He struggled with all the freedom of his obstinate soul, for he did +not wish any one to think him a coward. When a man is one of a crew he +should share with them all that comes, good and bad alike. + +Elise saw his frowns. And, though he was so amusing, in his +determination to mutiny, she was troubled. She picked him up in her +arms, and, pressing him to her breast to prevent his striking her, +stemmed his cries, as they came from his mouth, with a kiss. Then she +carried him to the very stern of the boat, where Chrétien was waiting. + +“Oh, the traitors!” cried the sailors. + +But, disconcerted by these gaps in their ranks, they broke apart and +grumblingly set to work. + +Florimond instantly recovered his paternal ways. + +“I know that you are more wrinkled outside than in. Your hearts are +good, if your faces are bad. Down with the jib. Furl the jigger-sail.” + +At a stroke, in the bows and at the stern, the sails were reefed to +give room for work. The time had come to get the nets in shape. + +The nets are great strips of meshes fastened together in such a way as +to extend without end. A thick, strong hawser stretches their whole +length, to which they are tied and by which they are lifted. Thus made +fast they drop into the sea like a great partition, or rather like an +open-work barrier across the way, whose meshes are large or small +according to the fish they are intended to catch. They let him pass +half way through, holding him at the swelling of the belly. If he tries +to back out, his scales hold him fast. Try as he may to free himself, +the fish in the net is a prisoner. + +And this wall of netting can be stretched for a league. It is left +in the sea a longer or shorter time, according to the weather. As +the breeze was soft and the sea smooth, the skipper wished to take +advantage of the calm to try every chance. He ordered that all the nets +should be set. It was a fortune which he was trusting to the sea. + +“Come, my lads,” he cried, “this time I have an idea that we shall not +pull them up empty.” + +The day came out warm. At this season, by this hour in the morning, +the sun is already high. Its rays beat as hardly as at noon. A heavy +atmosphere weighed on men and things. The work seemed particularly +fatiguing to the sailors on the _Bon-Pêcheur_. Setting the nets is, +besides, at all times, a long and fatiguing task, which keeps the men +working breathlessly for two hours. The boat moves at the speed of a +knot and a half, and the nets must be all ready to be thrown over as +she goes. + +A part of the crew is stationed at the stern, and each man has his +special task. Three or four of them draw out the nets from where they +are stored, passing them from hand to hand to untangle them, and to +clear, where they occur along their length at short distances, the +cords which fasten them to the hawser. Thus disentangled the nets are +carried to the boatswain, who is the soul of the work. + +He has no time to amuse himself--the boatswain. While the nets are +drawn by him on the right, the hawser, unrolled on his left, is drawn +by a cabin boy, and to this he ties the cords as fast as they appear. + +He is the centre of action. But this day every one seemed lazy. + +Firmin, who handled the hawser, passed it along slowly. Chrétien, who +was boatswain, showed more languor than was natural. He seemed, by the +slowness of his work, to wish to recover the standing which he had lost +among the men, and to please his comrades he assumed their careless +ways. + +Florimond had at first tried to arouse their sleeping energy, but +he ran against a wall of inertia, and seeing that a bad feeling was +springing up, avoided any action which would bring it to a head. He had +resigned himself to see the work badly done, and to say nothing. + +Elise, on the other hand, was consumed with impatience. She was not +one of the first set of workers, and waited on deck for the time to +change shifts. Amid all this bungling it made her especially wretched +to see Firmin act like the rest. In vain did she whisper in his ear +encouragement, reproaches, prayers. She was depressed to find, in the +lad she loved so well, such an obstinate resistance. + +The hawser and the nets were payed out so much more slowly than the +boat sailed, that they were dragged at the risk of tearing them. They, +too, seemed impatient at the men’s slowness. + +Nothing could be more painful to see than this lack of accord between +the sloop and the work. Excited and nervous, Elise could not restrain +herself longer. She ran to Chrétien and pushed him aside. + +“Go! You have no right to set an example of a bad workman.” + +Then she took his place. + +“Come, Firmin, hurry, my little man. Quick, the boat will not wait.” + +And setting vigorously to work, waking up the sailors, she seized the +cords as they flew past, and tied them to the hawser without stopping +an instant. All her figure was alive and in action, as her hands +worked. And the nets now went overboard in keeping with the boat’s +speed. + +Then there was a _furor_ of work on the deck. Everything was forgotten, +the heaviness of the atmosphere, the recent discouragement, the spirit +of insubordination. All were hurrying to and fro in their enthusiasm. +Florimond only had a feeling of bitterness and gloom. He saw that there +was a stronger power than his on the boat. He was now no more than half +skipper. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Two whole hours the men were busily at work rigging the nets. But +finally the last piece of them went overboard, taking with it the last +float. + +The main-sail was taken in, while the little stern-sail was spread to +keep steerage way on the boat. Then the _Bon-Pêcheur_ came into the +wind and let herself be towed by the nets, which drifted gently in the +current. + +Two men were enough to watch the deck, because the fish catch +themselves. The herring do the work, one has only to wait for them. The +sailors sauntered back to the forecastle. It was time to eat and sleep. + +But Florimond could not make up his mind to follow them without giving +a last look to the fleet of casks, which seemed a line of great birds +placed at equal distances like so many scouts. + +All the fortune of the crew floated with the current. What a risk it +was, and, after all, they might catch nothing. Florimond did not feel +quite easy in his mind. Perhaps he had been wrong to be so obstinate. +The herring is like the sardine. It has no fixed habits, it is here +to-day and there to-morrow. Had he been really wise in reckoning on +finding them where he was? But what a knock-down blow to a skipper, +to be obliged to give way to his sailors! He resolved to yield, +nevertheless, if the fish did not put in an appearance at once. + +[Illustration: ALL THE FORTUNE OF THE CREW FLOATED WITH THE CURRENT. + + Chap. 5.] + +Full of disquiet, his frowns showed his internal struggles. As far as +eye could reach he could see neither trace nor sign of fish. Not a +whale, nor one of those voracious birds which follow the herring as +their sure prey. Here and there other boats were fishing in the same +fashion as themselves. They also had selected the same grounds. If he +was deceived, others were also. + +Nevertheless there was a chance that the fish were lying under those +banks of light mist which, here in the North, blot out half the +horizon. Above all things the fishermen hate those heavy fogs which, +caused by the heat, come before the season, causing the loss of many a +small boat and entangling many a net. It is an ugly piece of work to +lift more than two thousand fathoms of nets at such a time. + +In the North the fogs act as if malicious. Florimond, since he could +not see the fish, tried to smell them, and inhaled a long breath. What +was this in the air, this odor bitter-sweet, whose flavor delighted the +nostrils of the man who recognized it? + +A sudden thrill of joy ran through the skipper. In his blue eyes +flashed sudden gleams, and his compressed lips relaxed in a broad +smile. With his two hands he made a telescope to see more clearly, and +to pierce the mist. + +Was it not scattering? The breeze had without doubt become stronger, +and was driving the mist before it like a light smoke. The surface of +the sea was clear. Everything became distinct as he looked--the color +of the sea, the density of the wave. There lay the oily proof of the +herrings’ presence. Florimond could see the thick scum whose brackish +odor he had smelled. Had he not been right? The school of black noses +was here, and this was the right place to spread the nets. + +In two bounds he was at the forecastle hatch, and with all his strength +he made it resound with the joyful shout: + +“All on deck--a herring scum!” + +Filled with delight, and drawn by this cry of victory, the men dropped +their food, rushing and overturning one another at the ladder, and +holding fast with feet, with knees, with hands. All nostrils were +distended, all eyes turned in the direction the skipper pointed. + +“Was I not right, my lads? Here they are, the black noses, always +faithful to their rendezvous. But they are swimming low. It is not hard +to understand why, with the half breeze one makes out below there in +this last quarter of the moon. The nets are not low enough. Let out +three fathoms.” + +The sloop’s boat was instantly dropped into the sea. Four sailors +slipped down a rope into her: two big fellows to row, Chrétien to +steer, an old hand to let out the ropes. + +“Get on board, boy.” It was Firmin they called. He was wanted to aid in +the work, and disappeared over the side in his turn. + +Elise tried to follow him. She slid down the rope but the canoe had +already its full force. One more would have been in the way. + +“Keep back, Lison, you can go next time. Have no fear; we will take +good care of your Firmin.” + +Elise was not at all satisfied. The little fellow was so headstrong +that, when she did not have him at her side, she was like a mother in +distress. Hanging on the rope, she called out: + +“Chrétien, let me take the helm. It will give you time to finish your +meal and to sleep an hour.” + +Too late. The oars cut the water, and they were already at the nearest +cask. Firmin quickly let out three fathoms of rope and then the boat +went on from cask to cask while Elise watched it, as it flew along +lifted softly by the swell. + +She was still clinging to her rope, swinging over the water, and in her +sadness of heart had hardly thought of herself. + +“Lise, what are you after? Do you want to swim along with them? Your +Firmin is lost for a couple of hours only.” + +Then reaching down over the side, hauling at the same time on the rope, +and lifting Elise, Florimond raised the young girl to the deck. Hardly +was she on her feet when she hurried to the gunwale, continuing to +follow the boat with eyes anxious and tender. + +“Eh, Lise, it is not healthy in our trade to have a heart so at the +mercy of the wave. Why do you look in that direction? It is much better +on the other side.” And with his arm stretched toward the North, +Florimond showed her the oily scum which lay thick on the surface of +the water over a space of many miles. + +“What a puddle! Have you ever seen it promise as well?” + +He drew Elise forward where she would catch the wind from the scum, and +wished her to smell the odor. She distended her nostrils in nervous +efforts, as if she was going to inhale all at once these riches which +the sea offered. + +“There is more than one mess of fish there. It is a shame that they lie +so low. They will not travel at all to-day, at least unless they change +their mind after noon. These hunters after adventure are governed only +by whims. I do not know what they have seen to make them lie at the +bottom. See how the birds dive after them.” + +A flight of gray birds specked the sky like a sombre cloud, but to +learn anything from their behavior needed the eye of a sailor, an eye +accustomed to grasp, in all the completeness of detail, things most +distant and most fugitive. + +Florimond had seen clearly these hungry birds, and it was from them +that he knew to what length to drop his net. Flying to a great height +and then closing their wings, they let themselves drop headlong with +all their weight, so as to dive to the bottom of the sea. It is their +fashion of catching the fish when he swims low. + +Elise was not at all interested in their doings. Fixed in one spot she +watched the changes in the horizon, which now appeared as a straight +line, now disappeared softly behind thin and formless vapors. There was +a rapid and continuous play as the wind chased, with all swiftness, the +gray and transparent mist. Then the changing fog formed cliffs, and +all at once, breaking out from the circle which bound it, spread like a +thick white cloud. The breath of the North congealed into a heavy fog +as it left his mighty lungs. + +It seemed like the unfolding of a mighty winding-sheet, ready to bury +under its thick woof the infinite expanse of heaven and sea. As if she +already felt the cold enveloping her, Elise shivered: + +“Quick, Cousin Florimond, quick, quick; see the fog! I will blow the +horn for the boat. How will they be able to find their way back?” + +“They will grope from cask to cask. There are old hands on board; I +have no fear for them.” + +“All the same, I would like better to be with Firmin. I will blow the +horn. I have an idea that he will recognize my voice.” + +While the young girl ran to the forecastle to get the horn Florimond, +half stupefied, watched the approach of this white cloud, which +immediately enveloped, in a mournful silence, the school of herring, +the sea, the boats, and the men. + +The clamorous birds gave hoarse cries as they flew to and fro, but +already the fog hid them from sight. Florimond threw a last glance at +the scum, which was disappearing like a fortune snatched away as soon +as seen. He saw at the same time the neighboring fishing-boats, which +were making haste to take up their nets. Then, close at hand, tacking +about, a _flambart_, which, in its movements to and fro, had less the +air of a regular fisherman than of a coaster pressed into the service. +Decidedly this _flambart_ acted suspiciously. During the last half +hour it had sailed from one boat to another, and had run along the +length of the nets. Its outlines blended into an uncertain mass through +the puffs of fog which commenced to surround it. It seemed to broaden, +to rise in height, to enormously increase in size, and then to vanish +like a phantom of darkness. + +Then the veil of fog reached the _Bon-Pêcheur_, and she was suddenly +enveloped with a white night damp, cold and penetrating. Florimond +stroked his beard, which was already dripping with wet. He breathed +into the dampness to judge of its thickness and resistance, and lowered +his glance in order to see exactly how nearly objects close at hand +were obscured. + +“It is too heavy to last,” he said. “There will be no risk in leaving +the nets in the water.” + +At this moment, from the bow of the sloop was heard a musical note, +a long blast followed by two slower ones. It seemed as if the name +_Bon-Pêcheur_ had been called out in two plaintive words in the midst +of those stifling surroundings. + +Elise was blowing the trumpet with all her might in the direction of +the small boat. And when her breath gave out and she stopped to rest, +she raised her black eyes and tried to pierce the white cloud, in the +hope of being able to discover the dear form for which she was waiting. +Then she listened, motionless, thinking that she heard the noise of the +oars. + +Could they not hear then, the men in the small boat: Firmin, Chrétien, +the two big fellows, and the old sailor? Elise blew again. She put all +her strength into a far-reaching blast. A heavy sound came back. Could +it be an echo from this ocean of fog? It came from another fisherman; +their signals crossed. Could they have out a boat also? + +Then a figure came out of the fog beside Elise, and suddenly, and +almost with rudeness, said: + +“Elise, give me the trumpet. It is not a tool for weak chests. You only +empty your lungs without making your comrades hear.” + +And with a blast that made the deck tremble, Florimond blew into it. +His chest was hollowed in by the effort. One would have said the +winding-sheet of fog was torn asunder. Two other, three other, horns +answered by blasts nearly as sonorous. + +“You can hear more plainly. It is the end of the trouble. Elise, you +will soon see your Firmin again.” + +But the lull was deceptive. Hardly had the fog lifted when it settled +down again, more thick and more damp than before. + +For an hour, while the men in the forecastle took advantage of their +enforced idleness to drink, Florimond made the air resound with his +long blasts, but he only exhausted himself uselessly in these desperate +appeals. The men in the boat, Firmin, Chrétien, the two big fellows, +and the old sailor did not return. Silently, leaning over the gloomy +abyss, Elise looked and listened, listened and looked. Alas! The men in +the canoe did not return. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +The _flambart_ which Florimond had seen to leeward of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ +was not a coaster. It was a boat from some port of Escaut in search of +herring, but it was manned by one of those mongrel crews, who are less +anxious to live by their own work than by stealing. + +The skipper, an old pirate who had sailed to the four quarters of the +world, did not lack boldness nor skill. He had a quick eye, could read +the weather better than any one, and managed his boat with singular +dexterity. No one knew as well as he how to take up his neighbor’s +nets during the night, shake out the sparkling fish into his bins, +and return the nets empty to the sea. When he did not find the fish +sufficient booty, he did not hesitate to keep nets also, from which he +cut off enormous pieces. + +Like the porpoise he was most active in bad weather, and to assist his +thieving, profited by all the treachery of the sea. As soon as he saw +the fog coming, he tacked about in such a fashion that, at the moment +of his disappearance in the mist, he should be lying to at the further +end of the _Bon-Pêcheur’s_ nets. + +At this very moment the small boat came alongside the float next to +the last. The four sailors and the boy had finished their work of +overhauling, without any suspicion of the danger which was coming +down from the north upon them. They had seen the _flambart_ and had +kept an eye on it, without suspecting it of evil intentions. But, the +moment they were imprisoned in the fog, all five of them alike had an +intuition of the truth, and laid their heads together. + +They could no longer make out the smallest object, for everything was +blotted from sight. Their hollow voices took on a strange resonance +in this thick mist, but their eyes and ears became quickly accustomed +to its unreality, and their discussion was as much to the point, as +animated and as terse, as if in full sunlight. + +Was it necessary to remain there on guard against the thief? They would +risk being crushed under the bow of the _flambart_. Delay itself in the +midst of such a fog would be dangerous. The two big fellows opposed +with all their might any such step. They did not own any share in the +nets, but had leased theirs for the season. Consequently, they had less +interest in defending them. + +Chrétien, always good-natured, yielded; but Firmin would not. His nets +and those of his sister were there. He would not allow a single mesh to +be stolen, if he had to mount guard all alone astride of a float. + +The old sailor owned nets, and he, too, held that the boat should +remain on guard. The fog would probably lessen. Fogs like this, at the +end of June, passed in whiffs, like a puff of tobacco smoke. + +All five of them heard the blasts of horns blown to guide them back, +but these notes of alarm reached them from the four quarters of the +horizon. In which direction should they go? By listening intently they +made out in the line of the nets a note far distant and rhythmic; one +would have said that it was the name of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ which the fog +repeated. + +“Turn, Chrétien!” and the big fellows dug their oars into the water. + +“No!” and the old sailor and Firmin clung desperately to the cask. + +Chrétien hesitated between the two, but the calls of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ +became more frequent, more plaintive, more pressing. + +“Chrétien, bring the boat around, or we will strike”; and standing +up the two big fellows lifted their oars ready for a blow. Chrétien, +easily persuaded, shifted the helm. The old sailor let go of the cask, +but Firmin clung tightly and the boat, dragged by one party, held back +by another, oscillated furiously. + +“Let go, boy, do you want to upset us?” + +But the angry boy clung fast. “Let go!” To drag him away they gave a +long pull on the oars. But they were twitched back so vigorously that +the rowers tumbled off their seats. Then, in the confusion, the boat +floated loose. + +“Stop! Misery and bad luck! we have lost the nets. Steer to starboard! +No! Listen! The horn of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ is to larboard. It has a +tender sound; one would believe that Lison was blowing it for her boy. +What do you say, boy, is it your sister who is blowing? What has +become of Firmin? He is gone overboard. _Parbleu!_ It was he who upset +us just now. Poor boy! He was too obstinate. He is drowned, for if he +had been able to cling to the barrel he would have surely heard us.” + +He heard them truly, but he did not answer. It was the caprice of a +child, the whim of an obstinate little mule. + +Let them go, and good luck to them! So much the better if they are +lost. It will punish them for having been cowards. And while the four +sailors lost themselves in the fog he floated astride of his cask, as +serious as a _gendarme_ on his horse. + +They were well advised, those fellows who decided to run away! As if a +man ought to abandon his goods to thieves! It took hard enough work to +earn them in the first place. Elise would be satisfied with him, and +thinking of his sister, Firmin was proud of himself. + +All the same, it was hard work to cling astride his barrel. He had the +air of a toad who slips along a stone too round for him. But when one +makes up one’s mind to do a thing, one can do it. In high spirits he +set himself straight in his saddle, bending backward and forward to +imitate the gallop of a horse. The barrel dipped and rose softly, as if +it were swaying beneath him as it ran. + +“Hoop-la, hoop-la! The beast has blood, he answers to the spur!” + +Two long hours passed, and, lost in this annihilation of everything, +Firmin became weary. He floated dejectedly now with the current, and +watched the sun climb the heavens, marking its position by a shaft of +wan light through the mist. How slowly he climbed, this pale sun! He +was nearly overhead, but his rays had not burned off the thick vapor. +The fog would go only with the day. + +Nothing could be so gloomy as the silence. It was broken only by blasts +of horns at longer and longer intervals, farther and farther away. Once +in a while there was a furtive splashing, a rapid swirl of the water; +it was a passing porpoise, a porpoise good-natured and full of play. He +swam at the very surface of the sea, letting his fin show above it. He +stopped long enough to turn his foolish somersaults and to stare, his +black eyes twinkling with merriment and mischief. But he could not wait +to laugh. He was far away in no time. Not a bird flew near; everything +was in mourning under this winding-sheet of fog. + +Distress and exhaustion came together. In water up to his knees, and +drenched by the mist, Firmin was worn out both in spirit and body. The +white night seemed to penetrate his heart. He looked, he listened: but +there was nothing except this silent whiteness without form and without +limit. His startled eyes looked for dangers which he could not see. He +was frightened at noises which he did not hear. Heedless of the fish, +which began to move as if to announce the end of the fog, he stared +fixedly before him into the silent blank which had swallowed all the +energies of his being. + +[Illustration: THE WHITE NIGHT SEEMED TO PENETRATE HIS HEART. + + Chap. 6.] + +Utterly worn out, his teeth chattering, gasping, he calls Elise, who, +alas, cannot hear him. His clenched fingers dig themselves into the +staves of the barrel. Elise! Why did she not come to the rescue of her +fainting brother? In a convulsion of terror he lost his balance and his +barrel overturned, throwing him into the sea. Elise! Elise! the boy you +love so much is drowning, he cannot hold on longer, he is sinking! + + * * * * * + +Where was he? Roused by an unlucky blow and the noise of splintering +wood, he came to himself under a pile of nets, half suffocated and +nearly drowned beneath the dripping mass. Everything came back to his +mind, but indistinctly. He had fallen from his cask, his strength gone, +all hope abandoned, when the sound of the nets being raised had given +him fresh courage. The hawser had been drawn tight, bringing the nets +right under his hands. He clung to it desperately, he kept fast hold in +its rapid rise, and when he saw the boat at hand, braced himself with +his feet so as not to be crushed or scraped against its side. With the +nets he had fallen on the deck, but then all his strength was gone, and +he did not know even how he had got there. + +Then his brain became clearer. It seemed to him that the fog was less +dense. Through the entangling net-work which surrounded him he saw +figures, but they were not his own countrymen; their hair was too +blond, their eyes too light. Then he remembered the _flambart_ and his +suspicion of her. Strange figures passed him with savage gestures, +armed with gaffs, with capstan-bars, with oars, with grapnels. Where +were they hurrying, and what meant their strange shouts and this +unaccountable outcry? + +In the midst of this uproar in a strange tongue, Firmin heard the sound +of voices which he knew; the sonorous call of Florimond, the hoarse +shouts of the sailors. Then came the noise of grapnels clutching the +bulwarks. + +Then at intervals the clear voice of Elise: + +“This way! Alongside! Cousin Florimond, they have perhaps stolen our +men with our nets.” + +Then a tumult of blows. Under the pile of nets Firmin struggled like a +cat who tries to get out of a snare. He was wild to rejoin Elise, to +share with her the risks of the fight, because he knew that what he +heard was a fight between the sloop and the _flambart_. + + * * * * * + +Florimond had ended by being afraid of this fog which did not disperse +at noon. He knew that sometimes such fogs lasted all day, and that +they were followed by wind. Then, bad luck to nets surprised by heavy +weather at the approach of night. His anxiety for the small boat had +increased also. He supposed it moored to some float, but as it did not +come back he planned to anticipate its return by taking up the nets. +And on the _Bon-Pêcheur_ the capstan smoked, so rapidly did it work. It +turned furiously. The men untied the nets in feverish haste, two taking +the place everywhere of one in the impatience which each felt to save +his share of the nets from an unknown danger. Suddenly the machine gave +a twitch as if the weights which it was raising had doubled. Florimond, +supposing at first that he must be lifting the boat which was fast to +the float, rushed to the bow to shout an alarm through the fog, but he +recoiled in the face of an apparition. + +It was a giant craft whose masts, seen through the mist, appeared to +touch the sky. It had a strange and fantastic appearance, but its +outline soon became clear and distinct to him. The noise of work +was heard, the whirling of another machine, the groaning of another +capstan, the cries of men in Flemish _patois_. It was the _flambart_ +which from the other end was taking up his nets. Pack of pirates!... +_Tonnerre!_ + +They were going to strike bow to bow. With a grinding that made the +boat shiver the hawser parted, lashing the water furiously like the +blow of a whip. The next instant there was a crash as the boats met. +Both bowsprits snapped short off, the bows were staved in, timbers +cracked, every joint creaked. Sloop and _flambart_ cried aloud together +under the violence of the collision. Then locked together, foot to +foot, axe to axe, they fought for the nets. + + * * * * * + +Firmin worked without stopping to get free from his meshy prison. +His fingers were entangled, his legs and arms held fast. The more he +struggled the more firmly he was held in this intricate mass. + +He heard the fight grow more noisy and more bitter, taunts were hurled +back and forth, there was the sounds of blows, the cries of the wounded. + +Death and ill-fortune! Why had he not thought of his knife while he +was working there vainly like a fly in a spider’s net. He was not long +in opening a way, in cutting for himself a door in the thick mass of +cordage. He was on his feet. What light was this? The fog had gone of a +sudden. He saw the _Bon-Pêcheur_. He darted forward. “Elise! Elise!” + +Too late! The two boats had separated. From the bulwarks of the +_flambart_ the grapnels, cut off by hatchets, hung like dead claws, and +the sailors with the blond faces shoved away with oars and gaffs the +sloop which fell off wounded and gasping. + +“Elise! Elise!” Firmin had seen his sister, who stretched out her arms +to him. + +“Jump overboard, child! I will throw a buoy.” + +Without hesitation he sprang on the bulwarks, but rough hands struck +him back harshly to the deck. + +“Elise! Elise!” Too late! The two boats had hoisted their sails and in +the now clear air were under way, without pity for the two beings that +they were tearing asunder. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Sloop and _flambart_ set out each for its own port to repair damages. + +After the collision Florimond had examined into the state of his boat, +and had judged it such as to make speedy repairs a necessity. The +_Bon-Pêcheur_ was injured in her dead works only, but she had lost her +figure-head, carried away by the same blow as the bowsprit, and her +cut-water was stove. Moreover the tearing of her planking to starboard +threatened to let in the water, and with her timbers started in the bow +she could not have borne a heavy head sea. + +Temporary repairs were promptly made. The wound in the planking was +dressed within by a solid facing of board and without was staunched +with a compress. A great piece of sail was smeared with a thick coating +of a waterproof dressing made of tow, tar, and tallow, and this was +then spread like a great plaster over the injured place. + +The cracks in the cut-water disappeared under a sheathing tightly +nailed, and finally the only extra mast which the boat owned, a mizzen +mast, was made to do duty as a bowsprit. It weighed a little heavily on +the bow, already too weak, and made the boat pitch violently, straining +her in her seams. + +There was no doubt that it would have been wise to put into some +Scotch roadstead, but Florimond preferred to run all risks and try to +make his own port. Nothing is more hateful to a sailor than an enforced +stay on land, and a detention of this kind appears to him more annoying +and more irksome than ever in a strange country. + +Florimond, besides, was impatient to begin legal proceedings before the +maritime authorities. He had seen enough of the _flambart_ to enable +him to identify her, and had no need of further evidence to prove his +charges and obtain speedy damages for his injuries. + +He was not troubled at all as to Firmin. Pirates of the North Sea are +pillagers and stealers of nets, but they do not eat men, and if they +kept the boy it was more from a fear of seeing him drown than from a +desire to hurt him. Surprised at being identified in the sudden lifting +of the fog, they would not have wished to add to their misdeeds the +chances of a death which would weigh heavily in the balance with their +judges. + +There remained the canoe. As to this Florimond was more troubled. He +tried in vain to imagine how the four men had become separated from +Firmin, and what direction they had taken. If his sloop had not been +damaged he would have recovered the boy in order to find out; but he +had been too much troubled in the confusion of the unexpected collision +to think of saving anything beyond his crew and his boat. + +The _Bon-Pêcheur_ sailed south, while the _flambart_ fled eastward. +Elise followed with an inert glance the strange craft which was +carrying away the only being for whom she cared to live. Then her first +feeling of stupor gave way, and she regained her self-control. + +The _flambart_ was not yet more than two cable-lengths distant. + +It had not taken the wind, and it would be child’s play to overtake +her. As she watched her, still so close at hand, a distant cry made her +start. Her child, the boy whom she loved, whom she had always loved, +was struggling not to be carried away. + +Stirred in every fibre of her being she drew herself up, resolute and +strong to defend the rights of outraged affection. Running to the helm +where Florimond was, she seized it with her two hands as if to bring +the boat about. + +“Tack, cousin, I must get my boy.” + +“You are a fool, Elise. We shall have heavy enough work as it is, if +the weather does not favor us.” + +“I do not care, I wish my boy.” + +“Then go and get him alone, the boat shall not carry you.” + +“Oh, cousin! I beseech you. It will take less than half an hour.” + +“The wind would not take as much time as that to throw us on our +beam-ends.” + +“Cousin, I promise you to be quick. We need not come alongside, the boy +shall jump overboard. I will make myself fast to a rope and pick him +up.” + +“Elise, be quiet. I have not even five minutes to lose. The slightest +squall would stave in our sides. I shall not have a moment’s peace +until we have reached port.” + +“Cousin Florimond, it is killing me to know that my Firmin is among +those pirates.” + +“Why do you let your imagination run away with you? Do you not know +that they will send him back by the first boat? Is it not the custom?” + +“Cousin, cousin, hurry! The _flambart_ is off.” + +“Elise, let go! I will not risk everything for your wretched brother. +Let go!” + +Elise did not let go of the helm. One would have said that, holding +herself thus fast to the soul of the boat, she imagined that she could +persuade it to stop and act as she wished. + +But Florimond’s patience was exhausted at her persistence. She raised +to him her great black eyes, firm and beseeching, and he was not able +to bear the trouble which he saw in them. + +“Away there! _Tonnerre!_ Away there, Elise! Do you think you are +captain now because the sailors have flattered you in order to annoy +me? Have you ever known me suffer another master than myself on my +boat? Away, there!” + +He raised his voice, that the men of the crew, who pressed around them, +interested in the dispute, could hear clearly. + +There was not one who did not approve the skipper’s prudence. At +the first seam which shows itself in the side of his floating house +the sailor loses confidence, and with that his resolution. When one +has nothing between one’s self and death but a wooden box, it is +especially necessary that there should be no cracks in the planking. +The men remained silent, not able to forget the state of affairs and +to take sides. Nevertheless there was an evident sympathy for Elise, a +frank admiration for her feeling and her bravery. They experienced a +mysterious respect for this creature, so strong in the weakness of her +sex; for this young girl, vigorous and gentle, whose courage was sure +and whose heart was kind. She had shown against danger a resolution +which never failed, against injury a pity which nothing discouraged. +She had won them over by the strength of her heroic youth, and they +gave her their full support and confidence. + +Before her they did not dare to be ill-natured, or to let her see their +rough ways. They were eager to show their skill and courage, to run +without hesitation in heavy weather along the gunwale, to walk erect on +the bowsprit, and to play like monkeys in the rigging. Each showed his +best side and, through the force of example, Elise was the cause of an +increased discipline. + +All this was to Florimond a cause of jealousy and continual +ill-feeling. The more this strange influence on his boat increased the +less was he able to stand it. He suffered from envy and mortification, +and these make even kind hearts unjust. + +In fact he regretted already that he had not managed by prompt action +to rescue Firmin. In his inmost conscience he reproached himself for +his hardness; but, wounded in his vanity, he would rather have died at +the helm than have changed his first refusal, and so have seemed to +yield to the ascendancy of Elise. + +At this moment Barnabé came on deck, hardly yet well, but drawn thither +by the excitement of recent events. He waddled pompously forward. Under +the bandages and rags in which half his head was tied up, his round +nose, his little alert eye, and his black moustache gave him quite a +military swagger. He immediately took a hand in the discussion, with +his customary arrogant tone. He did not know the cause of the dispute, +but he was not accustomed to being embarrassed by any such trifle as +that, and his only thought was to be revenged on Florimond. + +Being the last to arrive he found himself, as he was a short man, out +of sight behind the tall figures of his comrades. He saw that his voice +could not be heard. Jumping upward he caught a rope, climbed it, and +hung fast to it like a cat, and then, as much at his ease as an orator +in his pulpit, delivered his harangue. He spoke as brawlers everywhere +do, for the pleasure of hearing his own voice, and without realizing +that, in these first moments of uneasiness, his audience did not care +in the least for his twaddle. + +“Hold your tongue, Barnabé,” cried the skipper. “We don’t want to hear +you; one has better things to do than to listen to the squalling of a +fool, when one fears a storm.” + +“Does the truth then trouble you? If you wish to injure Lison, it is +because you are jealous. She is worth more than you.” + +This apostrophe had no connection with the subject of debate, but it +agreed very well with the real feeling of the sailors. They all smiled +grimly as they looked at Florimond, who turned the tables by saying: + +“There is no time for laughing, pack of simpletons. Do you remember +that our bow is as cracked as Barnabé’s head?” + +With the weak vacillation of the ignorant they lost their smiles +instantly, but the landsman was not vanquished: + +“If Lison had had charge of the boat, it would not have been injured.” + +“Be quiet, Barnabé,” cried Elise, “we are wasting valuable time in +foolish talk. My brother Firmin is carried off on the _flambart_. I +want to go after him.” + +“Of course! We must tack,” shouted Barnabé. + +He waited for the effect of this demand. But the sailors did not move, +held back this time by the fury of the skipper, who cried in a rage: + +“Hold your tongue! Do you wish the boat to be lost on account of this +wretched girl? Is it not enough that we have lost our season through +her? Since she has been on board we have had nothing but bad luck.” + +He pushed Elise roughly from the helm. Overcome by the cruelty of fate +she burst into a torrent of tears. From her black eyes, swimming in +sadness, the bitter drops gushed hot and tumultuous, as though the +source of bitterness and woe was inexhaustible. Her chest heaved under +her distressing sobs, and a feeling of rude sadness, of instinctive +pity seized all the men at the sight of her grief and misery. + +“Shall we abandon her in her trouble?” shouted Barnabé. “We must tack! +It is only cowards who make women weep. Come on! Seize the tiller!” + +The group of sailors was stirred by an involuntary thrill. Florimond +feared the unchaining of the tempest, if he were not firm. With his +strong hand he snatched the tiller from its socket, and raised it with +all the strength of his mighty arm. + +“_Tonnerre!_ Here it is! Who wants the tiller? who wants it?” + +He made it whirl about him threateningly. All the men recoiled +instinctively, and slipping down his rope Barnabé cunningly took +shelter behind his companions. + +“Who wants it? _Tonnerre!_” + +No one, evidently, was anxious for it, for no man moved. + +At this moment the sloop gave a plaintive groan, a yawning of her +plastered seams. + +“Do you hear how she wheezes in the chest? She breathes hard. Hoist the +top-sail!” + +It was done. When she saw the sloop with all sails spread, Elise felt +that her last hope was gone. Quickly, through the veil of her tears, +she turned her eyes toward the _flambart,_ which was disappearing on +the eastern horizon, and, with lacerated feelings and bleeding heart, +abandoned herself to the depths of her sorrow. + + * * * * * + +For four days and four nights the _Bon-Pêcheur_ ran at the same speed +without shifting a sail. In one straight flight she passed through the +North Sea, entered the straits of Calais, and found herself again in +the familiar waters of the English Channel. + +But with her change of sea, she had a change of wind. These sudden +changes are very common in these waters. One would have said that the +breeze was angry at the impatience of the _Bon-Pêcheur_, and that it +changed in order to hinder her presumptuous flight. + +If she could only get under way! For an hour her large hull had ceased +to slip proudly through the waves, and was tossing a little heavily. +There was a risk of opening her wound. If she could only get under +way! Yonder in the wind’s eye, a squall was brewing. In advance of the +great clouds, which rolled in gray whirls, rose a broad band of sombre +yellow, like a cliff of wind and rain. They are not at all pleasant to +meet, these briny coast squalls, behind each one of which hide twenty +others, ready to follow in wild, endless uproar. + +The band of yellow spread. It covered half the sky, and its outlines +reached the zenith. It drew near, driven by a furious wind, and borne +on a rushing wave, like a moving wall of water, ready to crash down. In +a quarter of an hour it covered the whole heavens, while before it ran +three waves, avant-couriers, who preceded it for some minutes, as if to +announce the tempest. + +If the _Bon-Pêcheur_ had only not lost so much time. It had hardly +taken in any sail, it was as full of bravado as if it wished to meet +the squall, and be driven along by it. It was approaching its port. +Already had it passed the sands of Gris-Nez and the chalky rocks of +Boulogne, it had seen again the light-house of Etaples, it had heard +the buoy which whistles on the shoals of Berck, and the buoy of the +Vergoyer. There the sea is the shallowest in those waters. The bottom +lies little over twenty feet below the surface. The surf foams and +breaks as strongly as on the coast. It is heavy enough to capsize any +boat. + +It was toward this spot that the north-east wind, which had held for +the last hour, was blowing. If it should suddenly get the _Bon-Pêcheur_ +in its clutch, it would drive her to this Vergoyer, whence escape was +impossible. Never can it be known how many men and boats have been +engulfed by these eddies, hardly three thousand feet wide. At its very +name Elise had a shiver of fright. For it was this accursed Vergoyer +which had made her an orphan, and which still kept jealously the bodies +of her father and his six companions, refusing to deliver them up to +the land they loved so well. + +Florimond was at the helm. For four days he had hardly left it. Less +than ever in the hour of peril would he entrust to other hands the +fortunes of his boat. With his steady eye, and that skill in handling +her which never forsook him, he had fought the _Bon-Pêcheur_ against +the treacherous sea; refusing all rest, having his meals brought to +him, and eating with one hand while he steered with the other. In this +half week he had not slept five hours. His cheeks were burning with +fever, and his clear eyes were dimmed and seemed sunk deep into his +head. + +It was because he knew and feared this sea, which was so quickly angry; +this sea which supports life, but which also destroys it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +Florimond’s only hope was that the storm would be slight, for +sometimes, threatening as they seem, these squalls have little force, +and are soon over. He awaited impatiently the three waves which +preceded it, in order to judge of the strength of those in their wake. + +These three waves are often followed by a lull. There is generally a +space of five minutes between the first alarm and the arrival of the +wind; five minutes, which a good sailor utilizes in getting his ship +ready to meet it. + +What should he do? Should he keep the wind astern and run before it +with all speed in the direction of his harbor? It was a hundred chances +to one that he would strike on the Vergoyer. + +Was there any other means of safety that he could try? Should he close +reef her? Was not that still more risky? + +When a boat is close reefed, she renders the tempest harmless by +offering it no resistance. The sea has a malicious pleasure in hurling +masses of water against an object which opposes it. So the boat uses a +kind of strategy. She appears to be at the mercy of the waves, but all +the while keeps a sharp watch against the rude play of her adversary. +All sail is struck, so as to give the wind no hold except on the hull, +and as the boat drifts, she forms with her hull a large wake, flat and +solid, which resists the violence of the waves, stops them, and knocks +them down, so that they die out on it. + +The _Bon-Pêcheur_ was an old hand at this kind of work, and expert +at it. It is usually so with good sailors; so that had she not been +injured, Florimond would not have dreaded the squall in the least. He +would have let his boat drift, and would have brought up at Treport or +perhaps at Dieppe; but she was injured in precisely the parts which +would be most under strain. + +Only two sails are used; in the bow the stay-sail, and in the stern +a little leg-of-mutton, which takes the place of the jigger-sail. In +this way the two ends of the boat, which alone carry sail, feel the +force of the wind. Consequently they must be very strong. Would the +_Bon-Pêcheur_, wounded as she was, have strength to resist such a +strain? + +It seemed then to Florimond that to drift would end almost certainly in +the boat’s breaking up. He was still hesitating when the three waves +arrived, foaming and roaring, and swept the deck from end to end. + +In order to withstand the shock, which he foresaw was to be tremendous, +he had braced himself, with legs far apart; but the first sea lifted +him off his feet, picked him up, shook him, knocked him senseless, +and rolled him over and over, leaving him unconscious on the deck. +The second wave would have carried him overboard, had not two sailors +seized him just in time, and dropped him into a place of safety, +through the open hatch by the capstan. + + * * * * * + +The three waves swept by in a fury of foam, showing that the wind was +to be tremendous. They must act or die. + +Who should take the helm? + +“Lison--Lison!” + +As with one voice the sailors called for the girl, showing +involuntarily how they depended on her for their lives. It was a +perilous honor which they forced upon her. + +Injured in her dead works already, and full of water, the sloop +quivered under the blows of the waves, while at this very moment she +was close to the dangers of the shoals, with their shifting currents of +eddying sand. + +Elise did not hesitate. In her instinctive terror of the Vergoyer, she +had but one thought--that was to fly from it, to shun, cost what it +might, the place to which the wind was furiously hurrying them. Had +it not already had enough victims, this gulf of the dead, that one +should offer one’s self as a fresh sacrifice, with the certainty of not +escaping? + +Elise, by close reefing the boat, hoped to reach the pier at Treport. +There was on the coast to the south-west a bad channel to pass through, +down toward the black buoy, but they would do their best when they came +to it. Between two dangerous courses ought not one to choose the less? + +Without hesitation, without even surprise at their choosing her, she +ran to the helm and quickly made herself fast to the end of a rope, +so as not to be swept over by the enormous seas that were to come. She +gave out her orders: + +“Furl the jib and the main-sail! Rig the leg-of-mutton!” + +She ordered ropes stretched at once from the mast to the gunwale, for +the men to hold to. She assigned them their posts. Four sailors to the +pumps, two to the lookout on the bow. Everything was ready when the +first blast came, with furious waves heaped up on one another, as if +to drown them under the deluge of foam and spray. The deck was under +water from one end to the other. Quantities of it ran into the open +hatchways. How had it happened that they could have forgotten to shut +these mouths of the ship? Through them she was drinking enough water to +sink her. + +“Close the hatches! Nail them fast!” The covers were clapped on, and, +in order that they should not yield to a sudden strain and open of +themselves, were made secure by heavy blows of hammer and nails. + +It was time. Great sweeping seas came aboard. Furious at finding the +hatches closed, they crashed against the bulwarks, and ran off slowly +through the scuppers. + +All was ready. Heaven help them! Elise stood erect, conscious of her +responsibility. Near her a sailor called out when the heaviest seas +were going to break. She turned her back to them, bracing herself +firmly, disappearing in the whirls of foam, but always reappearing on +her feet, energetic and unconquerable. + +Soon the blasts of the tempest were in mad chase, as if striving to see +which could lash the hardest and most furiously. + +With quivering plunges, with creakings and strainings, the +_Bon-Pêcheur_ fell away across the shoals. Sometimes the waves were +swifter than she, and swept by her; then, striking her on the stern, +they drove her violently forward. Her bow groaned dolorously, the pumps +clanked unceasingly, while the lookout shouted: + +“To larboard a bell buoy!” + +It was the buoy anchored on the shoals of Somme. + +“To starboard a black buoy!” + +The _Bon-Pêcheur_ entered the channel. This was a perilous spot, but +Elise did not fear it any more than the shoal the bell buoy marked. +Through these waters, so treacherous on account of their shifting +sands, she had sailed with her father often enough to know all the +dangers, and to shun them with the confidence of an old pilot. + +Immovable and firm, she managed the helm rather with her nerves than +with her muscles. Heavy as it seemed for her, she held it against the +seas, and by a continual go and come of the tiller forced the boat’s +head in such a way as to spare the bow, making the stern bear the +brunt of the shocks. Now stumblingly, now with a rush forward, the +_Bon-Pêcheur_ went on her crooked course, and buoys and beacons went by +her as fast as if they were themselves running in an opposite direction. + +[Illustration: NEAR HER, A SAILOR CALLED OUT WHEN THE HEAVIEST SEAS +WERE GOING TO BREAK. + + Chap. 8.] + +Hurrah! They see at last the light-house of Treport, which yonder to +leeward stands out clear above the sombre cliffs, white as the emblem +of hope. Courage! the wave is heavy, but the danger of the shoals is +over. Before a half hour the _Bon-Pêcheur_ will be at the pier. + +Alas, the wind stiffens! The heavens are black, the sea is black, the +foam alone is white. The waves strike her more furiously. One of them, +angry and irresistible, has nearly engulfed her in its whirling mass. +She is entirely lost to sight. For twenty seconds there is no sign of +her. Then she shakes herself free, but with a fresh rent in her bow. A +little more, and she would have gone down forever. Heaven help them! + +“Turn out a reef of the main-sail, two reefs of the jib!” + +What are you thinking of, Elise! more sail to a wind so furious that +it already nearly tears away the little that the boat is carrying. The +_Bon-Pêcheur_ flies like a bird of the tempest. In less than a quarter +of an hour she is just under the light-house. Courage! Alas! The +cut-water opens, and the bow settles, until the deck is on a level with +the sea. Are they to go down so near port? Heaven help them! + +“Hoist the jib and the stay-sail!” + +More sail still? It seems madness. The jib is hardly hoisted before it +is torn away, dragging with it the makeshift bowsprit. + +Its rags and the timber thrash about, threatening to destroy +everything. Death and misery! The _Bon-Pêcheur_ digs her nose under +water. + +“Hoist the main-sail!” + +It is a fearful task. Heaven help them! But while the boat floats there +is hope. The sailors watch for a lull in the wind, and suddenly the +sail hangs out in the teeth of the gale. The bow is full of water, but +lifted by the pressure of the wind against the sail it rises again. + +Courage! The light-house is close at hand. How the boat rolls and +pitches! But now the _Bon-Pêcheur_ is not making headway. She lies low +in the water, plunging heavily. She is like a wounded sea-gull beating +with its wings in its last agonizing flight. + +The mast cracks as if it would break. The sail is bellied out by the +wind, but her hull is such a dead weight that she hardly moves. + +“Hoist the top-sails! Heaven help us!” + +Courage! The boat is under way again! The light-house is not more than +twenty fathoms distant, but at the harbor mouth there is a frightful +chopping sea. + +Courage! Misery! The mast goes by the board. + +“Cut her free!” The hatchets work busily. The mast and the sail drop +into the sea. The boat rises lightly. She still floats. + +Tossed from crest to crest, helpless now, she pitches and rolls +fearfully. On the pier there is a frightful clamor. Hoo-o-o! Hoo-oo-oo! + +The _Bon-Pêcheur_ whirls about aimlessly. + +A wave strikes her on the side and drives her into the harbor. Courage! +Misery! She will come to grief against the pier! No! With an effort +which drives all the blood to her heart, Elise gives a mighty shift +to the helm. The _Bon-Pêcheur_ lies over, her keel almost in air. +Hoo-oo-oo! She has gone down in the yawning gulf. No! She rolls back. +Is it for the last time? No! The helm brings her up. Ropes are thrown +and seized. Two hundred hands make her fast. + +“Furl all sail!” The only sail left, the little leg-of-mutton in the +stern, is taken in. + +And they are in port! Hurrah! Elise, your sloop and your men are safe! + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Florimond accused Elise of meanness and treachery, and declared that he +would never forgive her. + +When she had ordered the hatches closed, her order had been carried out +so quickly that they had forgotten him, as he lay unconscious under the +capstan hatch, and had nailed him in like a package in a box. + +Shaken by the rolling and pounded by the pitching, he had come to +himself, and had cried aloud, but his calls were lost in the noise of +the storm. Too impatient to wait quietly for the help which they seemed +to refuse him, he had seized the machinist’s tools and pried with all +his force on the cover. Not being able to lift it he tried to smash it, +this trap which weighed him down like a cover on a coffin. He rained +a volley of blows upon it. Could it be that they did not hear him? If +they kept him a prisoner in this way, it was because he was betrayed. + +Then he took fresh courage and shouted until he was breathless, but +still the trap was not raised. + +Then he understood. It was to destroy him that they shut him up, to +wipe out with his death all evidence of their insubordination. In case +the boat was lost they would not let him have a chance for life, as +he would have had if free. He would go to the bottom with the boat +without being able to struggle even, drowned stupidly like a rat in a +pantry. And believing that the others, busy above, were rejoicing at +his approaching end he pounded, pounded, without stopping. + +He heard every quiver of the boat, and listened anxiously to its groans +and wails of agony. He heard the waves beating her sides, as if to +stave them in. One after another he felt the blows strike the hull, +which trembled to its keel. + +_Tonnerre!_ To die shut up, living, in his tomb! + +And all on account of this Lison, this girl whom he had taken because +she was dying of hunger. He was well recompensed. She was a fraud, a +traitress, like all the rest of her kind. It was she who had brought +him bad luck. + +He had refused to go after Firmin, an idiot who was not worth the +danger one would have run for him. Now she was being revenged, this +Lison. She had bewitched the crew; she was captain on deck, while he, +the true captain, was thrown into the hold like the commonest sailor. + +Then, as his jealous fancies grew, Florimond became mad with anger. His +breath came hurriedly, he dug his nails into his breast, he was burning +with rage. + +He threw himself against the cover. If he could but break it loose, so +as to open a passage and reappear in the midst of these miserable dogs, +how he would lash them as they deserved. He would show them what they +gained in taking a new captain--this Lison who brought trouble and +bad luck. She had caused a mutiny, without doubt that she might seize +the helm and declare on their return, with the crew to back her, that +she knew how to manage a boat as well as a captain. It is death to a +boat to have a woman aboard. If only before he went down he could hold +her five minutes between his fingers, and drag her strangling in the +gulf with him. _Tonnerre!_ In his rage for vengeance he tried to lift +with his shoulders the covering of his prison, and wore himself out +in useless efforts. He was lying flat on his back, exhausted by his +unsatisfied hatred, when he heard the hatch open. + +Hardly had she seen the sloop firmly tied to the quay than Elise +remembered Florimond. Was it possible that, in the midst of the +confusion of the squall, the captain had been forgotten? If they had +gone down he would have drowned without having a chance to fight for +life, or to ever see again the sky above him. + +Elise gave orders at once, and to hurry their execution took a hand +herself. In an instant she had seized a lever and ripped off the cover; +then, dropping on her knees, in order to see and to speak more clearly: + +“Cousin Florimond, we are in port--all safe!” + +There was no answer. + +“You frighten me, Cousin Florimond. Are you injured?” and bending +over him she felt his forehead and hands. She started back suddenly, +frightened and shivering. He had risen to his feet, his wide-open +eyes had a strange glare, his raised finger threatened her. His head +touched the ceiling, his face seemed strangely pale in the deep shadow. +Elise was so frightened that she threw herself behind the machine, +hardly daring to raise her eyes, and trembling as if before a judge. + +“Listen, Cousin Florimond, the men sent me to the helm. I was busy with +the boat. It is true that I ought to have thought of you.” + +She waited for his response. Even though it should be hard and unjust, +yet if he would only speak, she could at least be able to tell how +angry he was by his voice. + +“Cousin Florimond, answer me! Do you not forgive me? It was not my +fault that they made me take the helm in your place. My body is as +wounded as my feelings. Do not torture me any more. Answer me, Cousin +Florimond.” + +His lips did not move, but his wide-open eyes glared, as if to chastise +the frightened soul who trembled under their menace. + +“Mercy, Cousin Florimond; will you break my heart, because I forgot +you in the midst of such danger? It all came about from closing the +hatches. I ordered it done just as you would have yourself.” + +Rigid as his own spectre, Florimond appeared terrible in his immobility. + +“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!” + +And poor Elise, overcome, fell on her knees, her face hidden between +her two hands. + +“Bad luck! _Tonnerre!_ Bewitcher of sailors! You made them nail me +in the hold, so that you would be free to take my place. It is your +turn to be locked up. You will stay here until the arrival of the +commissaire; then you can tell your story to the police, you thief!” + +At this sudden accusation, Elise rose to her feet. She was reassured +by his outburst of noisy rage. “I have stolen nothing. It was your own +sailors who put me in your place. It was not my fault. You were knocked +senseless, Cousin Florimond.” + +“Be quiet, traitress and----” + +He stopped suddenly, interrupted by a call which made him start. +“Hello, captain”; he recognized the voice immediately. It was that of +the official inspector. Turning to go on deck, he said in a low tone to +Elise, “I am going to tell him of your doings.” + +“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!” + +“Be quiet, traitress, thief!” + +Leaving her frightened and in tears, he was quickly on deck. The +under-commissaire of marines awaited him, very magnificent and +dignified, in his tightly buttoned overcoat and his silver-laced hat. +He had seen the dramatic entrance of this strange boat into his port, +and came more from curiosity than from the demands of the service. When +he first stepped aboard he had asked for the captain, and thus had +recalled him to the recollection of the sailors. + +Busy as they were in unloading the nets in order to free the hull, +or working the pumps, the men had not given a thought to Florimond. +Besides, their minds were so full of Elise, and of her courage and +skill in handling the boat, that unconsciously they had forgotten the +real captain. + +The officer had surprised them by his unexpected demand. They brought +him to the capstan hatch, and hearing Florimond’s angry voice they had +spoken loudly, so as not to allow it to come to the ears of authority. + +As a rule, sailors are not happy to find themselves face to face with +a maritime officer. They have always some little fault in mind. The +fishing laws are severe, and if they cannot hoodwink the police, they +are likely to lose all their profits in fines and penalties. + +Florimond had no fancy for this class of visitors any more than his +men, and he, too, had upon his conscience certain small sins. In +engaging a woman he had not gone contrary to the law, which allowed +captains perfect liberty in the choice of their crew. But in the fear +of being refused a clearance, he had, when he had showed his list, put +Elise down as a man. On this point, therefore, he was not entirely at +ease. + +On another score also he was troubled. He admitted to himself that +the blow with which he had laid open Barnabé’s head might cause an +inquiry to lie against him for abuse of power. And in the uninterrupted +succession of conflicts and misadventures which had assailed him since +his departure, he could not clearly distinguish on whose side was the +right or wrong. + +In spite of his threats to Elise, therefore, he prudently kept silence +about her, and told only of the two things absolutely necessary--the +disappearance of the small boat, and the theft of the nets. He made +hardly any allusion at all to Firmin’s being carried off--a boy without +relatives--he stopped short. From the capstan hatch came a burst of +sobs. + +“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!” + +He went on in a louder tone--“a little deserter who got on to the +_flambart_ in order to seek adventures----” + +“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!” + +“A young sea vermin who overturned discipline, who----” + +The commissaire stopped Florimond with a cynical gesture. + +“You are too excited, captain! I suspect there is something hidden +behind all this. I will make an inquiry about this little fellow.” And +he clambered back upon the quay, where were piled up all that they had +saved of nets, floats, and rigging. He verified the importance of the +theft, examined the parted hawser and the torn nets, then he summoned +all the sailors for an inquiry. + +All answered alike, as if inspired by the captain. There had been no +trouble on the _Bon-Pêcheur_. Nevertheless Barnabé appeared otherwise +disposed. When he saw his turn for speaking come, he squared himself +proudly and tossed his head, in order to attract attention to his +bandages and wounds. + +Florimond saw him. He knew that he would not keep quiet before the +police, and that they would get from him enough to make them all +trouble. He was thoroughly afraid of some foolish indiscretion. One +gains only harm when one meddles with the law. He placed himself +directly before the landsman, and, raising his great figure to its full +height, seemed to make that of Barnabé all the smaller. He attracted +his attention by a light whistle, and frowned threateningly at him. + +Barnabé dropped his head. From that instant he was docile. He had in +mind the lesson which he had received with the blow. One would have +said that he had been injured permanently in his brain, and that the +presence of the captain was enough to paralyze it. But as he lowered +his tone at the dictation of his master, he was rated at his true value +by his comrades. He, no more than the others, had complaints to make, +and the inquiry ended without results. + +The sailors had not allowed the commissaire to perceive the presence +of Elise, but hardly had they seen him depart than they ran toward the +capstan hatch. + +“On deck, Lison! The penalty merchant is gone back to his shop.” + +Florimond instantly interposed. + +“Away there all! Let her cry her eyes out. The first man who defends +her I will twist up like a knot in a sheet!” + +The men drew aside like cowards, and that was the end. + +The necessary steps at the maritime bureau, and the necessary work to +get the _Bon-Pêcheur_ to the ship-yard, took four long days. During all +this time Florimond nursed his anger. He knew now, how Elise had saved +the _Bon-Pêcheur_, and what a debt he had involuntarily contracted to +her. The thought tortured him. He almost certainly would not have run +the risks she had. He would never have dared to drift for four hours +with open seams in such a storm. He would have run before the wind, he +would have fallen into the eddies of the Vergoyer, and without doubt he +would have met death there. + +He had burnings in his stomach, and rushes of blood to the head. Oh, +this Lison! He owed her not only his boat--he owed her his life. He +would rather have perished. He would not then have had such a gnawing +at the heart. + +Could it be that his luck had turned? Never had such a chapter of +accidents come to a good skipper. What would they say at home; that he +was too proud, and that it served him right? He had always been the +first to return without a man lost, his bins full; and now to-morrow +he must appear, his boat injured, his nets gone, four men lost, too, +and not the tail of a fish. Would any one believe that it was not his +fault? It is hard lines for a skipper to have to own defeat. + +In fifteen days he had three times just escaped with his life. He had +been close to death, close to ruin! He would no longer be the foremost +skipper of that coast. A young girl had stolen his glory from him. He +could hear even now all these sailors singing the praises of this Lison +in the taverns at home. What would they say of him? He would like to +take a turn of a rope around their evil tongues. + +In fact, he could no longer stand the sight of Elise, and turned away +wretched at hearing even her name. He kept her away from the work, and +was out of patience that she must stay two days more on board. He would +have sent her home with half the crew, but he was afraid that, before +his return, the sailors’ tongues would have already been at work, +building up Elise’s fame on the ruins of his own. + +And only when all was ready, the nets and provisions stored, the sloop +careened in the ship-yard on the beach, and the farewells exchanged, +did Florimond take the homeward route with his companions. + + * * * * * + +What a sorrowful return it was! They walked with lowered heads, their +old knitted jerseys tucked into the bands of their trousers. They were +barefoot, with their kits on their backs, their shoes knocking together +beneath them. Sailors do not use up good shoes on bad country roads. +Accustomed to the smooth deck, and made tender by being perpetually +wet, their feet do not take kindly to these stony ways. They trotted +and limped like a company in full rout. A melancholy return! + +They mounted the rough path to the cliffs. When they were on their +summits, they went, for two hours, now down, now up, across the +valleys, along the path of the coast guards, close to the sea. The sky +was clear. Under the cheerful light their unhappy condition seemed even +more sad. + +First came Elise, the least bent, the least overcome. Her glances +searched the horizon without ceasing, as if in a last hope. One would +have said that she expected to see the boat which had carried off +Firmin come sweeping before the breeze. Her thoughts wandered away, +dreamy and tender, toward the boy whom she could not forget. + +Next came the men, bent like beasts of burden, their eyes fixed on the +ground. + +Last of all came the captain, more despondent, more stricken than the +others, his large back bent, not under the weight of his kit--he would +not have minded ten times as much; the burden which weighed him down +was one which his strong shoulders had not felt before. Defeat was +a heavy load for him. Until to-day, he had laughed at bad luck, had +hardly pitied those whose lives he had seen shipwrecked. Oh, this Lison! + +[Illustration: A SAD RETURN. + + Chap. 9.] + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +The sky seemed to mock them. Swept by the winds, it was of a limpid +blue, that deep summer blue which is mirrored back on the surface of +the sea. + +Two leagues on their way the sailors came in sight of a village. From +the height where they were they could see it beneath them, nestling in +a hollow of the cliff. It was a coast village, without harbor or boats. +The houses were clustered together, half-hidden by tender foliage. +Here, at least, one should be happy. The fishers earned their living +from the beach, without fear of tempests, and this peaceful nook at +this early morning hour, sparkling in the sunlight, seemed so cheerful +that the men stopped, moved by a vague longing for comfort and rest. + +They were trying to pick out the tavern, when Florimond overtook them. +He was in no mood to enjoy seeing others happy, and his ill-humor awoke +at the sight of the peaceful picture below them. + +“No, truly, we will not let them see our wretchedness. We can avoid +the village by turning off through the fields. These landlubbers, who +stuff themselves until they fall asleep, would be only too happy to see +a procession of shipwrecked mariners. People who are fortunate love to +make merry over the troubles of others. Go on, my lads--starboard.” + +The men did not agree with him. When they left the boat they became +their own masters again, and proposed to make use of their liberty. A +sailor ashore has no captain but his own inclination. + +Barnabé spoke up: + +“Are these landlubbers going to prevent our having a drink?” + +And they all began the descent. + +“You pack of dry gullets,” cried Florimond; “may you be soaked with +water like an old swab!” + +Then in a rage, he turned toward the fields. + +Elise could not resist a feeling of pity to see him set off deserted +by them all. Frank and tender-hearted, she was wretched at the sight +of this strong man so upset by ill-fortune; this captain, so proud and +confident in his warfare with the sea, so pitiable in his trouble. She +suffered from his unjust suspicions, but in spite of all, she was not +able to repress the impulses of her generous nature. Involuntarily, in +an outburst of sympathy, she went to him. + +“Cousin Florimond, let me go with you. You will not be so lonely if we +are together!” + +“Get away, traitress, get away.” + +He could not utter another word. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips +stammered out weak abuse. He raised his hand high above his head, then +let it fall against his side, and turning, hurried away through the +bright sunshine. + +“You are unjust to me, Cousin Florimond.” + +Elise dropped down on the bank by the roadside. For some minutes she +watched his disappearing figure. She admired him so much that in her +inmost heart she forgave him. + +She laid her kit beside her, and leaned on her elbow, resting her head +on her hand. Her thoughts were sad. But presently her eye turned toward +the deep blue sky overhead, where the white clouds were sailing, then +to the north, where the cliffs fell away and the dunes began, then to +the horizon, where the Bay of Somme indented the sandy coast. She rose +to her feet. Down yonder, beyond the dark mass of St. Valery, on the +other side of the white line which marked the bay, she might perhaps be +able to make out the steeple of Crotoy, with its fortress-like tower. +No. In this strong sunlight everything was blurred. Through the warm, +palpitating air, even objects best known and most loved were indistinct. + +But, as if it were before her, she saw in her own mind her native +village and the empty cottage. Might she not cherish a little hope? +Who could tell! Perhaps Firmin had met some friendly boat, which had +taken him aboard. Perhaps he was already at home and impatient at his +sister’s delay, this lad who was so little used to waiting. + +She would have liked to believe it, but she had had so little happiness +that she was distrustful. + +But if Firmin were not there Silvere would be, and he would understand +and help her. There was one person, at least, in the world, who loved +her. For, as to her boy, she knew well that she lavished on him more +tenderness than he would ever give back. Perhaps he had already fallen +in love with a life of adventure on the _flambart_ and forgotten his +home. He was so strong and confident. + +At the very thought of such a desertion Elise began to tremble. No. +The boy was obstinate, but he had a good heart. He would surely come +back. It was more likely that he was unhappy, and calling despairingly +for his sister. His last cry of distress on the deck of the _flambart_ +still rang in her ears. + +From their description of her, it was known at the bureau at Treport +that the _flambart_ belonged to one of the principal ship-owners of +the large seaport of Escaut. This reassured her. She would know where +to make inquiries. The owners of the boat had always preferred to pay +damages rather than to risk coming into court in such a case as theirs +was now. + +Filled with hope, Elise took up her march. In a breath she had passed +the village, and leaving the sea turned inland along the St. Valery +road, which, dusty and interminable, stretched away between two rows of +trees, stunted and twisted by the west wind. + +Five leagues of this gloomy journey passed. Elise was more tired in +heart than in body. The country did not interest her in the least. It +seemed shut in and contracted. One could see only patches of the sky; +the air was close and heavy. The horizon could be almost touched by the +hand. The soil was so poor, so hard to till, that it was cultivated +only in small patches; the plough furrows were hardly a cable’s length. +What a contrast to the open sea. How the chest expanded there! What +mighty breaths one drew! And one took less time to turn a sea furrow +from north to south than it would require to plough a field no longer +than a harbor. + +[Illustration: SHE SAW, ACROSS THE BAY, THE LITTLE VILLAGE WITH ITS +WHITE HOUSES. + + Chap. 10.] + +Sea life is broad and generous. It stirs one’s mental activity, while +it strengthens one’s body. Elise was in haste to see it again, this +sea, as beautiful in its rage as when at peace; this sea, which had +made her courageous and strong, and would make Firmin courageous and +strong also. + +At last, at a turn of the road, the whole Bay of Somme, with its quiet +waves gliding under the rays of the setting sun, lay, before her. +Bathed in a golden mist, she saw, across the bay, the little village +with its white houses; she recognized the little cottage hidden away +behind the sandy hillocks half way up the dunes. Was the chimney +smoking? Could Firmin have returned? No, it was a house adjoining. The +cottage was still empty. She would sleep alone in it that night. + +But she could not sleep. Overcome by her emotion, troubled at heart, +feverish after her long tramp, Elise sought in vain for the sleep that +eluded her. Never had her room seemed so lonely, so disquieting as now. +A ray of moonlight, entering through the window-panes, fell across its +shadows. + +At first the melancholy of the night induced wandering thoughts. Then +she gazed at the door and window, which seemed to vibrate in the +trembling moonlight. Then, as her eyes accustomed themselves to the +shadows, Elise was seized with a sort of supernatural terror. She was +not asleep, but her open eyes seemed to behold the unreal substance of +dreams. + +“Father, is it you? Father, answer me!” + +She thought herself asleep. It is only in dreams that one has visions +of the dead. She looked all around the room to be certain that she was +actually awake. + +Yes, she was awake. In the soft light of the moon she recognized +distinctly, one after the other, familiar objects, just as she had +found them on her return: the little bed where Firmin slept, in the +closet under the garret stairs; the large sideboard, where, under +a glass, was her mother’s marriage bouquet, a huge rose with gold +leaves, and on either side of it the two candlesticks. Nets and fishing +implements hung on the walls or from the beams of the ceiling. All +these old friends of her past life she saw clearly, each outline and +color distinct. + +No, she was not asleep, but none the less she could not look toward the +door without seeing before her a face sweet and sad, clear-eyed and +wrinkled. + +“Father, what do you wish?” + +For the first time since she had lost her father Elise saw him again, +just as he was in life, with his otter hat, his red neckerchief, and +his brown shirt. He complained softly that she had bestowed all her +care on Firmin and had left him, her father, to lie in the sands at +the bottom of the sea. She had not made every possible effort with the +authorities to have the place dragged, as had been done before, so +that his body might be recovered and laid in holy ground, where his +soul could rest in peace. + +And he told her punishment. Elise should not see again the brother whom +she had too jealously loved, until she had earned him by her filial +devotion. Unhappy Elise! She was seated on her bed, and her two hands +stretched toward the spectre, which would not leave her; she poured +out, with all the confidence of a soul possessed, her excuses, her +promises, her prayers. + +“Father, I swear to you that I will know no rest until I have laid you +beside mother.” + +Then, as if the spectre had moved into the moonlight, it suddenly +became distinct. + +Elise had seen it up to this time only through the enveloping shadows +which softened the rough outlines, but in this new light the figure +seemed drawn by suffering. The complexion, formerly bronzed by the +sea, was pale, the wrinkles were deep-set, the cheeks, once so full of +laughter and health, were thin from long agony, and the eyes which a +moment ago, in the shadow, seemed full of a caressing light, were now +sunken and full of reproachful sadness and melancholy resignation. + +Emaciated, and with face nearly as white as beard and hair, her father +seemed to have arisen from the sleepless night of a long illness. He +could not rest in his sandy prison under the sea, with its endless +currents, the sport of waves, fought over by sea monsters. They cannot +cry like sea birds, these voracious dogs of the sea, but their battles +are no less noisy. How could a soul rest in peace among them? + +Elise had noted all the marks of suffering on the pale face, she had +read there all his reproaches. She knew now too late, that she should, +before anything else, have sought her father’s body, that she might lay +it in consecrated ground. + +“Father, father, I swear to lay you to rest in the churchyard. And +after that you will let me see Firmin again?” + +And not to delay for a moment the execution of her oath, Elise put on +her dress and went out. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +The night was soft, moonlit, and silent. There was not a sound in the +village, not a breath of air to awaken the sleeping life. The cock, +turning on his rod at the top of the steeple, did not creak; there was +not the sound of a blind slamming against a wall; not even the furtive +step of a marauding cat. Nothing could be heard except the rhythmic +beating of the waves on the beach, and very far away on the heights, +in the direction of the graveyard, the plaintive howlings of a dog, +wailing to the dead. + +It must be the captain’s dog. During the fifteen days that she had been +away, Elise had not thought of her good friend, the shaggy-coated and +brave fellow, who said so many sweet things to her with his thoughtful +eyes. She could hear him still. It was he, without doubt, but his voice +seemed a little deeper than usual. Why was he howling so dismally, and +so far away? Could he have lost his master? Elise had returned late the +night before. + +She had not heard the news. Could the poor captain have died? + +The captain enjoyed great consideration in the village, not only on +account of his merit, but on account of his rank. It is true that he +was only an officer of the coast guards, who had been for a long time +on the retired list, but he was better known than any of the officers +of those parts. Eating little and drinking less, he spent the greater +part of his pension in stuffing with dainties the village children, and +in feeding his dog Barbet, his only friend and the friend of his whole +life. + +For twenty-five years he had lived in close comradeship with the same +dog, this dog who was now watching on his tomb. The same dog? It was +not possible, at least, to tell when he was changed. His history was +very simple. Like the greater part of the coast guards, the captain had +adopted a dog on entering the service. The first of the Barbets had +long, coarse hair. One day he had saved the captain from drowning, and +from that time he had treated him as a brother and faithful companion. +And this friendship had lasted fifteen years; fifteen years--the +life of a dog. Barbet, grown old, had gently come to his end, but he +had left a son as shaggy as himself, with long hair, always full of +thistle-heads, collected from the hedges. Gentle as his father, the +second of the family had the same intelligent and kind look, the same +affection for his master. The captain had fed him in the same way, had +taught him in the same way, and had raised him to the same rank. They +were both corporals, the Barbets, the son as well as the father. On the +days of inspection, before the superior officer who passed through the +town, Barbet advanced at the word of command, his chevron under his +chin, after the ancient fashion, and a stripe of silver on his legs. + +He was proud of these honors, because he had earned them by force of +application. He knew the drill, but that he considered as nothing. He +was not proud, for all the dogs of the company knew as much. He had a +real cause for pride which no one could dispute. He had not an equal in +recognizing, at a distance, the boats of his friends. + +From the coast-guard station on the height of the dune, he could see +them as they arrived from sea, and could distinguish them better than +any man or woman. He announced them after a fashion of his own, by +distinct barks. All the people of the village had learned to know +what the barks meant. During bad weather, when the women, awaiting +the return of their husbands, could just make out, lost in the white +foam of the sea, a bit of sail above a black hull, they would consult +Barbet. Three barks--it was the boat of Baptiste Hénin. Elise, while +still a child, on hearing him name her father in this way, had wept, +while her mother, with an eye from which the fire of anxiety had dried +the tears, watched the strife of the little boat against the heavy sea. + +No; it is not Hénin’s boat. We can see two masts. It is the sloop of +big Poidevin. Look again, Barbet. The dog would dilate his nostrils +in the wind. Through his long hair his fawn-colored eyes would shine +like gleaming points. Three barks again. Yes, it is Hénin’s boat. She +comes as if she were flying; one mast only; Barbet is right. And when +the boat, pitching and rolling through the tumbling sea, drew near +enough to be recognized by all, then it was that Barbet was triumphant, +barking every time that the hull disappeared in the waves and +reappeared on their crest. When, after hours of anguish, that seemed +longer than a whole existence, the crowd, massed on the dune, finally +see the boat reach the harbor, and are all hurrying to assist at her +arrival, Barbet follows them in their joyful course. When they arrive +at the harbor, he tugs on the ropes that make her fast, then barks +joyfully, while all the dogs in the town re-echo his cries like a note +of victory. + +All these recollections of her infancy, at the same time sweet and sad, +come back to Elise, while she stands listening to the howling of Barbet +on the dune. Poor Barbet! He was the third of his race, still young and +strong in proportion. Elise had known only two of them, but she could +not tell them apart any more than their master could. + +But whether there were one or two, it was always the same Barbet, +simple as a tale, lasting as a tradition. What was the use of a +pedigree in a family where the descendant was as good as his ancestor, +and when from grandfather to grandson the same intelligent and kind +spirit animated them all under the same body? + +Barbet ought to know thoroughly the history of the village. He had +brought up all the children, and it was he who took them to school. He +had learned the hour for going and coming, and he arrived punctually, +in order to watch over them on the route. He was a strong hand for +discipline. He detested an abuse of power or injustice. It was a bad +day for the older children if they struck the younger. + +Barbet’s mission was to look after the children. He set himself to +discharge it, exactly as his master had taught him. Never would he have +permitted these little shavers, no higher than himself, to go to school +alone. He gathered them into a company from all sides, their books +under their arms, their tin forks tinkling against the iron plates in +their baskets. Barbet opened his ears at this sound, because his little +friends each kept for him a dainty morsel. It was the voluntary tithe +of the weak to the strong who protected them. He did not return to the +coast-guard station until after he had seen them safely home, one after +another, down to the last. + +Elise had gone to school with him for a long time. She was his +favorite, and he displayed so much zeal in her defence that he would +show his teeth if any one even feigned to attack her. She had kept +for him always the most dainty part of her dinner, she had caressed +him with her little hand, she had looked into his eyes, bending her +little cunning head above him. The little girl and the dog were always +together at playtime. And on the dune they amused themselves chasing, +and playing tag, and rolling on the sand, or still more often they +looked out over the sea, and played at recognizing the barks, like two +corporals in service. + +Later on, when she had become larger, Elise had left school. Then +she had entrusted Firmin to Barbet. Unfortunately they were not on +good terms. Firmin did not wish to be looked after, and Barbet would +not relax his duty. So came about difficulties, which neither the +interposition of Elise, nor even that of the captain, were able to +prevent. Elise had been troubled by quarrels, which were renewed every +day more fiercely. The boy would box Barbet’s ears, would pull him by +the tail, put burrs on his head, and in his eyes. The dog, driving the +boy before him by barking and by pretended bites, would snap at his +calves, now right, now left, and oblige him to march at the end of the +company, like the naughty boy of a class. And when Barbet brought him +home, Elise always found her brother’s face streaked with tears. + +She comforted the spoiled child, and felt unkindly toward Barbet for +the rough penance which he inflicted upon the little chap, who was so +beautiful even in his sulkiness. With a burst of maternal tenderness, +she dried his great moist eyes and brown cheeks, where the tears were +still running, and quieted the last gasp of the little sobbing heart. + +“Do not weep any more, my little man, I will scold this naughty +Barbet.” But Barbet never was scolded, because he had only done his +duty. + +All these details of the time when she had lived in careless happiness +came back to Elise as a consoling and refreshing thought. She walked +slowly under the soft light, lost in revery, recalling, one by one, +these times of her infancy, so sadly sweet and so far away. And, losing +herself in her memories of the past, she forgot the hard reality of the +present, and Barbet’s howlings, half heard, seemed like the echo of +forgotten sadness. + + * * * * * + +She was recalled to herself on finding that she was at the door of a +little house just out of the village, hidden among the trees on the +edge of a stream. She had some difficulty in recalling how and why she +had come there. She was at Silvere’s door. + +But was this a proper time to present herself at her _fiancé’s_ house? +She waited some minutes, and listened to hear if the church clock would +strike, then impatient of the least delay, she looked at the moon, and +from her height in the heavens, knew that it was about midnight. + +After all, why should she hesitate? Was not Silvere’s mother an +excellent woman, who would be happy to receive her in her trouble? All +came back to her. Could she have been so troubled as to forget already +the double task laid on her, that of finding Firmin and her father? Who +would aid her if not Silvere? + +Again she heard Barbet, who was howling long and plaintively. It broke +her heart. She would have liked to go to him to protect and console him +in her turn. But if he were in the graveyard, how could she go there +without meeting the ghosts which dance about the graves? + +And at this baleful thought Elise saw again before her her father’s +spectre, like the ghost of a remorse which would not leave her. Seized +by superstitious fears, she knocked nervously at the door. + +She waited a long time and exchanged many words before she succeeded +in having it opened. At last the bolt clicked, the lock turned, the +door swung half open, and in the doorway stood Silvere’s mother, an old +woman with a sharp voice but a kind look. She was only half dressed, +and her chemise only partly concealed her strong shoulders and her old +wrinkled arms. + +“Alas, my poor daughter, what has happened to bring you out at such an +hour? The living do not walk at night. You must go home.” + +The old woman barred the door with her two arms, as Elise stood on the +sill. + +“Return home, my poor daughter. You seem like a ghost.” The moon +shone fully in the old woman’s face, but Elise had never seen on her +kind features such an expression of distrust and disquiet. She was so +disturbed that she had hardly strength to speak. + +“Mother Pilote, I need advice, and I come to ask it of Silvere. I +cannot wait.” + +“Silvere has gone away, my daughter. Fishing from the beach he found +stupid work. The village was not to his taste after you had gone. He +signed papers with big Poidevin on the _Jeune-Adolphine_. He thought +that he should see you in the Scotch seas. He has taken a roundabout +way to meet you.” + +When she heard that her lover was gone, the only one on whom she could +depend, Elise felt as if a gulf opened before her into which sank her +last hopes. Everything gave way at once, her courage and her strength. +She leaned on the upright of the door to keep herself from falling, but +the old woman, thinking that she wished to enter, pushed her firmly but +compassionately aside. + +“You must go home, my daughter.” + +[Illustration: THE OLD WOMAN BARRED THE DOOR WITH HER TWO ARMS AS ELISE +STOOD ON THE SILL. + + Chap. 11.] + +From the height of the dune came again Barbet’s howls. He had stopped +from exhaustion, but now took up again his lugubrious wail, making the +night sorrowful. + +“You hear him,” said the old woman. “He is possessed. They buried the +captain two days ago. He cannot rest quietly, or Barbet would not +bewail him so loudly. You must go home, my daughter.” + +“Mother Pilote, do not send me away. I do not dare to go to my house. I +have seen the ghost of my father.” + +The face of the old woman contracted with a strange look, and her lips +moved feverishly. “Go away, my daughter, you bring bad luck to others. +Last night Florimond returned from his cruise. He has told everything. +You have ruined him. It is not your fault. Your father’s soul is in +torment. I am afraid for my poor Silvere.” + +“Mother Pilote, listen to me. I have seen the ghost of my father.” + +“Go away, you bring bad luck!” + +And, as the old woman rudely closed the door, Elise sank upon the sill, +alone in the world, and overcome by her troubles. + +At that moment Barbet broke the stillness. He had suddenly stopped +howling, and was uttering short barks that seemed like voices of +consolation and a summons to her to hope. + +“The soul of his master has found repose,” thought Elise, and raising +herself, as if moved by some strange presentiment, she walked toward +the graveyard. The clock on the tower struck midnight. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +Abandoned by the living, Elise turned to the dead, whose quiet peace +seemed to her so sweet. She reached the graveyard well before the first +rays of the dawn had lightened the eastern sky. It was still night, but +in the half light of the moon there seemed about her mysterious beings +of uncertain form and colors pale and unreal. + +In climbing the dune Elise had often looked out toward the open sea to +the spot where a murmuring and a silvery whitening of the waves marked +the shoals. It was there that her father lay with the others under the +treacherous wave. But exactly where? The shoals were large. + +At the thought of petitioning the administration and taking the other +necessary steps, Elise was greatly troubled, so afraid was she of the +officials. She had never entered a maritime bureau, and knew, only by +hearsay, that the men whom she would meet treated the poor harshly. +What should she say to them? That she had seen her father in bodily +presence in the night, and that she had been bidden to find his body +and to lay it to rest in earth; that she was not rich enough to meet +the expense, and that she had come to beg them to send divers in order +to snatch him from the engulfing sands. + +But they would demand the exact spot where he lay, and her father had +not told it. They could not dig up all the Vergoyer. Surely that was +what they would say. If her father wished to be found, he must tell +where he was. + +Elise wore herself out devising unfeasible plans. A fancy seized her +to run to the wharf, to seize the first boat she came to, and to sail +alone to the Vergoyer. There she would invoke her father to make his +presence known. She had heard that a little flame would dance on the +water at the spot where a body lay. But at the thought of seeing this +palpitating soul she was seized with tremors. + +How wretched she was! She was, perhaps, the only one in the village who +had no relatives. All the other girls, in trouble such as hers, would +have had a grandfather, or an uncle, to help them. There was no one +to help her but Cousin Florimond, who detested her, and Silvere, her +betrothed, who loved her, but was away. + +Unable to depend on any one, she had gone to the churchyard to see +Barbet, and to pray on the grave of her mother, where she hoped to find +solace for her sorrows. + +She felt her hand tremble in lifting the latch of the little gate, and +was frightened at the stillness. The tide was out, and the sea was at +peace. Nothing stirred. There was not a sound of life. + +Barbet had ceased barking. Elise had come in answer to his call, and +now that she was there he was silent in distrust--he also, as if he +were waiting to see what impious creature dared, at this hour, to +enter this field of shadows to disturb the sanctity of their memory. + +She hesitated a long while. She stood with her fingers on the latch, +and did not dare to look through the bars of the gate into this +graveyard, where, under the trembling moonlight, the wooden crosses +seemed to be joining in a dance of death. + +If Barbet would only howl, would only bark once. + +“Barbet! Barbet!” + +A howl answered her, but more unearthly than the night, more mysterious +than this spirit-filled space about her. Oh! There were ghosts +everywhere! + +Yielding to a wild desire to escape these supernatural beings, Elise +turned and fled. She ran breathlessly toward the fields. There she was +sure at least of meeting things which were really alive; trees whose +leaves rustled in the breeze, beasts sleeping an earthly sleep in the +fields where they fed. + +She ran on, terror-stricken, leaping fences and streams, imagining +herself pursued. She seemed to hear a footstep behind her, and ran +more madly still through the damp meadow-grasses, knee-high, happy at +feeling and touching objects that were real, at breathing the strong +odors that were born of life. She threw herself into the midst of a +herd of cows who, waking with a start, rose to their knees, and dropped +their heads to face an attack, and, the danger passed, sunk down again +heavily, dropping off at once into the dreamless sleep of an animal. + +[Illustration: SHE QUICKENED HER PACE, PRESSING HER HEAVING CHEST WITH +BOTH HANDS. + + Chap. 12.] + +Elise recovered her calmness in this contact with nature. She had +never imagined it so cheering and so friendly. She had despised the +country, for there all is so pretty, one cannot move without finding a +place of shelter or protection. How different this from the sea, where +one sails for days and nights without seeing aught but infinite space. + +How sweet the odor of the ripe wheat and the hops still green, the +reflection of the moon in the pools, the deep shadows of the trees. How +willingly would she lie down there in the long grass. + +But behind her there followed in hot pursuit something whose form she +could not divine. The cows seemed to look queerly at her as she passed +them. She did not dare to turn, she would die of fear if she should +look behind and see what she feared. She quickened her pace, pressing +her heaving chest with both hands. She feared to stop, lest she should +find herself face to face with this ghostly pursuing phantom. + +She hoped for daylight to dissipate her fears, but the first light of +morning had not yet shown when she sank down breathless and spent, in +the midst of a field. There she lay unconscious, and, worn out by all +she had gone through, fell into a heavy sleep. + + * * * * * + +The sun was high when she awoke, confused, and with every fibre +relaxed by the healthful rest which had followed the hours of fever. +Her eyes, still heavy, sought the sun’s brightness, and her pale lips +opened to breathe the pure morning air. She inhaled sweet odors. Then, +as she stretched her arms to shake off her lassitude, she drew back +suddenly with a start, for her hand was licked by a rough, wet tongue. +Involuntarily she turned about, and, recollection coming suddenly, was +seized again with fright and buried her face in her hands. + +But around her, as if that moment he had thrown off all allegiance to +his dead master, Barbet was dancing gleefully. He poked his nose into +her hands, into her face, her neck, and in a kind of intoxication of +affection and of joyful fidelity, barked and whined softly, as if he +meant to swear everlasting devotion. He seemed to say to poor Elise +that she ought not to fear or despair, since she had a friend, a friend +older than she, but strong and desirous to serve her. + +It was not Barbet’s ghost, but Barbet himself, with real shaggy hair +and real barks. It was not a dream. Happy in the reality, Elise seated +herself, quieted by this unexpected help, and hugging him in her arms, +talked to him: first, of the years that were gone, and how he had taken +care of her, and afterward the little Firmin, who would doubtless soon +return, self-reliant as ever. And Barbet rubbed his big head against +the heaving breast of his chosen friend. He looked at her with a +steady, friendly glance, but she in her overflowing happiness kissed +his face; his eyes, that knew so well how to read in the great book of +nature; his nose, whose subtle keenness found out the meaning of so +many hidden secrets. + +“Barbet, old Barbet. It was you who followed me. Why did you not let me +know it was you?” + +Yes, Barbet had followed her. She alone had power to make him forget +his dead master. There was many a one in the village who would have +been glad to receive him, as a rare legacy, as a traditional curiosity. +The day when his master died they had dragged him from the coffin, and +shut him up in the coast-guard station of which he had been the pride +so many years. Rather than submit to a new service he would have let +himself die of famine. He had escaped, and made his way to the grave, +where over the newly turned earth he had bewailed his lost friend. + +There again they had gone after him. Nowhere will men willingly lose +objects in which they take pride. Barbet was celebrated on the whole +coast from Dieppe to Boulogne. Could they lose the glory of their +village? But faithful to the captain’s memory, he had resisted all +attempts which had been made to draw him away. They had given up their +attempts at last. They had not dared to take him away by force, and on +the tomb of the master whom he did not wish to outlive, he was waiting +for death, when he had scented Elise. + +His old friend, this kind Elise, had come there in a time of trouble. +He saw her climb the dune alone, without protection or sympathy. Then +he remembered how the captain had loved her, how she had been kind to +the lonely man when alone and ill in his old age. + +Barbet decided that if his master could speak he would bid him love +Elise, and return her a watchful affection and vigilant protection for +her cares for him. He had decided to live for her, to whom his master +would certainly have left him, if death had not come so suddenly. +When she had called him, he had answered the cry of her heart with +an emotion strong and deep, but she had not understood and had fled +in fright. He had leaped over the wall and had followed her softly, +wishing not to add to her terror. And now, through his master’s death, +they were to be friends for life. + + * * * * * + +“You are all dirty, old Barbet,” said Elise suddenly between two tears, +“we shall have to make our toilet together.” And she led the dog to the +nearest pool. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +Elise had made her toilet, and Barbet was beautiful to see as they +entered the village together. But as they passed along the good people +drew aside, and mothers made haste to call their children into the +house. When they reached the Grand Place they saw groups of sailors and +coast guards talking loudly, and heard the noise of wrangling in the +sailors’ tavern. + +Florimond’s voice was above all others. “She is a sorceress! She is +possessed!” + +Just then a man ran into the tavern, and immediately the sailors came +out on the doorsteps, Florimond in their midst, crying: + +“Look, Barnabé; do you still persist that I am a liar? Look at the +captain’s ghost walking with Elise.” + +The sailors of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ were all there, except the four who +had been lost in the small boat. They had spent the day before in +drinking, had tramped during the night, and had arrived that morning, +crossing the bay at low tide. They had heard at once the reports in +the village, that Elise, since the death of her father, was possessed, +that she could cast a spell, and that she would be freed only when her +father’s body was recovered. + +Mother Pilote was the cause of all this. Since dawn she had gone +from house to house telling of the visit which Elise had paid her at +midnight, the hour when the dead return to earth again. She had stopped +at one door after another, and had repeated the same story. If her +father had appeared to demand help, it was without doubt because he had +a sin to expiate. She remembered that once, on a night in March, her +husband had heard in the neighborhood of the Vergoyer, the groanings of +an old corsair of Berck, who was drowned a few days before, and whose +soul could not rest. + +She was full of laments that her son was betrothed to Elise. It was too +late now to forestall ill-luck, because Silvere was at sea. Doubtless +she would never see him again. She had done her best to prevent his +sailing. Nothing would keep him back. And such a fine young fellow, +and so good! He was just twenty-four years old. He could have passed +the examination at Saint-Valery, and become a pilot, as his father was +before him. He need not have quitted the bay. But young people will not +listen to reason. + +And Silvere’s old mother wept as if her son were lost to her forever. +She was just finishing her doleful journey through the village, and had +appeared on one side of the Place at the very moment when Elise, with +Barbet, arrived on the other. + +At a glance, Elise had seen that the sailors were not favorably +disposed toward her. Their eyes were distrustful, and even threatening. +She could not imagine why. On their part, they had no doubt that the +reports were true. Could this Lison have been able to handle the boat +all alone, if she had been like other women? Surely, she was possessed. +This was the reason that the small boat had been lost, with the four +men. Their relatives ought to put on mourning for the whole four. The +idea had gained such credence that Chrétien’s mother, the wives of the +two big fellows, and the children of the old sailor had not dared to go +out without wearing black. + +Nothing could have now destroyed the widespread belief in the evil +influence of Elise. The poor child, at the ill-natured looks which +greeted her on all sides, was stirred to her very soul. Just then she +saw Mother Pilote. She ran to her, sure of a friend and protector. The +old woman recoiled in fright. + +“Alas, my daughter! You have destroyed my son, do not destroy me, too.” + +The groups of sailors and coast guards had come close to her. Their +noisy talking and their loud jeers had drawn the people from the +neighboring streets. The whole square was suddenly overrun. Elise +stopped. She did not dare to go on. On the right were Florimond and his +sailors, behind them groups no less ill-disposed. On the left was the +harbor and the sea; the sea even more treacherous than men. + +Elise shivered from the soles of her feet to the roots of her hair. +Without knowing why, she saw that she stood alone, that she was not +only abandoned but repudiated, disgraced, and cast adrift. This was +Florimond’s revenge. + +What could have made the captain so spiteful? He was gesticulating +triumphantly. They knew now why he had failed in his fishing, lost +his nets, and injured his boat. Could the most skilful captain have +succeeded against the wiles of a sorceress? + +As if to support his charges, Barbet, who had been walking with ears +down and tail between his legs, suddenly waked up. He made the rounds +of the Place, smelled of the groups, and returned to Elise with +plaintive whines, trying to show his devotion by licking her hand +and by affectionate leaps. She did not repulse him. Having only one +friend, she could not discourage the expression of his frank and strong +sympathy. She accepted his caresses, and returned them. + +Encouraged by this, Barbet began to act excitedly. He ran from group to +group, growling and snarling; then he returned to Elise, good-natured +and full of affection. It was his fashion of showing these perverse +Christians that they were not worth as much as a dog in divining the +tortures of a suffering soul. One would have said that he took pleasure +in his own performance, for becoming more and more excited, he went +through it a hundred times, more and more feverishly, contorting +himself until he leaped about like a crazy dog. + +From different sides of the Place came the same shouts. + +“They are possessed, both of them! Let us kill them!” + +“They will bring sickness on the village!” + +“They will shipwreck our boats!” + +“They must die!” Some of the most drunken sailors began to throw +stones. Barbet was struck first. He ran to Elise without a cry. He +raised himself on his hind legs, and laid against her breast his +wounded foot. + +The violence of the assailants was increased by the quiet of the +victims. The people of the village, full of senseless superstitions, +began also to throw stones as if to quiet their fears by the punishment +of these two innocent creatures, whom they foolishly suspected of +possessing evil power. + +Elise wept and made no attempt to defend herself. She was self-accused. +It seemed to her that she was expiating the filial neglect for which +her father’s spectre had reproached her. She believed now that she +understood why all these people were against her; they punished her +as an impious daughter, who had no thought for her father’s eternal +welfare. + +But why were they so furious at her only, when so many besides her +had, without disquiet, left the souls of their shipwrecked relatives +in pain. She recognized many of them among those most furious toward +her. There was the sister of the lame man, the sons of friend Joseph, +the mother of Amadée. They had taken no steps to find their bodies. +This ought to hinder them from attacking her, as if they had clear +consciences. Their dead, too, were not to be compared with her father. +Poor father! He was so honest. She ought to have tried to recover him, +if she had had to dig the Vergoyer all alone. And waiting in silence +her time of deliverance, she gave herself up to martyrdom. + +But she was not able to keep back a cry of pain when a stone struck +her near the eye. Instantly there was an angry snarl, and Barbet flew +at the most active sailor, biting him in the leg. The fellow dropped +in terror, frightened for his life. The dog was surely possessed; his +bites would kill. + +There was a wild panic over the whole Place. Barbet returned to the +attack, showing his teeth. The sailors abandoned their comrade, +tumbling over one another into the tavern, crushing against the +door-posts in spite of Florimond, who, to show his courage, shouted: + +“You run like crabs before a dog.” + +And he kicked at Barbet, who snarled at him most threateningly. + +“Florimond, do not be so rash. It is foolish to brave the spirits of +the dead.” + +And the man, who from the other side of the Place shouted this out, +took to flight with all his companions. Florimond had a little sense. +He did not believe in these ideas of the dead returning. + +“Pack of old women, just wait and see how I send Barbet off. If he has +the devil in his mouth, I will make him swallow him.” + +He strode forward to kick with his heavy boot this demon of a dog. +A fresh snarl, longer, sharper, harsher, stopped him--a snarl so +deep and unearthly that the last of the spectators took flight, and, +panic-stricken himself, Florimond bolted into the tavern. + +Then, with the Place all to themselves, Elise and Barbet looked at each +other, half frightened at finding themselves alone. + + * * * * * + +The man who had been bitten lay still. The skin had not been broken, +but he imagined that he felt in his flesh the cold fangs of this dog of +hell. He lay at length, like a child who has been stunned by a fall. + +Elise went over to him, and rousing him, by a light tap on the +shoulder, raised him up. On his face the traces of his fright were +still evident. + +“You, Barnabé? Have you, too, turned against me?” + +“It is the fault of drink, Mam’selle Elise. I had my little glass to +celebrate my return. The sailors have fuddled their brains with these +old wives’ stories. All the same one doesn’t know whether they are true +or not.” + +Elise did not wish to hear, but Barnabé began at once to repeat them. +As clearly as he could he told how Mother Pilote’s gossip had made them +believe that the ghost of Father Hénin walked at night. She had accused +Elise of witchcraft, and of being supernaturally possessed. + +But all was very confused in his mind. Nowadays such ideas are no +longer the fashion, and he was not familiar with them. He hastened to +say: “I do not believe them at all, Mam’selle Elise. Forgive me; it was +the fault of the drink.” + +In token of forgiveness Elise held out her hand to Barnabé, but he was +still a little disquieted. Occasionally he would throw a glance toward +the tavern, as if at a place of refuge. She took pity on him. + +“You are not afraid of me, I suppose, Barnabé? I never have done you +any harm, and never would.” + +“I do not distrust you at all, Mam’selle Elise, but Barbet has sharp +teeth.” + +As if to answer to his name, the dog stepped forward. He smelled of +Barnabé, scowled, wrinkled his nose disdainfully, and returning to +Elise hid his head in a fold of her dress. + +“Barbet, I do not like dogs with bad manners. You will not regain in +that way the confidence which we have lost.” + +She took with both hands his kind, hairy face, and made him bark his +excuses. + +“Pat him, Barnabé; he will not bear you ill-will after this. He has as +much sense as men, but he is better than they are.” And a treaty of +peace was concluded then and there between Barbet and Barnabé. + +In the bottom of his heart, Barnabé was much ashamed at having shown +himself a coward without any cause. While he was on the _Bon-Pêcheur_ +he had lost his former free ways and his rough eloquence. Florimond had +intimidated him. He did not fancy facing the broad-shouldered captain. +Fortunately, on land Florimond was no longer his master, and Barnabé +only wanted an opportunity to recover his former position. + +“Mam’selle Elise, if you do not bear ill-will, I will be your friend +again.” + +“Why not? Ought I to feel harshly toward you because of other people’s +faults? You know that I do not bring bad luck.” + +“Yes, Mam’selle Elise, I do not believe any of these stories about the +devil which they tell of you. They are old wives’ fables. If you will +let me, I will defend you against the sailors.” + +Barbet interposed. He seemed to say that it was he who was her true +protector, and that he would not allow others to take his place, but +Elise quieted him with a caress, and turned to Barnabé. + +“I shall be glad of your help. I must go to the officials at +Saint-Valery, and you can keep me company. A woman does not dare to +speak, and you are an orator.” + +Then they agreed on the time for starting. The bay would be dry before +noon. They would have time to go and return before high tide. They were +turning to go home to make ready for the trip, when the door of the +tavern opened. + +A sailor held it ajar to watch Elise. He had seen her talking with +Barnabé, and the fact had reassured him. Should a sailor be less +courageous than a landlubber? He came out at once, with his comrades at +his heels. + +When they were sure that Barbet was harmless, as well as Elise, they +joked after the fashion of cowards, who think they can save their +dignity by jibes. Their coarse jests fell more thickly than their +stones had a little while before. + +“She will be well protected, this Lison, by two strong jaws, Barbet’s +and Barnabé’s;” and they kept playing on these two names, and went +away exclaiming: + +“Barbet and Barnabé; one as much a dog as the other. Barbet and +Barnabé! two barkers and two landlubbers!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +The village had fallen back into its accustomed quiet, when Elise and +Barnabé set out barefoot across the sands of the bay. + +Barbet followed them joyfully. He seemed to have been born again to a +new youth, and was thoroughly frivolous. He tossed the crabs in air +with his nose, he made the flocks of sea-gulls take wing, he leaped +over the streams, and splashed through the pools as if he thoroughly +enjoyed this clear and beautiful July day. + +In honor of his new mistress he had forgotten his daily duties and +played truant, while the village children, left without their guard, +quarrelled and pilfered along the road to school. + +If he could have seen his company of scholars, some in tears, others +rolling in the dust, their hats dusty, their aprons torn, and their +baskets upset in the brook, he would have been proud. During the three +days since he left the service, the road to school was nothing but a +field of battle. Henceforth they would know in the village what he was +worth. + +But this was not the time for serious reflections. Barbet gave himself +up to pleasure, for he had caught a smile on his mistress’ face, and +that showed him that she was happy. + +As a matter of fact, Elise had a strange pleasure in setting out for +the Maritime Bureau. It seemed to her that she was beginning the +task of reparation which had been imposed on her, and a feeling of +contentment and peace overflowed her. + +She was not at all deceived about Barnabé. She knew him to be a +braggart, of no principle, but in spite of all she was glad to have him +for a guide, and above all for a mouthpiece. At times, carried away +by his desire to be useful, he made certain suggestions that made her +uneasy. + +“Have no fears, Mam’selle Elise. These scribblers, all put together, +are not worth one good sailor. They must be spoken to firmly. So much +the worse for timid folk, if they revenge themselves on them afterward.” + +Elise had no idea that she would succeed through her companion’s +bravado. All along the way she reasoned with him, and explained the +object of the call. She asked that he would repeat to her, as they +talked together, the remarks he proposed to make. And while he went +complaisantly over his lesson, she corrected him and softened every +violent expression. But he came back always to the same idea. + +“We shall lose everything if we let them treat us with insolence, as +they do others.” + +“Listen, Barnabé; I think that we shall gain more by talking quietly.” + +“No, Mam’selle Elise; allow me to say, it is necessary to make a heavy +shift of the helm to make the ship come about promptly.” + +Elise began to regret that she had asked such help. Her cheeks were red +and her heart beat quickly, when she entered the Bureau by the side of +Barnabé. She threw about her an uneasy look, as if to make certain that +Barbet at least had not forsaken her. He was there, sober and faithful. + +The room which they entered was lighted by one low window at the +further end. It was divided across its whole width by a railing the +height of the elbow, behind which, on a large table, was a huge pile of +boxes, books, and documents. + +The air was damp and mouldy. The walls were stained in spots by +moisture, and the pigeon-holes were black from dampness. Everything +seemed unhealthy. + +Elise had too respectful an idea of the Bureau to note these signs +of age. She had not dared to enter, but stood waiting on the sill, +holding the door open. She started at the sound of a harsh voice, which +appeared to come from under the table. + +“Shut the door there. You let the heat in.” + +Then in a surly tone: + +“They’re all stupid alike.” + +Barnabé was just about to launch into his first burst of eloquence. He +stopped short, and turned suddenly to Elise: + +“Come into the room. You will shipwreck everything.” + +Timidly and softly, Elise stepped forward just far enough to allow the +door to be shut behind her. Barnabé began in a low tone and a trembling +voice. The beautiful, sonorous sentences which he had planned died +away on his lips. The wretched appearance of the room, and its mouldy +odor, were so little stimulating to the development of a brilliant and +pompous speech that he lost the thread of his oration. For lack of +anything better he said simply: + +“We have come about the soul of Father Hénin.” + +“That is a matter for the Church. You should not come to the +commissaire when you need a priest.” + +Then Barnabé began: + +“We have come hither, together----” + +“There are two of you, then? Let the other one step forward.” + +Elise advanced to the railing. Behind the boxes she saw, nearly hidden +from sight, a little hunchback, who, with his back toward them, was +nibbling a crust of bread, while he read his newspaper. + +Elise had anticipated an impertinent reception, and to her it seemed to +increase the clerk’s importance. But Barnabé was not so complaisant. +He had promised himself to be magnificent before Elise, and not to +allow himself to be treated as a common sailor. But from the feeling +of respect which the sailor has for officials he still kept himself in +check, and simply raised his voice: + +“It is your affair, this matter of Father Hénin.” + +“What affair? Explain yourself, if you want to be understood.” + +“The affair of his ghost, which walks because he is at the bottom of +the Vergoyer.” + +From the desk came a growl: + +“What idiots!” + +Then all moderation forsook Barnabé. He could think of nothing but +insults, which he was about to rain upon the hunchback. + +“You crooked----” + +With a look Elise stopped him. Leaning on the railing, she fixed on +him a look both serious and friendly, as if she wished to inspire him +with all her confidence. In the half light her pure profile, with its +somewhat heavy lines, was softened, and she seemed wrapped in a natural +grace and delicacy. Under the influence of her suppliant beauty, +Barnabé turned over and over his ideas, without finding any which +appeared to him likely to meet with the clerk’s favor. + +A strange clerk this! He kept his face always out of sight, supported +on his elbow, and turned his curious hump toward all inquirers. It +was a piece of affectation on his part. Not being able to domineer by +his size over the people who came to his office, he had hit upon this +attitude of contemptuous indifference. In this way he tried to revenge +himself for his disgrace upon those more favored of fortune. + +He had a way of disconcerting sailors, for they, more than all others, +are outspoken men, and become embarrassed when they cannot meet one +face to face and eye to eye. He made them, as it were, talk to his +hump, and he moved it about at them cunningly so as to throw them +into confusion, when he saw that they were well under way with their +statements. + +Elise herself was not able to avoid its strange attraction. She +stopped looking at Barnabé in order to look at this strange clerk, and, +moved by fear as much as by compassion, kept her eyes fixed on his +pitiful and threatening back. It seemed to her that the fate of her +request was written on this deformity if she could only decipher it. +She tried to read a favorable response. + +“It is your----” said Barnabé for the third time. He did not finish his +phrase. He could not restrain his impatience to see at least the nose +of this man. + +He added brutally: + +“Have you not another side that speaks also? Are you like one of those +round beasts who have no face?” + +The head of the clerk disappeared entirely behind his hump. Barbet, who +up to this time had been silent and respectful, stood up, with his fore +feet on the railing. He proposed to take part in the debate, and since +the interests of his mistress were under discussion he wished it to be +known that he had the right to interpose. He was no more pleased than +Barnabé to see a hump in place of the face which he expected, and he +expressed his disapprobation by surly barks. + +The clerk turned about suddenly. He appeared frightened. His long, bony +face was pale, and here and there were what seemed like dark stains. +His eye was that of a sick man, and his face expressed sadness more +than ill-will. + +At the sight of Elise he appeared abashed, rose to his feet, laid aside +the crust of bread, shook off the crumbs which lay on his chest, ran +his fingers through his hair, and took a hurried look at a bit of +mirror propped up between two boxes. He forgot all about complaining of +the dog, and said with his best smile: + +“Mademoiselle, I am entirely at your service. I did not suspect that +this snip of a sailor had such charming company. These deck-scourers do +not know how to explain anything.” + +“Deck-scourers! I’ll scour your hump!” + +And Barnabé reached out his hand. Elise stopped him. She saw that all +hope for her was lost, if she did not take the matter into her own +hands. Since she had entered the office she had been making up her mind +not to leave until she had gained what she came for. She shook off her +indecision and raised her head, resolute and firm. + +The little clerk was disturbed under his hump. He rubbed together +nervously his thin, knotty hands, and with an air of obsequious +gallantry, trying to make his sharp voice as pleasant as possible, +renewed his offer of his services. + +“You injure your cause by not explaining it yourself, mademoiselle. +Your sailor----” + +“Present! the sailor!” cried Barnabé, happy to find a chance to put in +a word. “I will tell the whole affair. I have no fancy to come here +like a ship’s boy, and watch others work the ship.” + +He looked at the clerk angrily. He seemed to throw defiance at this +chicken-breasted wretch, who made himself agreeable to ladies, preening +like a turtle dove. But the hunchback turned from him, showing Barnabé +the outline of his crooked back, which he worked at him contemptuously. +Barbet was out of patience. Standing on his hind legs he bristled up +his hair and moved his tail, now slowly, now excitedly, according to +the state of his feelings. + +Elise saw that all this boded no good to her cause. + +“I pray you,” she said to Barnabé, “let me speak. It was I who saw my +father, and I know better what he demanded.” + +The clerk threw at her a glance of intelligence. + +“Yes, mademoiselle, speak. The sound of your voice will make amends to +me for having heard these barkings.” + +“Does Barbet trouble you, sir? I will make him go out if you wish.” + +“Yes, and the other dog with him----” + +He had not finished the sentence when Barnabé, seizing Barbet by the +back, tried to lift him over the railing. + +“Eat the hunchback! bite him! bite him!” + +Barbet struggled, refusing to lend himself to such unjust reprisals. +Barnabé dropped him, and deciding to take vengeance in his own person +struck out with his fist, and the clerk rolled over and over on the +floor, uttering sharp cries. + +Immediately from the next room there appeared a man in tightly buttoned +overcoat and silver-laced hat. He was dressed exactly as the official +whom Elise had seen on the deck of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ at Treport. He +was the under-commissaire, and appeared to uphold the dignity of his +office. With a glance of his eye he saw what had happened, and stiffly, +and as if wishing to avoid any explanation, gave out the order: + +“M. Emile, you will be good enough to have a placard fastened to the +door--Dogs not admitted. Turn these people out.” + +Without waiting to hear more, Barnabé took flight. But Elise could +not resign herself to see all her hopes disappear on account of +such a ridiculous incident. She lifted her great black eyes to the +commissaire, sweetly suppliant: + +“Sir, I have seen my father’s ghost. He was drowned at the Vergoyer. He +demands that his body be found. You have men to do such work.” + +The hunchback was still groaning. In his fall he had overturned his +chair, and most unhappily caught his hump between the four legs. He was +unable to free himself. The commissaire acted as if he did not see him: + +“Well, M. Emile, why do you not send these people away?” + +“You are not listening to me,” cried Elise. “I have seen my father’s +ghost. He cannot rest in the sea sands----” + +“Go out----” + +And the under-commissaire pointed so severely at the door, that Elise +went in tears and despair. She was nearly overturned on the sill by +Barbet who, rushing out, nearly tripped her up, so that she lost the +consolation of hearing the chief in a low tone reprimand his clerk. + +“I have been hoping you would have a lesson like this for a long time. +I don’t pity you in the least. He who sows the wind must expect to reap +the whirlwind.” + +[Illustration: THE NEXT NIGHT, ELISE SAW HER FATHER AGAIN. + + Chap. 15.] + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +The next night Elise saw her father again, and the next night, and many +nights after that. + +“Father,” she cried in vain, “tell me where you lie. I can then let the +officials know. Help me, if you wish to be found.” + +The nights passed, but no answer came. Only by sad looks did her father +plead his cause. He never spoke. It was a constant grief to Elise, and, +exhausted by waiting and watching, she, too, lost the power of sleep. +She hid her head under her pillows to escape the ghost, and made Barbet +sleep at her feet, hoping to gain a little rest from the presence of +this loving creature. + +Always the same restlessness and the same sleeplessness, recalling to +mind the duty she could not perform, the undeserved punishment she +suffered, the insults which the men of the village offered her, and +above all, Firmin, who had not come home. + +After many dispatches had passed, they had finally learned about +Firmin, and the _flambart_ which had carried him off. + +She had tried at first to reach her port, but had to abandon the +attempt. Her hull had been badly damaged, and she had barely been able +to make a Scotch port, after throwing overboard everything--nets, salt, +and supplies. She had towed her boat in order to save it. + +The sight of the boat had been too much for Firmin. With his usual +obstinacy, the boy had made up his mind that he would not submit to +this forced sojourn among strangers. And one night he had made his +escape nearly without provisions. He had slipped into the boat, and +cutting the rope, had gone adrift, one hardly knew with what in mind. +The crew had discovered his flight at daybreak only. + +Since then there had been no news of him. What daring and what +resolution he had, to trust himself to a small boat on an unknown sea. +Elise wept at the very idea, but it was more from pride than despair. +She was proud to know that the boy was so courageous. She was sure he +would return. He was always present in her thoughts; she would surely +see him again when she had atoned for her neglect of her father. + +She worked without stopping. Twenty days in succession she went to the +Bureau at Saint-Valery. During the few moments that she had spoken to +the under-commissaire she had detected under his gruffness an indulgent +and generous nature, and to this she resolved to appeal. But she had +not as yet made any headway. + +At first she had had to face the mortification of the hunchback. When +by patience she had won him over, so as to be permitted to enter the +chief’s office, she met fresh difficulties. + +She recounted to him the nightly apparition of her father and the +orders which he had given her. He heard her with the distrust which +one shows to lunatics. He did not speak harshly, on the contrary, he +bowed her out pleasantly so as not to excite the mental troubles with +which he supposed her afflicted. The next day she was back again with +the same fixed purpose, and as he sent her away he pitied her from the +bottom of his heart. + +Each day it was the same. The commissaire had finally refused to +allow her entrance. He found Elise on the threshold. He shrugged his +shoulders pityingly. She attached herself to him, followed him through +the town, and held him a long time at the door of his house. He put her +off, as he best could, with evasive answers. At last he grew impatient, +was rude, and even pushed her aside. + +Nothing discouraged her. Her indomitable resolution had won over the +little clerk, who perhaps was not angry to see his chief in the hands +of a petitioner with so much persistence. + +“Return to-morrow,” he said to her every night, after a fresh failure. +“Keep on returning. He will yield in the end.” + +She did return. She began to be well known on the Place of +Saint-Valery. The idlers watched for her coming and going. In the +sailors’ quarter there was great interest. Bets were made as to which +of the two, the girl or the commissaire, would carry the day. + +He could not contain himself longer. He threatened to bring the +_gendarmes_ and to protect himself, if necessary, by the law. Elise was +only more active. + +“Return to-morrow,” the little hunchback kept saying to her. + +She did return. She found this daily walk across the bay, to which she +had become accustomed, a sort of healthful activity. She was not tired +herself, but she tired out the commissaire, who, to get rid of her, +finally consented to take the necessary first steps. + +He demanded that she should draw up a petition to the minister. + +Elise could write, but she felt that she knew too little for so +important a matter. She went to the schoolmaster, but he refused to +write of ghosts. Then she consulted the corporal of the coast guards, +and got from him a letter to her own mind, which with great delight she +carried to the commissaire. He refused to send it. The minister would +burst out laughing at these stories of phantoms. + +She would not give up. She sought the aid of the notary, who drew up +for her a four page petition in beautiful style. She was not able to +understand the big words and pompous phrases. They were too grand for +simple ears. But four pages--that was certainly better than one, and +this time the commissaire would have nothing to say. + +Cheered by this thought, Elise quickened her steps over the sands of +the bay. She had the new petition in her pocket, carefully wrapped in a +clean handkerchief, to keep the paper from being rubbed or spotted. At +intervals she touched it with the tips of her fingers, to be sure that +the four pages had not flown away in the wind. + +Four pages! That alone gave her confidence. Certain of success she +entered the Bureau almost haughtily, and marched gayly to her friend, +the little hunchback: + +“I am sure that your chief will be satisfied now.” + +She untied the handkerchief and carefully drew out the petition, +asking him to read it. While he ran through the lines she watched him +anxiously, to judge of the impression it made. He nodded his head, and +his eyes, slanting over the paper, lightened with gleams which gave +them a malicious vivacity. Elise thought that she detected a kind of +satisfied approbation. + +“It is splendid, is it not?” + +“Splendid, no! It is a pity that you have been so poorly advised.” + +Elise was discouraged, but went to the commissaire. He took the paper, +opened, and returned it. + +“Four pages, my daughter, at least three too many. A half page was +enough, provided it was well done.” + +He held out the paper. Elise had not the strength to take it. He saw +her become suddenly pale, and reproached himself for having been so +brusque. He spoke more pleasantly: + +“Petitions, you know, are just like prayers. The shorter they are the +better.” + +Then he waved his hand toward the door, politely but significantly. +Elise did not move from her chair. He looked at her. She was fainting. +He waited impatiently a moment, then rang with all his might for his +clerk. + +“M. Emile, take the young girl away.” + +The clerk had run in half frightened. His eyes moved from Elise to +the commissaire, as if to ask if one had really called him for such a +purpose. + +“Make haste, M. Emile, take her away. Draw up her petition and let us +have an end of her.” + +Then, as well as his feeble strength would permit, the little clerk +raised Elise and led her into his room. He moistened her forehead with +fresh water and brought her to herself by his delicate attentions and +his kind words. He was gentle and tender. One would have said that he +was delighted to assist a creature weaker than himself, to find at last +a chance to do something worthy of a man. + +When Elise was herself again, he made her sit by his table, wrote out a +beautiful petition on a large sheet of paper, and guided her hand while +she signed her name in the right place. + +He was not so ugly after all, this little clerk with his playful +hump. Elise was touched when, after wiping his damp fingers, he took +the paper by the corners, folded it delicately, and with much care +addressed it. + +When she saw the name of the minister beautifully written on the back +of the envelope Elise was taken with a childish joy, as if at last she +held a talisman which would deliver her from her troubles. + +“How beautiful it is, M. Emile. I am sure no one can write as you can.” + +Under the charm of this flattery the little clerk became genial. +Whistling and thoroughly pleased with himself he held out his knotty +hand to Elise, who took it affectionately: + +“Come again to-morrow, mademoiselle.” + +Elise had returned, imagining that she would already find the reply to +her petition. She had no idea of the delays and formalities necessary +in government affairs. + +She grew pale again, and was quite upset when the commissaire explained +to her the course which her petition must follow. First it must go to +the Commissaire of Marines at Dunkirk, then to the Minister at Paris, +then to the Maritime Prefect at Cherbourg, delayed, perhaps often, +between the three places. + +She went away, more troubled and more discouraged than before her +petition was written. + +If only Silvere were here. She would take him, and go even to Paris, +and would not fear to speak herself to the minister. But Silvere had +not returned. + +He had gone for a cruise of four weeks, and now six weeks had passed. +As a matter of fact, a boat never comes as soon as those who watch for +her hope, for there are endless ways to lose time at sea. Captains have +often come in months after all hope of them had been given up. + +The longer Silvere’s return was delayed, the more ill-natured were the +people of the village to Elise. They never came near her; she even had +trouble in persuading the baker to sell her bread. The children made +sport of her. They pushed one another against her, then made faces and +ran away as if from an evil thing. In old times they had hung about +her in a very different fashion. They were all friends of Firmin. She +had let them play in her father’s boat, had given them fish on the +return from each trip; they all loved her then. In memory of those days +she forgave them; but Barbet did not. + +He had given up entirely his old habits and refused to take the +children to school. He had now a more lofty idea of duty and kept all +his time and all his devotion for his adopted mistress. + +This caused new complaints against Elise. Was it to be borne that a +young girl should keep to herself a dog that belonged to the whole +village? Ought Barbet, who for thirty-five years had not failed for a +single day at his task, to now go back on all his old friends, in order +to trot behind the petticoats of a beggar? He was growing thin, and it +served him right. + +For, although she denied herself, Elise was not able to feed Barbet as +he had been used. Like his mistress, he lived on bread and water only. +He did not complain; he preferred an approving heart to a full stomach. + +But sometimes hunger made him a little cross, and the night before he +had not been able to restrain his injured feelings. When the mocking +children pushed themselves against Elise, he had seized one by the +throat and half strangled him. Until this time he had driven off the +most mischievous by snapping at them as a collie snaps at his sheep, +but now, to put an end once for all to these rude jests, he had bitten +in earnest. + +By a strange coincidence the boy whom he had seized was named Silvere, +and all the village was in an uproar. Did any one need further proof +that Silvere had perished, a victim of Elise’s malign influence? Barbet +told the truth after his fashion. The big Silvere! Such a good fellow +he was, so kind to his mother. Poor Mother Pilote! Her head was always +full of fancies, and this last excitement had almost upset her mind. +Whenever she went out she carried a bottle of holy water, with which +she sprinkled the roads to drive away spirits from her path. + +All these troubles were charged to Elise, but though the whole village +condemned her with one voice, she did not lose her faith in the future. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +She had none the less an hour of weakness the night that the +_Bon-Pêcheur_ went to sea again, after more than a month in the +ship-yard. Newly rigged and freshly painted for her cruise, she had +returned three days before from Treport and lay alongside the quay +ready to make sail for the autumn fishing. It was the longest cruise of +the year and they hoped on it to make up for the losses of the summer. + +It was the second week of August. The sea stretched away like a cloth +of gold with silvery lights under a rosy sky crossed with ribbons of +blue. Nothing was so beautiful as this great, grand calm, flooded with +a wealth of sunlight, and the _Bon-Pêcheur_ seemed as if about to start +toward regions of peace and rest. But the sky troubled Florimond. There +were indications of rough weather toward the north. What should he do? +After losing so many weeks should he waste more days? This was the time +of the year for bad weather. He who follows the sea has a rough trade. + +So the _Bon-Pêcheur_ set out, gliding over the tranquil sea so quietly +that she seemed not to have waited for night to go to sleep. Florimond +was at the helm, always imposing with his great figure, always +impressive as he gave out his orders in his deep voice. + +From the height of the dune, Elise, broken-hearted, watched the boat. +She remembered when the _Bon-Pêcheur_ had sailed before, and how full +of hope she had been, and how in those days Cousin Florimond had been +good to her. If everything had changed it was because of bad luck. That +alone had made him unjust. + +Then the night enveloped with its healthful peace men and things alike. +The _Bon-Pêcheur_ was still in the channel. There was so little breeze +that she moved slowly as if to show those on shore her grief at leaving +them behind. + +They are off, without Firmin or without me, thought Elise, and they do +not regret us. + +She was mistaken. As he stood at the helm, steering, Florimond was +thinking of her. He said to himself that he should not now have +an excuse for any further lack of success, that the sky was not +over-promising, and that after all he owed his bad luck to the weather +and not to Elise. At the bottom of his heart he was really ashamed to +have been so hard and not to have at least given this innocent girl the +pleasure of a farewell. And as it was now too late to do anything, he +grew remorseful and, after the fashion of sailors, who expect always to +be punished for their faults, was attacked by vague terrors. + +Then night came. It wrapped him about--a night without a moon, of a +deep blue, broken only by the glare of the lighthouses which protected +the bay. A lantern was lighted in the bow of the _Bon-Pêcheur_. +One could see it occasionally as the boat tacked, then, it too +disappeared. When she could see it no longer Elise burst into tears. +Her loneliness seemed more lonely than ever, her lot more sad. +Henceforth she would have hard work to live, for the _Bon-Pêcheur_ had +carried off her last dependence--her part of the nets. + +It had not been difficult for Florimond to obtain from the owner of +the _flambart_ a sum large enough to allow him to buy back for the +men and himself a complete outfit of nets. He had appropriated the +part he should have accounted for to Elise. He claimed that they were +due him as indemnity for the losses for which he held the poor child +responsible. + +Elise had nothing else in the world except her house. But if she had +had the chance to sell that, she would have refused. The house had been +built by her grandfather, and lived in by her father. She destined it +for Firmin, the last of the name, for Firmin, for whose return she was +waiting and watching. + +In an open boat, alone, exposed to storms, how could this weak boy have +resisted seas which engulf the strongest? Without doubt he had gone +down, with a last cry to his sister, into some frightful abyss where he +would be tossed about for all eternity. If the boy was with his father +why should Elise still remain in this world of trouble, unhappy, always +alone, with death in her heart? + +Was it so difficult to die? It would take only a few seconds to descend +the dune. One had only to run to the sea, to close the eyes and walk +into the waves, persisting until there came the final oblivion. +Every one in the village would rejoice; perhaps then Florimond would +forgive her. + +[Illustration: SHE WOULD SEE AGAIN THOSE SHE LOVED. + + Chap. 16.] + +Half conscious only of what she was doing, and almost delirious, +Elise hurried where the voice of the waves called her, a voice that +dulled her reason. Lost in her frenzy, she struggled across the sand, +into which her feet sank as if it strove to hold her back in spite of +herself. With tottering steps she reached the water’s edge. + +Since the land would have none of her she would trust herself to the +sea. She forgot the insults of the villagers; she would have liked to +have said farewell to the little hunchback, to Barnabé even, to Mother +Pilote, the poor woman who through ignorance had made her so much +trouble. She would have liked above all to have left a last message for +Florimond, that he should not revile her when she was gone. Had she not +a right, since she was dying innocent of any crime, to have her memory +at least left in peace? + +She felt the water already about her knees. She would see again those +she loved--her father, Firmin, Silvere, the men in the boat, Chrétien, +the two big fellows, and the old sailor. + +They were all there together in that bed of the tempest. She saw them, +she spoke to them, gasping and shivering. Her father, Firmin, Silvere, +Chrétien; they were all there. She stretched out her arms to them as +she ran into the waves. + +“Father, come and take me--I cannot move. Father! Some one stops me--I +cannot move! I cannot move!” + +In vain did Elise try to escape from the force which held her. She +tried to throw herself forward with all her might. She was pulled +backward firmly. + +“Something has seized my dress! It is dragging me away from you. +Father, Firmin!” + +She was drawn steadily back. She caught her feet in the folds of her +skirts. She fell. She was on the beach. + +Do not weep, Elise, do not weep! You shall see them all again, Silvere, +your father, Chrétien, and your Firmin whom you so love. You shall see +them all, it is Barbet who tells you so. + +You forgot him, Elise, your faithful Barbet, but he would not let you +die. It was he who followed you, sad and silent. When he realized what +you were about to do he dragged you back with all his strength. He is +your true friend, your guardian. You were ungrateful to forget him. + +Do not weep any more, Elise. Barbet leaps joyfully around you. Do you +not recognize his signs of joy? He has consoled you in this way, when +you were as heartbroken as now. Look how he points to the horizon. He +turns as if to beg you to listen. He leaps again. Look! He is trying to +make you see a lantern just entering the channel. Hurry and climb the +dune so as to see better what boat this light, so like a far-off star, +announces. Barbet tells you. Forget your sorrows and listen. Two barks. +It is the _Jeune-Adolphine_, big Poidevin’s sloop. + +“Is it really, Barbet? Is it really, really, big Poidevin’s sloop?” + +Yes, it is true, really true. Just watch Barbet. He begins his foolish +frisking, barking wildly, but always two barks at a time. Have no fear, +it is big Poidevin’s sloop. It brings you Silvere, first of those whom +you wished. He is the first and will show the way to the others. + +“Oh, thank you, Barbet! I shall see them all again, and I shall recover +my father.” + + * * * * * + +Elise waited a long time. The lantern hardly grew larger. The course of +the boat which it announced was so slow, that it would not reach the +port for an hour. An hour is often longer than a year to those who are +in suspense. + +“Come, Barbet, quick! We shall meet him at the landing. Mother Pilote +will recover her senses. We must go and tell her the news. Quick, +Barbet!” + +Elise passed quickly through the village and reached the house hidden +among the big trees on the edge of the stream. She knocked joyfully +with all her might. + +“Mother Pilote, I have come for you to go and meet Silvere.” + +“Who is there?” + +“I, your Elise, Mother Pilote. Silvere will be here in an hour.” + +“Go away! My poor Silvere is no more among the living. Your troubles +have made you walk o’ nights.” + +“Open, Mother Pilote! I have seen the lantern of the +_Jeune-Adolphine_! It will reach the quay in an hour.” + +“Go away! Do not bring trouble to my house!” + +“No, I do not bring bad luck, for Silvere is not lost. I have never +injured any one.” + +“Go away! It is foolishness. You cannot recognize a lantern! All boats +are alike!” + +“It was not I who recognized it, it was Barbet. You know perfectly well +that he sees better than any one.” + +“Barbet is accursed like you. Go away, both of you.” + +“Open, Mother Pilote! There is too much trouble in the village already +without my adding more. Open! Ask Barbet!” + +“It is all the same. I have no fancy for night visits.” + +“Open! Since Silvere is returning, why fear me any longer. Come, +Barbet, tell Mother Pilote.” + +As if he had understood her words the dog gave the two barks, known all +through the town as the sign of Poidevin’s sloop. + +“Do you hear, Mother Pilote? He is never deceived.” + +The old woman had gained a little confidence. She did not open her +door, but through the window the sound of her voice came more clearly. + +“Are you sure that it is not all fancy?” + +Barbet barked again. + +“If it is true, wait a little, my daughter.” + +Elise heard her move from the inside of the door a perfect array of +defense, boards, chains, and bolts. + +Barbet had stopped barking. He jumped against the door, which resounded +under the shock, and which at last opened a little way. He slipped +through the space in order to announce the good news to the old woman +by leaps and pirouettes after his fashion. + +“Oh! my daughter, call off your dog. He will upset my pot of holy +water.” + +Elise tried to enter, but the half-closed door prevented her. + +“Wait a little. Call off your dog.” + +“Come back, old Barbet, there is no reason for wearying every one +because we are happy. Come back.” + +She was interrupted by a dash of water in her face which half +suffocated her. Barbet, who received it in his open mouth, retreated +sneezing. + +The door opened its full width. The dog careered about the old woman +so wildly, and leaped so joyfully upon her, that she let fall her pot +of holy water, an old tin vessel, which was battered shapeless on the +stone. + +“Alas! my daughter! Fortunately, I have no more need of it. Since the +holy water did not burn you, you are not accursed. It was all lies. +They were a lot of wicked people to take pleasure in troubling you. +Silvere will make them sing another song.” + +The old woman hastily threw off her old dark skirt, ran to her +chest, drew out her gayest clothes, her holiday dress, a red skirt, +green waist, and flowered hood. While she was dressing she kept on +ejaculating: + +“They will make a long face, these people in the village! They will +have to beg your pardon. Their heads were turned with their fancies +about the devil. You will not tell anything to Silvere. He will be +angry with me.” + +“Oh no, Mother Pilote, Silvere is too good a son to reproach you. He +shall never do it on my account.” + +The old woman was quickly dressed. In her haste she had tied her hood +crooked, had twisted her mantle in putting it on, had caught the skirts +of her basque under her belt. Carefully and with gentle attention and +tender respect Elise set the bonnet straight, laid the mantle smooth, +and arranged the basque. + +“Mother Pilote, you must look as well as possible, so that your +son shall be proud at sight of you. He will be delighted at your +appearance.” + +They went out together, calling out the news at each house, to tell the +wives of all the sailors who were on the _Jeune-Adolphine_. + +Their band increased everywhere; mothers, sweethearts, daughters, they +were a goodly company as they reached the wharf. Barbet went before, +leaping and barking, like a fiddler at the head of a wedding procession. + +Elise had not been so happy for a long time. They no longer feared +her in the village. Mother Pilote had treated her as if she were her +daughter, and the women spoke to her pleasantly. + +When they reached the pier the lantern shone close at hand in the end +of the channel, nearly at the harbor mouth. There was no doubt about +it. It was Poidevin’s lantern. It was hoisted at the top of the mast, +and by its light they could distinguish, through the darkness, the +sailors they knew to belong to the _Jeune-Adolphine_. Two long barks +announced them. + +“Ho! Poidevin!” shouted all the women together in an irresistible burst +of emotion. + +“Home again!” repeated twenty voices through the night, twenty voices +with strong, well-known accents. + +When the sloop came alongside the wharf, and its red lantern flooded +the deck, showing big Poidevin himself at the helm, and the black +forms of the sailors at work, there broke out from the women cries of +happiness and sobs of joy, and Mother Pilote drawing Elise to her lips, +held her fast in a long embrace. She had seen Silvere. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +Silvere returned rich, for some time at least, for the +_Jeune-Adolphine_ had made a great success of her cruise. She was so +heavily loaded with fish that she had been hardly able to reach the +market at Dieppe, which was better than that of Boulogne. They had thus +gained by their delay, and when the fish were sold were well paid for +their trouble. + +Before going north again for the second cruise they had come to pass a +week with their mothers, wives, and daughters, those who tell off day +after day, like a chaplet of sorrow, the long months of absence. + +The day after his return Silvere did not leave Elise. All day long, +happy in being together, they walked the dunes, confiding to each +other the overflowings of their hearts. She told him with caution of +the persecution of which she had been the object, but said nothing +about the part which Mother Pilote had played. He had learned the +truth, however, from another source, and Elise seemed to him only more +attractive and more worthy of being loved. + +“Elise, I will not go on the second cruise. I am not willing to leave +you alone in the village. You have such speaking ways. There is no one +who has their heart in their eyes as you have. When you sailed away +before, I felt that I should never see you again. I was always on the +lookout for you in the North Sea, and I hardly slept for watching the +horizon.” + +“You are good to have loved me. I, too, often called on you when you +were far away.” + +“Let us marry, Elise. I will not leave the village. Mother Pilote will +be delighted.” + +“Listen, Silvere. Until I have found my father’s body I might bring +trouble between us. Later on I will be happy to be your wife, so as to +care for you and pay back all the kindness which you have shown me. You +are the only one who has not forsaken me.” + +“But if your father should not be found? Ought we not to marry just the +same? Would he wish such an injury to his child?” + +“Let us look for him. I cannot bear the idea of his being tossed about +pitilessly. If you had seen him, as I have, you would help me snatch +him from the dreadful sea.” + +“It is not the will, it is the means which we lack. What is it? Are you +ill? Why do you tremble so?” + +“Do you see that man watching us? He is hidden in the crow’s hole.” + +The crow’s hole had been dug in the sand by hunters, who lay there +in wait for wild birds as they passed overhead. In the first days of +autumn it served as an ambush against the gray crows from the north, +who passed over the village on their way to the neighboring fields. It +was from them that it had taken its name. + +As Elise and Silvere came near, some one crawled out, bent double and +creeping on all fours, as if to escape observation. + +“What is Barnabé after there? He is not likely to find any great chance +to do mischief in this sandy waste. Ho! Barnabé?” + +But Barnabé was deaf to the call, and hurrying only the more, soon was +out of sight. + +“I would rather see his back than his face, Elise. He, at least, has +made you no trouble during my absence.” + +“On the contrary. He has been better than the others. But your coming +has upset him. All day long he has been looking threateningly at me.” + +And Elise leaned more closely and more timorously against her lover. +He held her hand, and, under the firm pressure, she felt a caressing +warmth which made her heart glow. + +“Silvere, I have never known anything so sweet as being loved.” + +She threw a restful glance at her lover, whose huge figure seemed a +tower of strength to her. + +“I am so strong now. One is weak when one fights alone.” + +“Lise, my beloved, my two arms, all my strength, belong to you always. +For your happiness----” + +He stopped short. Elise had begun trembling again: + +“Silvere, look--there--behind us. He is following me. His eyes are +wicked.” + +“Who? Barnabé? Wait a moment. I will give him a bit of advice to let +you alone.” + +“Oh no? Do not leave me! I am not happy unless you are with me.” + +“Listen, Elise. It is intolerable that you should be threatened by this +rascal. I will clear the road of him.” + +Silvere ran toward Barnabé, who took to his heels instantly, muttering +threats. + +This was not the first day that Barnabé had followed Elise, but she +had not wished to say so for fear of making trouble between him and +Silvere. But she was not able to resist the urgency of her lover, and +let him see a little of how matters stood. + +After the first visit to the Bureau at Saint-Valery, Barnabé had +returned to the village in a most self-satisfied state. He had filled +the tavern with his boasts, telling with many words how he had +chastised the insolence of the little hunchback, and swearing that +he would return the next day to take the commissaire by the nose. +He wanted to accompany Elise on her second visit, but she refused, +thinking that such an unbridled advocate would ruin the best cause. He +was angry, and followed her, declaring that he would be her champion +whether or no, and that he would make her see reason in spite of +herself and every one else. She had had to take a decided stand with +him. He followed her to Saint-Valery, and fear alone had kept him +outside the Bureau. He returned often with the same intention; finally +he gave it up, and, in revenge for her slight, had gone over to the +girl’s enemies. + +This that Silvere drew from her was not all, for Elise had not thought +it wise to tell everything to her lover. Barnabé was truly a bad +fellow. On their first visit to Saint-Valery he had made disgraceful +proposals. If she should recover her father’s body and his money, Elise +would be rich, and he had offered to marry her. He believed her, then, +capable of breaking her troth. At that time it is true they thought +Silvere lost, but for her he would have lived always. She would no more +be false to him dead than she would have betrayed him living. + +Softened by her thoughts she smiled at her big friend, in all the +confidence of her heart. “Silvere, I am so happy. We will work together +to recover my father’s body. Take me in your boat to the Vergoyer. +Perhaps we can find the place where he lies. That would help us very +much in our demands at Saint-Valery.” + + * * * * * + +The following morning, well before dawn, all three set out together, +the two lovers and Barbet. The breeze which came with the day sent them +briskly along. The sea was smooth, and in a half hour they were out of +the channel. Then, spread out before them, they saw gleaming under the +rising sun the sea that hid, as if under a smile, the treacherous abyss. + +Seized by a strange emotion Elise drew near Silvere--she found herself +irresistibly drawn as by some charm to this new life so sweet and +protecting. This big Silvere, who was so gentle, she loved for the +faith he had in her. + +“Silvere, I believe that we shall find my father, and that he will bid +us marry.” + +They were drawing near the Vergoyer. The reflection of the sun made +delusive gleams, and a dull rumbling seemed to come from the depth of +the sea, frightful like all noises whose cause is not known. The boat, +now fairly in the rough water, resounded under the blows of the waves. + +It was time to take soundings. Elise took the lead, then leaning well +forward in the bow she whirled it around her head and with a sudden +fling threw it far before her into the sea. When the boat on its course +passed over the place where it lay on the bottom, Elise drew the cord +taut, and, hauling it in, counted the number of fathoms which it marked. + +“Ten fathoms, Silvere. We are on the shallows. Father was wrecked in +the gulf.” + +From fathom to fathom they sounded to find the greatest depth. Silvere +scanned the surface. At the places where the waves seemed quietest he +fancied they would find the greatest depth. He steered there, but he +was mistaken--seven fathoms only. + +The boat tacked again. Misery! Only five fathoms. He changed her +course. Twelve fathoms--at last--eighteen--twenty-two--keep right +ahead, we are approaching it. Misery! It shoals again--nine fathoms +only. For a long time they tried to find the gulf, which they knew to +be at least sixty fathoms deep. + +“Elise, time passes. We must not delay if we are going to return with +the morning tide. The breeze will not be with us as we go back. We will +come again to-morrow, and will consult the villagers who are best +posted.” + +“Let us try again, Silvere. Perhaps our ill-fortune will leave us. One +cannot search always without finding.” + +Elise tried the lead ten times more, but without success. + +“Enough, Elise, let us come about. The tide is falling. We shall not +have water enough to get back.” + +“Why not wait until night! I have no doubt that if we call upon my +father he will make his presence known. With you I am not afraid.” + +“No, this is no place to sail at night. One blast from the north-west, +and the canoe would be turned keel in air. We----” + +His words were cut short by a bark. Barbet was standing up, his feet on +the gunwale, his ears erect his nostrils distended. + +Elise ran to the stern. Panting and troubled she fled to Silvere for +protection. Both were silent, every nerve alert, while the boat held +its way with no thought now of turning about. Leaning on each other, +motionless, they seemed united by the same feeling of tenderness and +affection. + +At that moment a sharp, angry growl interrupted them. + +“It is no doubt here that the lame man lies. You know, Silvere, the +little red-haired man who made so much trouble in the village? You +remember how Barbet always growled at him? It was just as he did now.” + +The boat sailed steadily on. Barbet barked five times. Elise hid her +head on Silvere’s breast and murmured in a low tone: + +“It is the launch of friend Joseph. They are all there then.” + +“Yes, they are in the gulf. They drifted there after being shipwrecked +on the shoals.” + +“Oh! Silvere, do you hear Barbet? We are over the lost sailors’ gulf.” + +“Eight barks. It is Amadée’s sloop.” They are all there. How many +besides, from Berck and Cayeux, that Barbet did not know at all? + +“Do you hear? Three times--can it be so--three times only--three +times--it is father.” And while Silvere struck the sail to stop the +boat, Elise cried out: + +“Father, are you there? You will forgive me now that I have found you. +Father, are you there?” + +The anchor ran out, and the boat came into the wind. Barbet began his +barks again--always three together. It was the boat of her father and +his six companions. + +Elise took the lead and let it slip overboard. When she felt it had +reached the bottom she had a shiver. She raised the cord slowly and +drew the lead aboard carefully. Its bottom, smeared with grease, had +brought up a light covering of fine sand. She looked at it abstractedly +for a long time. + +Silvere did not dare to break in on her pious thoughts. The full +noonday sun shone in splendor, and in the clear light which seemed to +envelop her the young girl seemed to brighten and to be alive with a +new force. + +“Elise, we will make a buoy fast to the anchor. If we do not go at once +we shall find the bay entirely dry.” + +Recalled to herself, Elise made haste to measure the depth. + +Sixty fathoms, over a bottom of fine sand. It was surely the abyss +which the old men called the lost sailors’ gulf. “Father, if you are +really there, do you pardon me?” + +At that very instant Barbet gave three quick joyful barks, then kept on +barking without taking breath. He had answered Elise. He announced her +father’s forgiveness, the end of all her troubles, and a life of health +and happiness. + +Then forgetting her unhappy past in her new hopes, Elise sat beside her +lover and offered him her hand. + +“Silvere, my father gives me to you. You alone have not failed me. I am +no longer afraid of being loved.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +After a last thought consecrated to the past they quitted the lost +sailors’ gulf. At the place pointed out by Barbet, Silvere left the +anchor, made fast to a float, as a guide for the future. At last the +boat headed for home. But the wind was against them, and they made so +little progress that they soon had to give up the idea of entering on +the day tide. + +Elise saw this before Silvere told her. What difference did it make? +She had regained her hope in the future, and, in the reaction from +her past sufferings, was thoroughly happy. Leaning toward Silvere she +looked at him so gratefully that the young man could not contain his +emotion: + +“Elise, you know that I would willingly give my life for you. From this +hour there shall be no more sorrow for us.” + +What is Barbet trying to show them? + +“Is it that wretched boat which excites him so?” + +“Yes, yonder, with the brown sail. The boat which sails in our wake.” + +“It seems as if it followed us, tack for tack. I will find out.” + +“Silvere, do not let us trouble ourselves about other people’s affairs +when they are no concern of ours. Let each one be left to his own +devices!” + +Silvere was obstinate. He changed the boat’s course, he tacked and +luffed at random, or kept straight ahead. The other boat followed each +manœuvre exactly. + +The chase lasted for five hours. As they had to wait for the tide they +kept in the open sea, so as to have more room than in the channel; but +whatever direction Silvere took he always saw astern the little brown +sail, taking the wind just as he did. It became irritating. He kept his +eyes on his unknown enemy, but, whenever he tried to overtake him, the +brown sail always escaped before he was near enough to recognize it. + +“It is not from our village. It must be a boat from Cayeux. _Parbleu!_ +We have not had our eyes open. I recognize that short mast. It is the +_Marie-Albert_ of Saint-Valery, Barnabé’s uncle’s boat. There are +two men on board and I imagine that he is one of them, the wretched +landlubber.” + +Elise was seized with painful forebodings. Was she never to have a +quarter of an hour’s pleasure free from fears? What could he be after, +this Barnabé, that he attached himself to her as if she belonged to him? + +“I will overtake him,” cried Silvere suddenly. “I will have +satisfaction or capsize first.” + +“Silvere, I beg you, give up this useless pursuit. If we come up with +Barnabé what complaint have we to make? Trouble comes fast enough +without going to meet it half way.” + +“Elise, since we have spare time let us make use of it. Look to the +sail--Starboard.” + +Pressed against the tiller Silvere paid no attention to her, and spoke +only to give orders. He changed the boat’s course so quickly that she +received blows and shocks enough to capsize her. They gained on the +enemy by skilful sailing, but she quickly made up what she had lost, +and the men in both boats were so occupied, one in flying, the other in +pursuing, that they paid no attention to their course. It was a wonder +that they had not run aground on the shoals twenty times. + +At one time they were so close together that the men glared at one +another, and excited by this exchange of angry looks threw at each +other a volley of insults. + +“You great gull, you shall not have Elise to yourself. I will come and +take her in such a fashion that she will not resist.” + +“Look after yourself. Your claws shall be cut for you.” + +Barnabé’s uncle, an old fellow with a groggy nose, kept sullenly +silent, evidently in a very bad humor. Elise interposed: + +“Silvere, I pray, let us leave them alone if we wish them to leave us +alone.” + +“No, I will scour the hair of this miserable cur. What business has he +to come smelling after us? Starboard--port.” + +His orders followed so quickly, that they were tossed about without +cessation. All at once Elise uttered a cry of distress. + +“Silvere, we have returned to the Vergoyer.” + +Silvere did not hear. He did not know what risks he ran, or where he +was going. He saw only a brown sail which continually escaped him, and +which he had sworn to overhaul if he had to follow it to the shores of +England. + +Every instant there came new tacks and new shocks, and on the choppy +sea of the Vergoyer the two boats pitched wildly. + +“We shall overhaul them, Elise--port!” + +“Silvere, do not take the trouble. See, here is our buoy. We are back +again at the lost sailor’s gulf.” + +“Be quiet. You keep the boat back by your talking. We are losing +headway. Port--Lise--Lise----” + +“What makes you grow so pale! You frighten me!” + +“Lise--Lise----” + +“Enough, Silvere. We risk our lives at every tack. Shall we keep on +until the Vergoyer has devoured us too? You frighten me--you are so +pale--speak to me--speak to me. Let us give up the chase, I beg, as a +proof of friendship.” + +“Lise--Lise----” + +“Are you suffering?--answer me--have you had a blow? We shall surely be +capsized if we do not get away from here.” + +“Elise--there--there----” + +“Speak plainly! You are killing me with anxiety!” + +“There--the brown sail----” + +“Misery! Can it be? What has become of her? I cannot see her. +Barnabé--ahoy!” + +Elise shouted again and kept on shouting, but Barnabé did not answer. +At the minute she had lost sight of him he had brought his boat about +at the wrong moment, and it had turned over so easily that it seemed as +if he had intended it. + +Poor Barnabé! He had better have gone again on the _Bon-Pêcheur_. But +at the thought of finding himself face to face with Florimond for long +weeks, fast between two planks with no chance of escape, he was anxious +to cancel his engagement. His request had been promptly granted. No one +regrets losing a bad companion. + +Their thoughts were full of him as Elise and Silvere left the Vergoyer. +Poor Barnabé! He was not really bad at heart. He was more dangerous in +his friendships than in his enmity, for his evil tongue spoiled all the +good he did. He certainly did delight to annoy others, and so was the +cause of his own death. Ought one not to forgive him? + +Elise remained thoughtful for a long time. She had gone to the stern, +and was leaning on Silvere’s shoulder while he delicately lent himself +to the _rôle_ of protector. He laid a course that did not require him +to change the sail, and in working the tiller he was careful not to +stir his shoulder where Elise’s head was lying quietly in melancholy +abstraction. Sweet Elise! He did not dare to bend his head so as to +look at her, but he felt that she was in a revery, and held his great +body still in a sort of respectful adoration. + +He surrounded her with caressing thoughts. He felt the warmth of her +forehead on his shoulder, her hair brushed his cheek. He heard her +breath light and soft in rhythm with the rough breathing of Barbet. +The rise and fall of her chest, supported on his own, sent through him +a shiver of pleasure. He smiled over her, his dear Elise, with that +sweet smile which fathers have for frail children to whom they give all +tenderness. + +Elise’s thought was at the same time pleasant and sorrowful. She held +Barbet between her crossed arms and craftily closed his mouth to +restrain his joyous outbursts. Truly the dog was lacking in reserve. +From the moment that the brown sail had disappeared he had broken +out into joyful barks. Even at this very moment, notwithstanding her +fingers which with all their might held his mouth closed, he half +opened it and threw out little joyful cries. Elise awoke with a start +from her dream. + +“You have no respect, Barbet. Come, be quiet. It is only a villain who +rejoices over the death of others. Be quiet.” + +Recalled to propriety by a light tap on the nose, Barbet lay silently +in arms which held him tightly. Then Elise fell a-thinking again, while +Silvere, tender as a lover, attentive as a faithful friend, supported +her. He was happy because he saw that her confidence had returned, and +he was taking her home. + +They entered the channel, slipping homeward with the tide as it came +into the bay. Already the last gleams of twilight had faded from the +sea and left it black, for the night was without moon and without +stars. The breeze had not changed since morning and Silvere counted +less on it than on the tide. He held the tiller fast, and not having to +work the boat gave himself up to the enjoyment of the moment. + +[Illustration: HE WAS HAPPY, BECAUSE HE SAW THAT HER CONFIDENCE HAD +RETURNED. + + Chap. 18.] + +He started suddenly with an intuition of danger. Quick! This is no time +for dreams. Night is the time for collisions. Besides, was not a soul +in his keeping? Ought he not to watch over this child whom he held +trembling on his heart? + +“Listen, Elise. I am sorry to break in on your revery, but there is a +tug behind us drawing a large boat. I think it is a schooner from the +orders given out. She will surely run us down if we do not light our +lanterns.” + +He was right. Hardly had the lantern glimmered at the mast-head when +there came from the direction where he had heard the noise a shout, in +a voice which emotion rendered sweet and far reaching: + +“Boat ahoy! Ahoy!” + +Silvere steered his boat one side to avoid a collision, and when, +behind the tug, there passed through the darkness a large schooner with +lofty masts, the same clear voice came from her deck: + +“Silvere Pollenne--Elise Hénin--Ahoy!” + +“Chrétien Loirat!” + +“And the Danzels and old Coulin!” + +“All aboard here!” + +Hurrah! They were all there--the four men who were lost from the +_Bon-Pêcheur_--Chrétien, the two big fellows, and the old sailor. All +were safe again. Firmin no doubt would soon come in his turn. + +Then, in an outburst of happiness, Elise threw herself into the arms +of her lover, who pressed her gently to his breast. + +“Silvere, I should have been dead if you had not loved me. Now we will +be married and together will take care of Mother Pilote.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +The four sailors of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ could not return home at once. +They were on a schooner bound to Saint-Valery, and had to wait until, +at dawn, the outgoing tide would leave the bay dry. But when Silvere +reached home that night he spread the news of their return, and their +wives, who had waited so long, were only too happy at the thought of +going to meet them. + +All had donned their best clothes, and, with white bonnets and skirts +so gay that they seemed to brighten the night, were ready when, at two +o’clock in the morning, the sand began to be bare. + +Over the bay it was still night. The lanterns on the far-off quay of +Saint-Valery were their only guides, as, in the darkness, the party +tramped across the rough sands and splashed through the pools. + +The children, sodden with sleep, dragged themselves along, and the +poor old lame grandmothers tried to keep up with the young wives, who +walked briskly as if their impatience set their pace. First came the +wives of the two big fellows. Each carried a baby in her arms, while +other children held on to their skirts. Then, in a family group, came +the sons and daughters of the old sailor. Some, grown up and married, +had babies of their own, others were still only boys and girls. Last of +all came Chrétien’s mother, elderly but not yet old, though already +uncertain of step. + +Good Mother Loirat had had a hard fight during the seventeen years of +her widowhood. By severe toil she had won a livelihood from these arid +sands, and had brought up four sons. Alas! The sea had taken three of +them in one day, all lost with Hénin’s boat. And now that the youngest +was old enough to earn their bread, she had believed that he, too, was +lost. + +Like all unfortunates whom trouble has followed, even in their old +age, she had long since given up hope, but her last energies had been +awakened by this final blow. Her sweet Chrétien, blond and bright-eyed, +was the one of her four sons who most closely resembled his father. + +Father Loirat had been one of the crew of a lugger of Hourdel. It +fished during the week on the coast, but returned to its own port, +every Saturday, to enjoy the Sunday’s rest. His wages were small, and +the work uncertain; but if he made a poor living, he was at least able +to spend one day a week with his family. + +When Mother Loirat thought of those Sundays of other days, her eyes +filled with tears. Her husband took a child in each hand and she a +third in her arms, and they walked along the dunes under the open sky, +or they watched the weather. He lay on the sands, smoking his pipe +without a thought. She, seated beside him, hushed the baby to sleep +on her knees. They sought no other pleasure than to be together, and +good Mother Loirat, who had never known happier days, looked back on +them regretfully, as on a vision of the past full of sweet pictures and +tender recollections. + +One Saturday in September, after a heavy equinoctial tide, her husband +had come home burning with fever, his eyes bright, his limbs shaking. +Twenty-four hours after he was dead, just one month before his fourth +child was born. Loirat was named Chrétien. In memory of him the +new-born child was given the same name, and as he grew up he more and +more recalled his father by his open face and frank nature. + +To Mother Loirat he was always her little lad, her Chrétien, blond and +frank-eyed. Had sixteen years then really passed since he was born? Was +it not rather yesterday that, during the day tides, she had carried him +in her basket on her back, and set him down on the sand, while she bent +over busily gathering shells? When she came back to him, weighed down +by her load, she forgot her fatigue in watching his sweet little smile. + +During the night tides she left him sleeping in her cabin with his +elder brothers, all young together. She had worked fast at such times, +so as not to return late and find the child awake and crying for her. + +To him, the same as to others, came the time when he was old enough to +learn a trade. So he had sailed on the _Bon-Pêcheur_. And one night +they had come to his mother to tell her that he was lost. She, who had +borne without complaining, all the caprices of fate--the loss of her +husband and of her three sons, had had for Chrétien her first outbreak +of indignation and revolt. Had she not more than paid her debt, and was +it not now for others to give to the sea the tribute which she demands, +as a kind of revenge, from the men who harass her? + +No, she would not believe that her boy was dead, and the night before +she had received the news of his return as quietly as if it had been a +thing foreseen. But she was none the less impatient. Under her furrowed +brow, her keen eye looked through the shadows of the night for the +figure she was awaiting. + +Dawn was coming, but the distant landmarks were still lost in a heavy +obscurity. A strange atmosphere came off the sea. They could hardly +breathe. Though it was the end of night it was as warm as at midday. +At long intervals, in the south, beyond the steeple of Saint-Valery, +pale lightnings furrowed the sky. The storm seemed at times as though +it would not reach them. Under the oppression of the weather they had +slackened their pace, and at the first gleam of day were only at the +middle of the bay. A stream, broad if not deep, which they could not +pass without wading up to their knees, brought them to a halt. The +wives of the two big sailors had already tucked up their skirts and +were passing the children across, tossing them from hand to hand and +carrying the larger ones astride their backs. + +“Come, good Mother Loirat, it is your turn.” + +The poor thing weighed nothing at all. She took up so little room in +the strong arms which carried her, that the woman could not help +saying kindly: + +“One would make little profit off of you, Mother Loirat. You have not +more than twenty-five pounds of fat to sell.” + +“Trouble is poor nourishment, my poor daughter. When you have eaten as +much of it as I, you will have as little flesh on your bones.” + +But there was no time to lose in talk. Across the white clouds which +were fast increasing, the steeple of the church of Saint-Valery stood +out above the dark mass of houses and of trees over which it towered, +while at the foot of the town the channel of the Somme was plainly +marked, as it took its even course seaward. The women looked about +them. They could see nothing, could hear none of those joyful outbursts +which ordinarily announce sailors’ return. + +They made haste, but so did the storm. Fortunately it was kept back by +the very heaviness of its masses of clouds. They had reached the banks +of the Somme when the first lightning flash parted the clouds above the +church of Saint-Valery, a brutal, blinding flash, followed by such a +crash of thunder that the frightened children hid their faces in their +mothers’ skirts. + +With one voice they shouted for help. Where was the ferryman? Was the +man paid by the town to do nothing, to sleep comfortably dry while +travellers were drowned in the storm? + +“It is no new thing for us to be wet,” said the thin voice of Mother +Loirat. “Are we not always drenched by the tides? You are too fond of +an easy life. Wait a little, my daughters, you will find times grow +harder as you grow older.” + +These reflections did not stop their outcry. The storm enveloped all +the bay. As they stood on the banks of the stream, too deep for them to +cross, exposed to its fury, the group of crying children and clamoring +women seemed, with their angry voices, cries, and their shrinking +attitudes like shipwrecked seals. + + * * * * * + +“Are you going to wait there until you are dry?” cried, from behind, a +cheerful voice. “You must have a good many clothes to wash.” + +“Whom are you mocking, you great sea-gull? Are you not as soaked as the +rest? This is a nice time for you to be taking your Lise for a walk.” + +When Silvere and Elise joined the group of women and children there was +an exchange of words, and explanations without end. + +“What brought you on our wet tracks with your Lise?” + +Elise, who had been half-hidden behind Silvere’s shoulder, stepped +forward to reply. The night before, on her return, she had received a +message, and an order to present herself at the Maritime Bureau the +next morning at six o’clock, on a matter referring to her father. Like +all poor people, she had, to save the fare of the boat which crossed +at full tide, preferred to walk, taking advantage of the ebb. This +took six hours from her sleep, but she would not lose in a twenty +minutes’ trip a whole day’s wages. + +[Illustration: “ARE YOU GOING TO WAIT THERE UNTIL YOU ARE DRY?” + + Chap. 19.] + +All this time nothing appeared on the other bank. With a man’s +authority, Silvere gave his advice. Since no one came to help them, +they had better follow the stream to the place where the boats lay at +anchor. They would be less wretched there, if they could not find any +one to ferry them across to the town. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +The wharf was as busy a scene as if it had been midday. Among the brigs +and schooners unloading wood from Norway, the women were not long in +making out a strange-looking steamer. She did not have paddles like +a tug, she was shorter than a despatch-boat, and not so sharp as a +corvette. Her deck was loaded with rope ladders, with long tubes, and +strange dresses. On her davits hung boats such as were ordinarily found +only on larger vessels,--a big ship’s boat, and a steam-launch. + +“Look there, Elise, this surely has something to do with your father. +You can see visors such as divers wear.” + +The steamer had really come in answer to Elise’s petition, which had +reached the Maritime Prefect at Dunkirk at a time when trials of +diving apparatus were about to be made. They wished to experiment at +different depths, to investigate the character of the seas, to test +dangerous whirlpools, eddies, and contrary currents. The rough waters +of Berck and Etaples had been selected for the experiment. The search +which Elise asked for gave an opportunity for practice. It was a sort +of practical problem, the solution of which would confirm scientific +theories. The steamer had then naturally been ordered to put herself +in communication with the Bureau at Saint-Valery, to obtain the +additional information necessary to its work. + +The experiments were to commence at the next tide, and all the town had +waked up well before its usual hour. At the quay, on the river bank, +on the side of the town near the steamer, which was already smoking, +groups of sailors were talking excitedly. Among them the women speedily +recognized their husbands, more interested in listening than in seeing +their families. They hardly turned their heads at the call which +Silvere threw at them from the opposite pier. + +Nevertheless, a service boat came alongside, and a few moments +afterward mothers, wives, and children joined the men. Their embraces +were short. Their hearts were stirred only by this great news: the +Vergoyer was to be explored. + +A legend had grown from age to age about this gulf, to which each year +added fresh victims. The names of those who had been lost there with +their boats had been told over and over so often that it had come to be +believed that, from generation to generation, since the ages, enormous +riches had been piling up in this accursed gulf. Had not, only two +springs before, after a storm from the north, one of those storms when +the sea cuts away the sands, a lugger from Cayeux, buried more than +thirty years before, been thrown up and floated? It was found aground +on its side, as strong as when new. Other wrecks had been thrown up +with it, and with them an old box stuffed with pistoles, which had made +the finder rich. + +This old shipwrecked lugger, which had taken a fresh lease of life, +after having so long a lapse, had since led a happy existence. She had +all the boldness of one brought back to life, one who had been in the +realms of death, and thereafter feared nothing. The captain who bought +her faced the roughest weather in her. How many others might, like her, +be recovered, good for use? There was no doubt that they would find +treasures enough to fill the pockets of all the coasters of the bay, +and every man hoped to take part in the work. + +Perhaps they might be hired. They were not familiar with the work, but +was it necessary for one to have studied much to know how to put on a +visor and dig in the wet sand? If one should find a box of gold like +that other, one would be rich enough to fit out a big fishing-boat and +be a captain in one’s turn. And it is much pleasanter to be a captain +than a hand. + +The sailors urged one another to go to the officers of the steamer and +find out if work was offered, and under what conditions they would have +a chance to be taken. + +They did not stop talking for an instant, and talking is dry work, so +they soon entered the first open tavern, and there talked on, very much +at their ease, before their full bowls of hot coffee. The children lay +asleep on the benches or in the corners. The sun had risen long ago, +but they had not yet decided who should go and ask the officers. + +“Let’s find Lise,” cried one of the big fellows, with moist lips and +bright eyes. Three cups of coffee had rubbed up his ideas. + +As one man they overturned the benches, and, swallowing at a gulp what +was left in their cups, dashed out of the tavern to find Elise. + +She was seated at the door of the Bureau, on the first of three steps +where, for whole days during the last weeks, she had waited so often +for the commissaire to come out. But where yesterday she was so +unhappy, she was to-day full of new hopes. + +The wives of the two big fellows were the first to arrive, dragging +their children off their feet beside them, and urging their husbands to +ask the young girl’s help. They shouted and gestured, as if counting +on noise to prove their prior rights. While all talked wildly around +Elise, the old sailor, who had kept back, was attacked by his two older +daughters. + +They urged that he, too, should try to get work on the steamer; if +there were treasures to be found, it would be too stupid to leave them +to other people. He did not yield easily, and the nearer the time came +to act the more he hesitated. For his part, he had seen enough misery +on top of the water, without going underneath in search of it. At his +age he had no taste for convict’s work. + +But by his resistance he only increased the urgency of his daughters, +who grew frantic in their attempts to convince him. Mother Loirat heard +them. She was so angry that she interposed: + +“The old man is right, it is no work for honest men. Every one despises +miscreants who get rich by stealing dead men’s money.” + +Then she went to Elise: + +“Do not try to help them, my child. All they want is to steal the money +of those who have been shipwrecked.” + +“Have no fear, good Mother Loirat. I have not given the money a +thought. All I want is to free the soul of my father and your three +sons. You and Chrétien will go. You have the right which your tears +have given you.” + +A feeling of rage and disappointment passed through the crowd of +sailors, furious at the contempt which Elise showed for them. They +began to growl out threats. + + * * * * * + +“Ahoy there, sailors, clear the road for your betters. Ahoy!” The big +fellows and all the women turned about at the sharp, impertinent voice +which demanded room so cavalierly. + +“A ship’s figure-head on a seal’s skeleton! Wretched bundle! He shall +not pass! the baboon! he is all humps and no hollows.” + +The little clerk struggled, and Elise made a dash forward to clear +the way to the Bureau for him, when suddenly the sailors fell back of +themselves. Between their two files, drawn back respectfully, came +the under-commissaire, very dignified in his silver-laced hat. He +recognized Elise. + +“You are not late; it is well. Pass in before me.” + +Elise hesitated. She looked about for Silvere, who had gone to the +quay to make inquiries. She wanted to wait for him. Could she dare +face alone and unaided the majesty of the Bureau? The chief pushed +her forward, then he went in after her, and was followed by the little +clerk, who slammed the door furiously in the faces of the dumfounded +sailors. + +The commissaire was punctual. The last stroke of six was just sounding. + + * * * * * + +Some minutes after the door opened. The Clerk reappeared, and from the +top of the three steps overlooked the crowd of sailors arrogantly. He +held a roll of papers in his hand and struck an attitude, as if about +to read something important. All eyes grew large, all mouths opened in +fixed attention. He unrolled his paper and spread it out; when he saw +that they were taken in by his trick he put it back in his pocket, and +said quietly: + +“Is Silvere Pollenne among you, please?” + +All faces lengthened with disappointment. Silvere had just that moment +returned from the quay. He followed the clerk into the office, and the +door slammed furiously a second time before the dazed looks of the +sailors. + +It opened again a quarter of an hour later. The little clerk came out, +entirely hidden behind an enormous register which aroused fresh hopes. +They needed men without doubt. They would make those sign the book whom +they engaged. + +They began to push one another about, to be first. There was a delay of +at least three minutes, then the book was closed, and the imperturbable +clerk shrilly, but just loud enough to be heard, called out: + +“Mme. Loirat and Chrétien Loirat, will you have the kindness to +answer? You are requested to enter.” + +They went in together, and the door closed after them with two slams +more irritating than a box on the ears. + +“He despises us, does he, this baboon?” Sailors, children, above all +the women, picked up stones, resolved to punish this insolent fellow if +he dared show himself. All hands were raised, when they heard the noise +of the door open. They dropped immediately. + +The commissaire came out, with Elise at his side; behind her Silvere, +Chrétien, Mother Loirat, and finally M. Emile, the little clerk. He +moved his hump about delightedly, did M. Emile, as he passed before the +big sailors, proud as a king’s fool before the courtiers. He had the +body of a child and, notwithstanding his great high, shiny silk hat, +he did not come up to the sailors’ shoulders. He walked along no less +pompously on that account, bursting with impertinent pride. + +“There! Pick that up if you wish to move your hump!” + +Two blows had knocked his high hat into the mud. It was a signal for +the sailors to stampede. They set off in haste, while M. Emile stood +still, gazing after his injured head-piece. He was a truly piteous +spectacle, as he looked at it all crushed out of shape. Tears came to +his eyes, which became more lack-lustre than ever. Fortunately Elise +saw him. She ran and picked up his hat, brushed and set it right, and +put it on. + +“I wore it to please you, Mlle. Elise. These rustics are jealous at my +fine appearance.” + +“Come quickly! Your chief is scowling. I tremble for you.” + +They joined the under-commissaire, who turned his head quietly and said +shortly: + +“I have been thinking, M. Emile, and I have no further need for you. +Return to the Bureau. We will talk matters over to-night.” + +“Oh, sir,” Elise begged, “forgive him. It is not his fault. It is his +misfortune.” + +The under-commissaire did not appear to hear her. He continued his +route toward the quay where the steamer was anchored. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +It was seven o’clock by the sun when the steamer came into the waters +of the Vergoyer. A perfect fleet followed it. They had come from +Cayeux, Hourdel, Berck, Crotoy, even from Treport, and, perhaps, +Etaples. Nowadays news travels far by telegraph, and, thanks to the +connection between the Maritime Bureaus, word was scattered far and +wide that they were going to explore the gulf; that the living were to +see with their own eyes the abode of the dead. + +Like so many birds of prey after a wounded whale, boats of all sizes +and all rigs, sloops, barges, luggers, _flambarts_, followed in the +wake of the steamer. They were all after plunder, all hoping to get +rich easily. Divers often used explosives at the bottom of the sea to +break up wrecks, and then the _débris_ floated. If they came across any +such wreckage, it might be very valuable. + +Elise was on the bridge of the steamer with the captain. Having told +how the night before she and Silvere had discovered the lost sailors’ +gulf, she was directed to lay their course to their float. + +The captain, a handsome, white-haired old man, passed her orders to the +man at the wheel, who steered accordingly. + +Elise’s dress made a strong contrast with the gold-laced suits of the +officers who surrounded her, but among all these grave faces she seemed +none the less dignified nor beautiful. Her white neckerchief, on her +dark waist, caught the sunlight, as if to emphasize her emotion, and +her face was full of sweetness. One would have said that an emanation +from her soul floated about her like an aureole, clothing her in all +the grace of a new hope. + +The steamer went its way, followed by the fleet of white, brown, gray, +and red sails. It seemed, with this army which followed it, as if +advancing to certain victory. And it was Elise who led all these people +to the conquest of the Vergoyer. + +“Stop her!” The steamer lay motionless. The large launch was put into +the water, then the other boats and the long-boat, in which Elise took +her place with the commissaire and the principal officers. + +“Captain, if you will look to larboard, you can see our float.” + +It lay two cable-lengths away, and became at once the center of action. +The captain shouted orders in all directions through his trumpet, and +each boat took its position for work around the frail float, which, +tossed roughly by the waves, seemed a prey hunted down by a ring of +fishing-boats. + +The launch came into the wind close abreast of it. + +Facing her, just far enough away not to interfere in the work, lay the +long-boat, and beside it another, in which were Silvere, Chrétien, and +Mother Loirat. They were like two galleries of spectators--the officers +sitting in judgment, and the relatives waiting the revelations of this +strange search. + +The launch and the large boats were anchored. Further away, making +up the circle, several boats lay on their oars, ready to answer any +sudden call. After the soundings had been verified as sixty fathoms, +the divers began to work. Elise’s heart beat wildly. Over the side of +the launch was unrolled into the sea a rope ladder, which seemed long +enough to reach the center of the earth. So many rounds were paid out, +and disappeared under the waves in endless succession, that it seemed +as if it would descend into eternity. Still twenty-five fathoms and one +hundred steps to pay out. Never had living man gone to such depths to +search for the dead. Elise shivered to her very marrow. + +The unrolling of the ladder stopped. A man stepped over the side of the +boat, dressed in a suit of rubber with a head-piece having squares of +glass and two tubes in it. He had more than an inch of lead on each of +his shoes. It was to help him descend into the abyss. + +Unfortunate man! He seized the first rounds and touched the water. +He began to descend--his feet, his legs, the lower part of his body +disappeared beneath the waves. Misery! All the stuff of his suit puffed +up on his shoulders as if it were his skin which had swollen. For one +instant it seemed as if he stopped, hesitating, as if the gulf pushed +him back and would none of him. + +“Stop him!” cried Elise. “I wish above everything to find my father, +but it is not right to make another lose his life on my account. I will +make the descent. Order him back, captain.” + +Why did all the officers hear this innocent demand from Elise with a +smile? Was it wrong to wish to snatch an innocent man from an abyss? +She had seen her father so unhappy in those depths. Was it necessary +for others to lose their lives, also, and unnecessarily? Barnabé, too; +he was there since yesterday. + +“Captain, I beg you, order the man back. I wish to take his place.” + +“No, not you,” cried Chrétien, “I will go, Mam’selle Elise.” + +But all these offers were made in vain. The diver was out of sight; +only the tremblings of the ladder, and the paying out of safety cords +and the tube, showed that he was descending. Bubbles of air broke +suddenly by the hundred about them. + +“Oh, captain, look! it is just like a drowning man.” + +“Be quiet,” cried Mother Loirat. “Let the man attend to his business, +and do you attend to yours. Women should not interfere with men who are +at work.” + +The ladder stopped shaking, the paying out ceased, and the lieutenant +in charge in the launch spoke, and then listened at the end of one of +the tubes. He gave orders to the four sailors, who had been steadily +working a pump. Then he went on listening and speaking, stopping at +intervals, to give out orders. By his direction a great lantern was +lowered by a tackle, which lighted up the seas like the rays of the +sun. At the same time, from the boat’s side, ropes were paid out, one +with an armful of tubes, picks, pickaxes, and shovels; the other with +an empty sack, which came up less than a quarter of an hour afterward, +filled with sand--that sand under which Elise’s father was lying. + +The talking through the tubes began again. Soon a second tackle was +rigged, from which swung an iron cask, which was lowered into the sea. +Then a new pump worked, and there was a half hour during which Elise +leaned over the abyss, exhausted with watching and frightened by hopes +and fears. + +At a signal from the depths, the lieutenant called: “Hoist the cask!” + +The pulley of the tackle turned many times under the rope. It hardly +creaked. It seemed to be lifting no weight at all. At last they saw the +cask below the surface, with a shadow so long that it seemed to reach +the bottom. “Halt!” The cask is at the surface. + +“Look after the wreckage!” cried the captain through his trumpet, and +two little boats left their station in the circle and placed themselves +one on either side of the tackle. + +“Hoist!” The cask rose, with the water streaming from it like a +fountain. Instantly the cordage bit the pulley, which began to creak +dolorously. “Halt!” The block stopped. It was held rigidly by the great +weight below it. + +“Make the wreckage fast!” When the little boats had done this, the cask +was swung inward and its burden was aboard the launch. + +“What is it?” cried the captain. + +“A mizzen sail--two dead bodies in it.” + +The officers uncovered, and bowed their heads devoutly. + +“Alongside!” ordered the captain, as he put on his hat. “Alongside!” + +By his cheerful voice one could see that he was well satisfied. + +His instructions were exact. To make experiments with the improved +apparatus at depths hitherto unexplored, to study the comparative +influence of pressure, the action of eddies and currents on the +movements of divers, to find whether the sand was solid or movable, +to establish, in a word, a sort of chart for the use of submarine +investigations in these dangerous waters; such had been the captain’s +task, a sort of preparatory investigation, with which the search for +dead bodies had only been indirectly connected. + +Happily these experiments had been terminated sooner than he had hoped. +He had been directed, if it were advisable, to accede to Elise’s +petition, but he had not thought this detail of much importance, as it +seemed to him entirely foreign to the scientific side of the matter. +But the results had been so favorable that, in less than an hour of +work, the men whom he had been ordered to look for had been found. + +“Well, my daughter, are you satisfied? You see they have found your +father. Are you satisfied?” + +“It is not my father, captain. It is Barnabé of Crotoy, and his uncle +from Saint-Valery. They were capsized here only yesterday. My father +lies under the sand.” + +The old officer frowned. So much the worse. After all, drowned men +are all alike. They had brought back two bodies from a depth of sixty +fathoms. The question was as satisfactorily proved by these as it would +have been by the others. Was one to dig for eight days in one place +when there was so much to explore? + +Besides, the sky made him anxious. The wind, which for three days had +been uncertain, and which had passed from north to south by way of +east, showed an inclination to return to the north by way of west, +making thus a complete circuit. It was an ominous sign. When the wind +amuses itself, let the sailor have a care. + +“Lieutenant, are your experiments finished? Yes? Order the man up.” + +Elise rose in revolt. + +“But my father, captain. Are you not going to look for him? Now that +the man is on the bottom, it will be very little trouble to dig in the +sand.” + +“Order the man up!” + +“Captain, make him dig instead. If he comes up, is he to go down again?” + +The captain snapped his fingers impatiently. He was not accustomed to +resistance to his authority, and habits of discipline had given him +that shortness of manner which distinguishes sailors aboard ship. + +“Be quiet, my daughter. You did not wish to let him go down a moment +ago, and now you do not wish him to come up. Caprice cannot govern a +ship. Lieutenant, order the man up.” + +Elise was desperate. All her strength left her suddenly. She sank down, +with clasped hands and uplifted look. Two tears, gliding slowly from +her soft, black eyes stopped, trembling, on her lashes, and, sparkling +in the sunlight, seemed to witness the depth of her disappointment. + +She had hoped so much from this visit to the Vergoyer. She would +accomplish her task. She would acquit her debt to her father. She would +gain his pardon and would earn her reward, she would see Firmin again. +This result, so long delayed, won by so many efforts and sufferings, +was denied her; it was snatched from her at the moment when she held +it, as it were, in her hand. + +“Captain, listen. If the man comes up I wish to go down. If he does not +dare to dig, I will. I will dare everything for----” + +Choked by a sob, she could not finish. The diver had returned, and, +freed from his head-piece, talked freely and gave in a strong voice the +details of his descent. + +At that depth he had been hardly able to walk, even with his pick as a +walking-stick. He had been moved about like one who floats aimlessly +and lightly, his equilibrium lost, fearing constantly that he would +turn feet upward. He had been obliged to make the shovel fast to the +lower part of one leg and the pickaxe to the other, and drag them +behind him like two anchors, to keep a foothold on the sand. It was +only in this way that he had managed to walk. He had found the wreck +near him. It was there by itself. He had seen another, without doubt a +vessel’s hull, a little further off, but he had not dared to go so far. +At sixty fathoms one could not count on his equilibrium. + +Besides these two wrecks there was nothing but sand. The bottom spread +out like a flat valley at the foot of a mountain-peak. The smooth +surface was raised in places by little mounds, on which the sand seemed +firmer than it was around them. Just where he had descended, at the +place marked by the anchor which Silvere had dropped the night before, +the man had come on one of these mounds which seemed to him higher than +the others. He had dug a yard downward without discovering anything, +but had not been able to go further because the wet sand filled the +hole as fast as he dug. + +“You hear what he says,” said the captain, turning toward Elise. “We +are not equipped for this kind of work. Excavators are needed. I will +speak of it in my report to the Minister.” + +“The Minister is a long way off,” said Elise, “and we are here. Let me +go down.” + +“Say no more,” said the captain rudely. “Haul the ladder aboard.” + +“No,” cried Elise, exasperated. “If you take up the ladder, I will +throw myself overboard. It is too cowardly to have come here to +investigate, and go away without finding anything.” + +“We have brought up two bodies.” + +“Neither of them is my father. You were ordered here to search for him. +If you abandon the work, at least let me go on with it. You have two +suits. Silvere will go down with me.” + +“Let me take your place, Mam’selle Elise,” cried Chrétien. “I should +always feel ashamed if you were lost. If I reach the bottom I will dig +hard, remembering that I am doing it to please you.” + +“Lise is right,” added Mother Loirat, “people who are in trouble must +help themselves.” + +The captain, giddy at all these demands, stamped the deck impatiently. + +“Let them have their way. Bring the small boat alongside.” It took on +board Elise, Silvere, and Chrétien, and carried them to the launch. + +“The girl goes first.” + +“No! let me,” said the two men, with one voice, “me--me.” + +“The girl first. Hurry, lieutenant.” + +There was no answer possible. The captain had his reasons for not +yielding. Wishing to put an end, as quickly as possible, to the claims +of these rustics, he sent Elise first, with the secret hope that the +deadening effect of the compressed air would bring a girl to terms more +quickly than men used to painful exposures. In this way, one trip alone +would suffice to discourage all these would-be divers. + +Elise slipped off her dress, wrapping her skirt about each knee, and +put on the rubber suit, except the head-piece. Her face, with its fine +profile, stood out haughtily above this strange armour, and showed not +a tremor when the sailor came to put on the visor with its four squares +of glass. + +The head-piece was screwed down on its frame. How it weighed on her +shoulders! The heavy folds of the collar and sleeves prevented her +from moving her arms. Her feet can never lift those leaden soles. + +“Are you ready to descend?” + +Who was speaking to her? Elise has lost her individuality. She is +nothing but an inert will, the soul of a machine. Without stopping to +think, she finds herself on the ladder, drawn down by the heavy weights. + +Who holds up her feet? There is no longer any weight in their soles. +Something supports them. When will she enter the water? She will know, +by its chill, when she touches it. No. She is under the water. Through +the largest light in her visor she sees the waves about her. She is +giddy. Who whistled in her ears? It sounded like the wind! + +“Open the valve of the head-piece.” + +No matter who it is who orders it, she obeys unconsciously. Misery! +What a fright she has! There is a deafening rumble. Have the tubes +burst, and is the water coming in upon her? She cannot think, her +temples throb, there is a band about her forehead. Her skin is burning, +her whole face feels pin-pricked! There are noises and sharp whistles +in her ears! She gasps and strangles. + +“Do you want to come up? Shall you be able to go to the bottom? You are +not a quarter of the way yet.” + +What will she find at the end of this endless ladder? Elise no longer +feels what she touches; neither the rounds of the ladder in her hands, +nor the head-piece on her shoulders. + +“Do you not want to come back? Open the valve of the head-piece. Have +no fear of the noise. It is only the air escaping.” + +She was careful to obey. She was conscious of nothing, neither of him +who spoke, nor of what, nor how. But to hear another’s voice was to +be not alone, and without that companionship would she have had the +boldness to go on into these glassy depths? What a vivid light this was +about her, and what strange forms whisked suddenly by her! + +She wished the voice would speak again. She had neither body nor +weight. She seemed to float as a bird in air. There was nothing above +her head, nothing under her feet. She felt nothing except shooting +pains in her head. She kept on descending mechanically without knowing +where it would bring her, or that the descent would ever end. + +“Open the valve!” + + * * * * * + +At this command Elise woke suddenly from her stupor. She felt the +rounds of the ladder which she held tightly. She was herself again. The +pain in her head ceased. + +“Attention! You are just reaching the bottom.” + +It seemed to her that she had come to a land of sunlight. What dazzling +gleams came through the lights of her visor. She had to close her +eyes. A great lantern hung close to her, as powerful as that of a +light-house. The depths shone joyously. How delighted she was after +the night, the interminable night, to see clearly again. She regained +her confidence when she found herself once more on her feet, with her +shadow; her own familiar shadow, on which one depends as if it were +something tangible. + +How brightly the sand sparkled. The dead, whose cold remains it keeps, +ought to be charmed with these bright gleams which presage their +coming return to the light of day. Doubtless her father has felt the +soft warmth of its rays, and has started in his wet prison. He is +here, under these sands which for three months have served him as a +winding-sheet, while he awaits his final burial. + +But is it not impious to tramp about these sands which cover the dead? +Is it not like walking over graves? + +On her knees, with joined hands, Elise, in a pious revery, hears +nothing; not the distant rumblings which re-echo from space to space in +these limitless depths, nor the voice which calls her: + +“Remount! A storm is coming. The captain gives you only five minutes. +We are going to sail.” + +She hears nothing, for she is praying. All her thoughts are with him +whom she hopes soon to find. + +“Father, if I have not looked for you earlier, it is not because I +have failed in respect or loving memories. I remember, when a little +thing on your knees, your laughing talk and speaking eyes. I have not +forgotten them; nor how you taught Firmin and me, in your boat. You had +an angry voice, but a warm heart.” + +“Are you not coming back, then? The captain will not wait.” + +“Father, when you left us, I kept your memory in my heart; since you +have come back to me in visions, I have suffered with you.” + +[Illustration: “FATHER, IF YOU WILL HELP, I WILL FIND YOU.” + + Chap. 21.] + +“Make haste. We are taking up the anchor. The captain is just the than +to go without you.” + +“Father, if you will help, I will find you----” + + * * * * * + +Is it the force of the current which lifts her? She clings to the sand, +digs her soles into it, clutches it with her hands. It is night again. +The lantern has disappeared. Without a light how can she see to dig the +sands, how be courageous enough to wait in this darkness in the midst +of the frightful noise of the waves? + +She cannot hear the voice now. She calls. She is alone in this abyss +of water. Yet ought she to leave her father, to tear herself away at +the moment when she is about to find him? Where is the ladder? She +tries to seize it, her hands clutch only the void. What agitations stir +this under ocean! Everything is whirling in these infernal depths. The +surges break on the sand with terrible crashings, they tear it up, dig +into it, and toss it about pitilessly. Poor father! + +Elise is overturned. Rolled head over heels, stricken by this great +upheaval, she loses consciousness, while the wild eddies spin her +around and around. + + * * * * * + +The launch had been made fast on the deck of the steamer, which was +running at full speed. Elise was not yet freed from the diver’s dress. +She had a rush of blood to the head which stupefied, blinded, and +deafened her, when the visor was removed and she breathed the fresh +air. When at last she came to herself she saw Silvere and Chrétien +bending anxiously over her, while the lieutenant was saying: + +“What were you thinking of to stay below in the face of such a storm? +Were you trying to play at obstinacy with the captain? He had given the +order to cut the cord and tubes. Fortunately for you, the safety rope +was strong.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +Never had such a following sea driven a boat as that which, in less +than a quarter of an hour, was hurrying the steamer to Treport. It was +a real gale from the north. + +The sea was in the wildest commotion, the waves leaping, plunging, and +breaking madly upon one another. Entering the channel of Saint-Valery +was not to be thought of. In heavy weather the Bay of Somme is +impracticable. They had, therefore, laid their course direct to Treport. + +They left behind them, as they flew on, many small craft which could +hardly hope to outlive the gale. All those who had followed the steamer +to the Vergoyer had fled, like sea-gulls before a storm, at the first +sign of danger from the north. Were they all safely in port that night? + +Built for rough weather, the steamer, in spite of the tempest, soon +reached the quay at Treport. The moment they landed Elise, Silvere, +Chrétien, and Mother Loirat hurried to the point at the foot of the +light-house, to watch other boats enter. But not one was to be seen on +the horizon. Captains choose to run before the wind, rather than to +risk going ashore and breaking up. A boat cannot avoid a bar or a point +as she would, and even if she enters the harbor she has still the piers +to fear. She can dash herself to pieces on these as easily as a dish +on a tavern floor. + +But in the north-east, there was a rag of sail lashed by the mad winds. +They could see it for an instant, then it would disappear. Just as they +had made up their minds that it must have gone down, it would reappear. +Elise watched it with greater uneasiness than the others, for she +herself, in a storm as wild as this, had realized how strong the sea is +and how weak a boat. + +“Silvere, a seaman’s is a risky trade. But how the sea speaks to the +soul. It is more beautiful than ever when it is so angry. I am more +afraid of it here than if I were fighting it. One fears less for those +exposed to it, if one is working with them.” + +A sailor interrupted her. He had orders to bring Elise to the steamer, +where the officials were waiting to see her. + +Never had she had such a joyful surprise. As he had promised Florimond, +the under-commissaire of Treport had made all enquiries possible about +Firmin. Finding his colleague from Saint-Valery on board the steamer, +he had communicated to him the results which he had just learned. + +Firmin had been met drifting in the _flambart’s_ boat, nearly dying. He +had been two days without food. It was a government cruiser that had +picked him up. For ten days he had been in the delirium of fever, but +with good care he had got well again, and was now no longer a ship’s +boy, but as hardy as an able seaman. + +He lived in the top, running along the yards as another man would walk +the deck. He was always the first in places of danger, in furling the +sails or taking a reef, always on the lookout to be first to answer the +boatswain’s whistle. The letter which carried the news of his safety +gave these details of his good conduct aboard. + +Firmin had at last realized his ambition. With the innocence of a +child he had always believed that everybody must be rich on one of +these great ships, which he had sometimes seen when at sea with their +shining decks and their well-polished brasses. He had promised himself +to some day try his fortune. Elise should not have to work long for +him. He would engage on one of these big ships, where he would become +a real sailor, and have a coat with gold buttons for holidays. So that +fortune, in putting him on the corvette, served his turn exactly. + +Elise recognized Firmin in all that the commissaire said. He was always +so ready, so anxious for rough experiences and fresh opportunities. + +“Where is he, sir? Can I go to him? Silvere will go with me.” + +But Firmin was far away. The news had come from Iceland. The corvette +had anchored for some weeks in the roadstead of Reikjavik, and had sent +her despatches by some vessel leaving for Europe. + +Iceland! That island without trees and roads, where the fogs are as +thick in the valleys as lakes; where the horses have to brush aside +the snow to get at the grass; where the people live like the dead, in +houses dug in the ground. Her father had visited Iceland in old times, +when he was in the navy. He had accompanied one of the officers far +inland to see the snow-clad mountains, which vomit fire and sulphur. +He had nearly lost his life, but Elise was not anxious, for all that. +Firmin was better at facing dangers than her father. She had no fears +for him on that score. + +From Iceland, where she had gone to look after the cod-fishers, the +corvette was to return to the Scotch seas to protect the herring +fishers. She would not, therefore, return home before the end of the +autumn campaign, in the first days of December. + +“Then I will go to meet him,” said Elise. “I have no right to be +unhappy, since the lad has found the place he likes. He will make a +fine sailor.” + +She seemed so sweet and gentle that the commissaire was quite won +over. He promised to find the place where the steamer would make her +headquarters, and to help Elise in all possible ways. + +“Thanks, sir. You are very kind. The boy is high-spirited, he is worth +helping.” + +Yes, soon she would have her Firmin in her arms, pressed to her heart +as of old. She would see him again, only handsomer and stronger. To go +to him she would engage herself with Silvere on big Poidevin’s boat. +She would ask no wages but her food. Why should he not take her, for +she was strong and had no longer the reputation of bringing bad luck. +But some one was calling her. + +From the pier Chrétien was shouting at the top of his voice: + +“Mam’selle Elise, Mam’selle Elise! The little sail is coming in. She is +a lugger from Cayeux. She has the bodies of my three brothers. Mother +Loirat has fainted from terror!” + +And overcome with excitement, he kept on repeating, as he caught his +breath: “Mam’selle Elise, Mam’selle Elise!” + +“I am coming, Chrétien. Give me a moment to tell the commissaire.” + +Then turning toward Silvere, Elise took his arm. + +“Come with me. My courage never fails when I am near you.” + + * * * * * + +The lugger was anchored in the harbor, her bow standing out of the +water, her taffrail nearly on a level with it. When they had all +reached her, the two commissaires, Elise, Chrétien, Silvere, and +others, besides a number of little boats at the lugger’s stern, set to +work to lift something lashed there which hung deep in the water. + +Ho! hiss! It is heavy. Have a care. The boats will be dragged under. +Halt! Three pairs of great boots come to the surface. + +“Mother Loirat, they are your sons. You must calm yourself and stand, +out of respect to them.” + +On her knees beside the old woman, Elise cried to her: + +“Are you not happy? Your sons’ troubles are over forever.” + +The old woman opened her eyes at last, at the moment when the +bodies of her three sons were laid on the pier. Death had not dared +to separate them. They were together, and in that last embrace in +which they had entered into the darkness of the abyss. A sail, which +chance had wrapped about them, had protected them and served as a +winding-sheet, the true winding-sheet of a sailor. The furious waves +had respected their last embrace. + +They had been found by the lugger in the very height of the storm, +and she had made fast to them. Running before the wind at random, not +knowing whether to take the open sea or try for port, she had come upon +this melancholy wreckage, which seemed to her crew like a presage of +their own death. They had tried to avoid it, not wishing to embarrass +themselves with a dead weight, but it would not be left. It followed +after in her wake, it pursued her, and through superstitious fears they +had decided to make it fast. It had thus been towed in spite of the +storm, and it was this which had saved them. For it had borne the brunt +of the waves, and had made smoother seas about them, by acting as a +breakwater. Like a rudder it had kept the boat to the wind, and, thanks +to it, she had made port, while many of her fellows would never enter +it again. + +The three brothers were laid on the quay. Their faces were calm and +unchanged. + +“My poor lads!--my sons!” + +And the old woman fainted again in the arms of Elise. + +“Listen, dear Mother Loirat. Rouse yourself. Your sons are at rest. +My father will find rest as well. The time of his return has come. He +will have his money in his pocket--you know the pocket of his woollen +jersey--in his sealskin purse. He was so proud when he brought it home +full. It made a great lump on his chest, just over his heart. He will +come back rich, good Mother Loirat, and I will give you all the money. +You shall have no more trouble.” + +The old woman did not hear her. She did not recover consciousness +until night, in a bed in the tavern, with Elise and Chrétien on +either side of her. Silvere was on guard beside the three bodies, in +a shed belonging to the coast guard, waiting the end of the official +formalities. He passed the last hours of the day and all night in this +mournful watch, where, to distract his gloomy thoughts, he had the +whistling of the wind and the angry roaring of the sea. At last, when +the first gleams of dawn came, the storm passed away. + +It passed, but it had been so violent, and had so torn up the sands, +that it had thrown ashore the bodies of all who lay in the lost +sailors’ gulf. + + * * * * * + +Hénin was found as if asleep in his boat, which seemed as if it +remembered the way home. The sea gave him back as it had taken him, +stretched in his berth, his lips smiling, his eyes closed. Around him +in the forecastle, under the watery covering which had protected them +from the teeth of time, slept his companions, whom death had surprised +in sleep. + +The boat was as uninjured as they whom it had protected. And when the +gale from the north set her free, she was ready to take up work as +boldly as ever. + +Thrown up from the sands, and driven forward by the waves, she had +been caught in the current of the bay, and, pushed on by blow after +blow, had gone ashore at almost the spot on the beach where, some days +before, Elise had tried to die, invoking her father’s memory. The +father had come in answer to his daughter’s call. + +She was not there to receive him, but Barbet, whom his mistress had +left in the village, wandering along the dunes, welcomed with joyous +cries the return of the old man, who brought back with him the peace +and happiness of his daughter. + +All came ashore one after the other: friend Joseph, and Amadée, and +many others who had gone so long that they had been forgotten. They +were found all along the coast between Calais and Fécamp. + +This gale has never been forgotten. In all the country around it is +known as “The Martyrs’ Storm.” + + * * * * * + +Three days passed. The storm had cleared away entirely. The wind was +steady in the north-east, betokening settled weather. The sea reflected +the tender blue of the sky, and all the bay was bright with changing +hues, while across it stood out the sombre mass of Saint-Valery. Above +the dunes, in soft lines, a few white clouds raced along, the last of +their kind; as if to show that the heavens were being swept clean by +the winds. + +Nothing could equal the brightness of this August morning. On the road +that climbed the dune, a green triumphal arch was raised, for the +village was celebrating the liberation of her children. + +All the dead whom the sea had given up were laid together in the little +low room of the _mairie_. Twenty-three! Brought together again, some by +boats, others in carts, according to where they had been found. + +Twenty-three! Not one was missing at the roll-call, and they had had +to wait for the last--the lame man, who, being the lightest, had been +carried furthest by the waves. + +In the memory of the old men there had never been so joyful a holiday +in the village. The _mairie_ was adorned with flags and garlands +of flowers, while the houses were dressed in white stuff, and with +bouquets. Here and there beacons, adorned with branches, marked the +route of the procession. + +Twenty-three coffins. All the strong men of the place were needed to +carry them. With its white drapings and crowns of radiant flowers, one +might have truly called it a triumphal procession. The first place was +given to Hénin, who was wrapped in a flag. Two lines of young girls, in +long white veils, with baskets on their arms, scattered roses in the +way. + +Elise and Barbet walked first, in advance of the mayor. Preceding by a +few steps the long procession of villagers, they seemed as if guiding +this happy band of mourners. + +The great gate of the cemetery, with a cross raised on either side, +stood open to receive them, and when the August sun, high overhead, +marked midday, the hour of rest, the twenty-three were laid to sleep in +consecrated ground. + + * * * * * + +That night, as she entered her cabin with Barbet, Elise had no fears +of seeing her father’s ghost. Surely he was at peace, lying beside her +mother in the corner of the graveyard. A new cross was over him, with a +beautiful inscription, in letters carefully cut out and painted. + +“Father, are you at peace at last? Come and tell me. I wish to wipe out +of my memory your worn features and reproachful looks. I wish to see +again your sweet and loving face.” + +But her father did not appear. Nothing now troubled his peaceful rest. +Barbet understood it. He placed his paws on Elise’s knees, and looked +into her eyes, trying to say: + +“Friend, do not awake sleeping spirits. The time has come to take up +your life again, to go to those who need you, to summon those of whom +you have need.” + +Barbet was right. Elise was no longer alone in the world. The happy +hour was at hand when she would take her brother in her arms, the hour +when she would give herself to her betrothed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +Father Hénin had come back to earth with money in his pocket. His round +purse was really like a great ball in the pocket of his jersey, just +over the place where his heart once beat so warmly. After a slight +refitting his boat was ready for use. + +Elise had no thought of keeping all these riches for herself. Was it +necessary for her to be so careful, now that she was to be married? She +wished to lay away Firmin’s share simply, and to use the rest in making +the last days of Mother Loirat more happy. The poor old woman was still +ill; her exhausted forces would, perhaps, never recover from this last +blow they had received. Money is most necessary in such cases. + +Unfortunately, the authorities had seized everything, with a view +of protecting the rights of the heirs, so that Elise’s plans were +interfered with before she was able to carry them out. + +Since the return of Silvere she had been very happy. She accepted help +from her lover as if he were already her husband. When two people +determine to marry, ought they not to share good and bad alike? Their +wedding could not take place until after the end of the autumn cruise, +because big Poidevin would not allow his men an hour more than he had +promised, and the sailing of the _Jeune-Adolphine_ was announced for +the night before the full moon, three days away. + +At first Silvere had wanted to break his engagement with Poidevin, and +remain at home until he could marry Elise. After that he would take +the first boat for the Scotch seas and join Firmin. But Silvere was an +excellent sailor, a hard worker, silent, sober, and prudent, and his +captain had refused to release him. + +“I cannot bear the idea of leaving you alone, Elise. You will go to +live with Mother Pilote?” + +“No, Silvere. You know that while I have accepted help from you as if +you were my husband, I should not be willing to accept it from another. +Mother Pilote would despise me if I were to ask her to support me. I am +not afraid of work. I would rather sail with you. Big Poidevin would +take me, I am sure.” + +Since the time when she had led the funeral cortége in advance of the +mayor, Elise was held in high respect in the village. Not only had they +forgotten, as she herself had forgotten, the insults with which they +had pursued her, but they now praised her as if she were the cause of +all the bodies having come ashore. She had worked hard, and, if they +adjudged her that honor, might she not fairly accept it? Nevertheless, +she accepted only a small part of the praise they gave her. Her one +desire was to make an engagement with Poidevin. + +Without further delay she dragged Silvere to the wharf, near which she +was sure to meet the big captain. Ordinarily he was loafing on the +pier, or more likely was sitting in the sailors’ tavern. They looked +for him first at the waterside. Two coast guards set them on his track. + +“Poidevin? You need never look for him near water, his nose is always +over the grog.” + +He was drinking, as they soon found. As they entered the tavern door, +Elise shivered. She recalled the scenes that had taken place there +so little time before; the hatred of Florimond and his sailors; and +Barnabé, buried only the night before among the twenty-three martyrs. + +Barnabé, more vicious through his vanity than from real wickedness. +Elise thought often of him, the latest victim of the Vergoyer. +Fortunately he had left no family, and his death affected no one in the +village. Elise was, perhaps, the only one who had not forgotten him. + +It took Poidevin a long time to make up his mind--five rounds of grog, +and an hour’s talk, and nothing definite yet. + +“Have another drink, to wind up with, Poidevin. Lise will stand treat.” + +“Thanks, Silvere,” said Elise. “You know that I am no hand at drinking.” + +“Well then, for a joke, if the girl will drink I will engage her.” + +“Your word is good, Poidevin. Lise will drink willingly.” + +She drank in all frankness, and when she had given an account of +herself he kept his word. They signed engagements over three fresh cups +of liquor, on the greasy table in the smoky room. As she wrote her +name at the bottom of the paper, she felt the pen run lightly. She was +sure of the future, for everything in the past had gone as she wished. + +As she thought of her approaching departure, which should bring her +nearer Firmin, she let her eyes wander through the open door toward the +boats anchored in the harbor. + +She was so surprised on seeing before her the little hunchback, that +she sat perfectly still. He stopped short in the doorway. His bony face +was paler and longer, and more weak and sad than she had ever seen it. +He did not enter, but made a sign to Elise to come to him. He felt that +he could tell more easily out of doors what he had to say. + +He had been discharged from the Bureau, as shortly as if he had been +unfaithful. Immediately on his return his chief had summoned him, had +recalled the grotesque spectacle he had made in full view of all on +the quay of Saint-Valery, and emphasizing the discredit which this +cast on the Bureau, had concluded in such a fashion that the clerk had +remembered the words exactly. + +“I am sorry on account of your family, sir, but I am obliged to +discharge you. I should be weak if I were to overlook your offence. Go.” + +As he repeated the words which struck her ear so dolorously, the little +hunchback raised his dimmed and mournful eyes to Elise. Under his +glance, the unspeakably sad glance of a sick man, she started, and her +breast swelled with pity. + +“Poor M. Emile. What have you done?” + +What had he done? He had made his way through the streets of +Saint-Valery to the outskirts where he lived. He had tried not to show +his trouble, lest he should weep like a girl before all these people +who would be only too happy at his disgrace. + +Then his family had snubbed him, and had made him go the next day and +offer apologies, which the commissaire had refused. + +Elise made up her mind promptly. She would go at once and beg his +forgiveness from the commissaire. After her recent success, she did not +doubt that a little courage and plenty of resolution were all that was +needed to make these mighty officials do what was right. + +She took with her Silvere and Barbet, crossed the bay, and knocked +resolutely at the door of the bureau. The little hunchback, who had +followed her, step by step, pitifully, like a whipped dog, stopped a +little way off and hid himself beyond a pile of joists. As she was +about to go in Elise looked for him, and, finding him after a little +search, scolded him gently. + +“You must come, M. Emile. You will never gain anything without courage. +It is poor people’s money. You must come.” + +He went in, pushed by Elise rather than from any will of his own. +Hardly had he crossed the sill than he dropped his head and disappeared +behind her skirts. He had seen, behind the heap of boxes at his table, +a shaggy head overtopping a large body. His place was filled. It was +useless to do anything. + +“We will go in since we are here, all the same,” said Elise. “It will +cost nothing to try.” + +But she could not keep the little hunchback, who glided to the door so +quickly that she hardly had time to put out her two arms to stop him. +He slipped through her hands and took to his heels, but, quick as he +was, she was up with him in no time. + +“Come, M. Emile. I give you a chance. You must show that you are worthy +of it.” + +On seeing all four enter, the commissaire assumed his dignity and +his chair. He foresaw a vigorous attack, and took the most available +position to withstand it. He glanced at Barbet and the little hunchback +contemptuously, paid no attention to Silvere, and finished his scrutiny +by addressing to Elise a smile of interrogation. + +She replied by an exact statement of facts. M. Emile was not able +to earn a living in any other way, and his old parents needed his +help; places were scarce at Saint-Valery--he wished to come back, he +acknowledged his fault. + +“Is it not so, M. Emile? You will be more courteous to the sailors. He +will give you back your place, if you will promise to behave properly.” + +Without raising his eyes, which were fixed on the ground, the little +hunchback stammered out unintelligible excuses. + +“It is useless,” said the commissaire. “I have arranged to fill your +place.” + +Elise interposed quickly: + +“Yes, we have seen the big, shaggy fellow. Men of that size are not +made for such light work as writing. They should take other places +than those fit for feeble folk.” + +The commissaire laughed. He began to understand Elise. He forgot that +he had thought her crazed. He found her instead clear-headed and +decided, and actuated by a feeling of generous fairness. He felt the +power of her strength, strong from its very simplicity, and for fear of +proving weak before it, he tried to break off the interview abruptly. + +“Do not urge me. I cannot send away a good clerk to take back a bad +one.” + +“That is not the point at issue at all, for the little man promises +to mend his ways. We do not wish to take away his bread from the big +fellow either. We will find a place for him more in keeping with his +size.” + +“It is not possible. Leave me.” + +“No, we will not go until you promise. Silvere wishes it as much as I, +and Barbet, too.” + +Hearing his name pronounced, the dog wagged his tail, and gave little +barks of assent. + +“At least turn the dog out. It is the first time that any one has taken +the liberty of bringing a dog into my office.” + +“Barbet is much better than most people. Come, Barbet, make a beautiful +bow to the commissaire.” + +Barbet made his reverence as seriously as a dancing-master, and +acquitted himself of his task with a complaisance so amusing that the +chief broke out laughing. + +“Your beast is too absurd. Come, don’t make me lose any more time with +him.” + +“He knows also sailors’ songs. Barbet, go aloft, and sing the +sailor-boy’s farewell.” + +The dog, whom Elise had placed by a chair, put his feet about its +legs and pretended to hoist himself up, as if it were a rope and he +a monkey. Then sitting erect on the seat, he uttered a series of +modulated barks, long or short, cheerful or melancholy, always in +rhythm. He nodded his head, opened and closed his eyes, emphasized +parts with good effect, and mimicked the play of words with most +laughable contortions. + +The chief laughed. The strangeness of this interview put him off his +guard. Disconcerted by the _naïveté_ of these four intruders, who, +without any sense of impropriety, had taken possession of his office, +he offered only a weak resistance. + +“Your beast is absurd. Make an end of this ridiculous exhibition.” + +“Barbet knows how to handle a boat. Attention, Barbet.” + +“Thanks, but do not give him so much trouble for nothing. I do not care +for any more.” + +“Oh, he loves to be admired. Come, Barbet, to the helm--starboard to +the wind.” + +Like a performer before some high personage, Barbet showed all his +accomplishments, especially the drill, which he executed promptly in +the most approved fashion, with a ruler for a musket; a ruler which +Elise had boldly borrowed from the commissaire’s table. He was not +happy when he had to show a visit of inspection, for he had not his +chevrons and lace, and this infraction of rules did not seem proper +to him. But he made it up to them by other tricks no less surprising, +recognizing boats and taking children to school, and finally, on a sign +from Elise, by dragging himself to the commissaire’s feet as if asking +the offender’s pardon. + +[Illustration: HE UTTERED A SERIES OF MODULATED BARKS, LONG OR SHORT. + + Chap. 23.] + +“We will see. It is impossible in my office, I have filled his place; +but I will find him another situation.” + +“No, we want M. Emile to be with you. Your big, shaggy man can be a +sailor. That is better than writing. Come, ask again, Barbet.” + +“Go. Leave me. I will give him the place. This fashion of begging is +intolerable.” + +“Then you will keep him in your office! I promised him he should be +there, and I do not want you to make me tell a falsehood.” + +“Yes, yes. Go away with your dog.” + +“But we must thank you first. Salute, Barbet. And you, too, M. Emile, +you must kiss his hand.” + +And pushing the dog and the hunchback toward the commissaire, Elise +urged them to profuse thanks. And behind them, she said in her turn: + +“I thank you for M. Emile. I was the cause of his losing his place, and +it was right that I should secure his reinstallment. Silvere, offer +your hand.” + +“Enough! Enough! Leave me. If you do not all go at once, I shall have +to take back my word. But it is all right. Have you finished at last? +Adieu.” + +All four went out, Barbet dignified, the hunchback joyful, Elise happy, +and Silvere astounded at her energy. + +“You work harder than a man.” + +“Was it I who did it? No, it was Barbet, who gained the commissaire’s +ear by his pleasant ways.” + +It was not Barbet. What had gained the commissaire’s ear was the voice +of pity; that same voice which, in the first place, had made him engage +a man who was sickly, and, as Elise had said, unable to earn a living +in any other way. Hunchbacks are doomed from birth to be either shopmen +or clerks. + +By his abrupt dismissal, his chief had meant simply to teach his +impertinent clerk a lesson. He foresaw the usual attempts at +reinstatement, and knew that the solicitations of the culprit himself, +and his relatives and friends, would give an excuse to reinstate him. +The big fellow, whom he had installed in the office experimentally, was +for no other purpose than to make M. Emile think his dismissal final. + +The commissaire had proposed to make his punishment longer, that it +might produce a more lasting effect. He had meant it to extend over +some weeks, if not months. He had yielded to the entreaties of Elise, +in the belief that it would be a fresh humiliation for M. Emile to owe +his pardon to simple sailors. + +Besides, Elise and her dog, by their bold frankness, had touched him, +and, when he shut the door behind his four visitors, he was no less +happy than he supposed they were. + +Hardly were they outside when the hunchback went to Elise. Great tears +of joy ran down his face, and stopped hesitatingly on his knotted +cheek-bones. + +“I have only one more favor to ask of you, mademoiselle. Let me embrace +you.” + +“It was not I. It was Barbet,” she cried, stepping back. + +“No, it was you whom the chief wished to please because you are so +lovely. It would please me so much to thank you.” + +“You must embrace Barbet, too.” + +Then, moved by compassion, she leaned forward and presented him +graciously her two cheeks. The little hunchback raised himself on +tiptoe and pressed his pale lips, burning with fever, to them. Then, +seizing the dog in his turn, he smothered him with caresses. + +On the Place of Saint-Valery the scattered sailors, who saw him weeping +and embracing in this singular fashion, burst into hearty guffaws. It +was the only revenge they had. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +It was the third Sunday in August when Elise, confident in a happy +future and certain that this time she would have good luck, embarked on +the _Jeune-Adolphine_. She had said farewell to Mother Pilote, whom she +left quite disconsolate, and who had wished to soften her solitude by +keeping Barbet. But how could Barbet live away from Elise? He, too, was +going to sea. + +It was the beginning of the autumn fishing. They sought the herring +now, not to the north of Scotland, but in the North Sea near the +extreme limits of England. Doubtless the corvette which had rescued +Firmin would be stationed at Edinburgh or Berwick. Elise counted on +finding some way to meet him. In the North Sea the fishing-grounds are +more contracted than in the ocean, the boats are nearer together and +communicate more easily. It would be very strange if they did not meet +either the corvette herself, or at least one of the coasters who run +between the fishers and the nearest English port. + +Thanks to Silvere, Elise owned a share in the nets. He had not been +willing that she should be at a disadvantage on account of her poverty, +and had persuaded her to accept a new outfit. + +And the third day after the new moon, these nets dropped into the water +for the first time. + +The _Jeune-Adolphine_ had reached the fishing-grounds at noon only, but +the breeze and the weather were so favorable that they spread the nets +without delay. + +Twilight, with its serene harmony, fell on the sea. When all the nets +had been set and the boat, towed by them, drifted idly in the current, +Elise, fascinated by the beauty of the night, could not make up her +mind to sleep. + +Stretched on the gunwale beside Silvere, she watched the golden lights +on the changing sea, which seemed in harmony with her thoughts. + +“Silvere, I think that we love each other more tenderly when we are +together in such tranquil scenes. Where away is England?” + +For a long time she was silent, looking in the direction where Silvere +had pointed. + +“There is where Firmin is. He was too ambitious to be a simple coast +sailor like us. Do not be hurt that I think of him. I am so happy to +know that you love me.” + +He said nothing, this big Silvere, so much afraid was he of startling +the tender murmur which just reached his ears. He overtopped Elise by a +full head, and, bent down toward her, he watched her with delight, so +full of life and so beautiful did she seem under this soft light. + +“Be sure, Elise, that I am not jealous of Firmin. We will both love +him, as we both love Mother Pilote. You are not envious of her because +I love her. I love you both, but not with the same warmth. It must be +right, because it is human nature.” + +During two hours of drifting they talked together, hearing only their +own voice and heedless of the songs that came through the half-open +hatch. + +Big Poidevin was drunk. Two hours of his cabin was equivalent with him +to a dozen drinks, just enough to fill him full. But though his brain +might be drowsy his eye was wide open, and when the moment came to take +up the nets he was the first on deck, summoning all the men to work. + +“Hollo! Beetle heads! Strike up work.” + +Big Poidevin, an old quartermaster, carried his liquor as no other +veteran aboard. + +When he was full he was as steady as if he was anchored with four +cables. He was the most solid drinker on the coast. It was his pride, +after a dozen drinks, to keep his balance as steady as if he had dined +on the empty wind. + +As to the rest, he was a good liver and a pleasant companion. He had no +family, and took his pleasures only in his bottle and glass. He had a +horror of the shore, where, as he said, he did not love to lie like a +boat aground. + +“Hollo! lads! When the capstan snores, the sailor wakes.” + +The capstan did not snore yet, but it was evident that he meant to set +it at work. + +“Hollo! lads! Wind from the north-east with the moon. We will take up +fish by the binful. Hollo! All on deck.” + +At the captain’s call, Elise came with Silvere. They were not of +opinion that it was wise to take up the nets yet. As they had talked, +they had now and then cast an eye on the line of floats, and had +noticed that they had not settled, as was the case under a catch of +fish. The nets were, without doubt, empty. + +Their advice was sound. After a long discussion Poidevin agreed to +follow it, and disappeared down the forecastle ladder. He was going +back for another hour to his mug and flask. + +“Let us go and sleep like the others, Lise. You will be ill if you +neglect your sleep.” + +“No, not to-night, Silvere. It is too delicious. It goes to one’s very +heart. I love to watch the sea, now that it has given back my father.” + +“Lise, dreams are not food. A good sailor, to keep strong, must eat and +sleep. Fishing is hard enough when one gets one’s rest.” + +“Silvere, look there. The sea seems to be on fire. Is it not flashing? +What say you?” + +Yes, it was the flash of the herring which, like a trail of phosphorus, +drew near them rapidly. The wave seemed on fire, so filled was it with +iridescent lights; sapphire blue, emerald green, red gold, shading +off into silvery gleams. It was as if a pageant beneath the water was +advancing, with a bewilderment of gleaming metal and precious gems. It +was impossible to look at it. The moon, ordinarily so white, seemed, in +comparison, of a dirty gray. It looked so dejected that Elise threw it +a glance of pity. + +“Is it possible that this light in the sea can snuff out the moon, as +she snuffs out the stars? Silvere, what makes the herring gleam so? +They burn the eyes.” + +She buried her face in his shoulder. He, laughing, held her dear head +with his great hand, which he tried to make soft for the task. + +“Look, Lise. They are going to rush into our net. Look, it will be like +fireworks.” + +As rapidly as a lake of fire which has burst its bounds, the school of +herring advanced, grazing the surface of the water, every back and fin +scintillating with light, and lighting up the night with their blinding +gleams. + +“Quick, Lise, they are here.” + +There was a splash of fire like burning coals; an electric snapping +through the whole mass, as if a stream, arrested by a wall, had dashed +back on itself in foaming fury. All the nets came to the surface along +their length to the very end, in a gleaming tremor. And the school of +herring, dispersing abruptly, disappeared behind the boat, like the +last rays of an expiring fire. + +After the light had passed, and their eyes, accustomed again to the +twilight, could distinguish objects, they saw that the nets were +dragged down under the weight of their strangling, struggling victims. + +“Captain, it is time to haul in. The floats are sunk.” + +Big Poidevin had had an hour too much. Contrary to his habit, he +scuffled along and staggered. When he tried to mount to the deck, he +missed the rounds of the ladder and fell heavily on the planking. + +“This is no time to lose control, captain; the fish can be taken by +armfuls.” + +The captain rose to his feet, furious at losing his reputation as a +hard-headed drinker. He bent all his energies to gaining the deck +without further weakness, and, the ladder mounted, he called all the +men with a triumphant shout. + +With pantings and groanings from the capstan, and shouts from the +sailors, the work began. As soon as taken aboard the nets were shaken +over the hatches, into which the fish fell in a phosphorescent rain. +Salt was thrown in with them, and when the hatches were filled to the +very top all hands were ready for a chowder. They had caught thousands. + +It was the next day at noon only that the work was finished. In a +single night more than half the boat’s bins were full, half of their +catch was taken. Six hundred measures. It was wonderful. + +They spread their nets again the next night and the nights after that. +While the fishing is good no one minds hard work and each day brings +variety. + +They caught after that, according to the weather, from two hundred +measures at most, down to fifty and even twenty-five. + +The chance to meet a school at the right moment does not come twice. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +At daybreak of the twenty-first day the boat was still fishing. Like +the herring, she had moved southward insensibly, but without leaving +the neighborhood of Scotland. At every hour of the day Elise searched +the horizon for the corvette and Firmin, but saw no trace of them. + +Always bad luck. In twenty days they had not only not seen the +corvette, but not even a coaster from some English port. They were so +near one another, they wished for one another so much, and yet could +not meet. + +Well, she would force fortune to yield yet; she would discover the +corvette if she put out her eyes in trying to pierce the horizon. She +passed all her spare moments standing on the gunwale peering into +space, but it gave no answer to her heart’s desire. At first she had +tried to watch at night, too, but she simply used herself up uselessly, +for she could not distinguish between the lanterns, and thought she +recognized the corvette by the cut of her sails, only to find out, +after a long examination, that in the half light she had mistaken a +small boat for a large vessel. + +Then she had given up night watching as useless, but every morning, +before the first rays of dawn had pierced the shadows, she was on the +deck and there she stayed until the last glimmer of light. + +She began to be desperate, because the boat was slowly filling its +bunks, and the end of the cruise was near at hand. + +She was on duty that morning at the helm, and was tacking about waiting +until it was time to cast the nets. Silvere was below asleep, but +Barbet watched beside his mistress. Unhappy Barbet. He did not like it +on board at all, for it was his first voyage. He had passed through a +wretched novitiate. Sick at heart, he lay stretched among the piles of +nets, groaning at each movement of the boat, and hardly having strength +to open his eyes at Elise’s voice. + +For five days he had counted his shirts, as the sailors mockingly say. +Then he had become used to it all, and after that Barbet feared the +motion no more than any old hand. At that moment he raised his nose and +ears and yelped, to advise Elise that she was nearing something unusual. + +She thought at first that he saw the corvette and was announcing +Firmin, but though she looked all about, she could see nothing like the +government boat. + +Until then they had come across trading steamers only, and especially +coal ships, heavy in their build, and a solid mass of black. They are +clumsy to handle, have a small crew, and cannot easily change their +course. They go right on without regard to other vessels, and small +boats must look sharp and keep out of their way. They do not mind a +collision in the least, for they cannot be capsized. They are afraid +of one another only. + +They can be seen in these seas in troops. Elise kept a sharp lookout +for them while she was at the helm. She had told Barbet to announce +them, but it was not one of these which he was signalling now. + +“What is it then, Barbet. Is it those breakers that we can just make +out before us? They look like a floating island.” + +The dog yelped louder. + +“Don’t be impatient. We will run down to them. As well go there as +elsewhere. Misery! They look like nets. You say, yes, Barbet? I +think that a boat must have been lost. Tell me, is it one of ours? +You are not telling the truth! No! do not deceive me. It is not the +_Bon-Pêcheur_--I should be too wretched if any harm came to Florimond. +Quick, Barbet, go and bring Silvere!” + +The dog made one bound to the forecastle, and returned at once, +dragging by his trouser’s leg big Silvere, who was still half asleep. + +“Tell the captain to order a boat, to go and see what is floating +there.” + +When the captain was asleep he did not like to be waked. The boat was +in the water towing behind. + +On his own responsibility Silvere dropped into it with two men. They +quickly reached the nets, which were so snarled together that they +seemed like a heap of rocks. + +Nets and floats drifted at the pleasure of the current like a raft. The +men climbed on them as securely as on a projecting reef. They walked +across them, digging and prodding with their boat-hooks. + +“Not a man under them,” cried Silvere to Elise. + +He lifted one of the floats and read the marks painted around its +middle. + +S. V. S. S. 1234. + +Is it Florimond’s number? Yes. Barbet was right. Twelve hundred and +thirty-four was the number of the _Bon-Pêcheur_. The four letters +indicated Saint-Valery-sur-Somme. There was no question about it. + +“Look further, Silvere. I am surprised, if his sloop were uninjured, +that my cousin should have abandoned his nets. He would sooner have +towed them into some English port.” + +Fresh examination brought no other results. The herring, fast here and +there in the meshes and quite fresh, showed that the accident had been +recent. + +The three men searched a long time for the end of the hawser to find +out whether it was cut or torn. If it were cut it was the work of +thieves; if it were torn it would show that there had been a collision. +But it was hidden away in the tangle of cordage and rope, and they +could not find it. + +“Count the floats, Silvere. I should say at a glance that they were all +there.” + +_Parbleu!_ There are a hundred at least here--as many over +there--thirty more--there are so many they cannot count them. + +The whole outfit was there, adrift. + +“It is very perplexing, Silvere. I am of opinion that the _Bon-Pêcheur_ +is a bad risk.” + +While the three men were returning Elise consulted Barbet. + +“Barbet, can you tell me where Cousin Florimond is?” + +The dog, who was seated quietly on his hind quarters, rose on his +four feet. He placed himself face to the wind, which came from the +north-east, and for a long time tried to scent something. But he could +not. He scowled, sniffed contemptuously, and appeared dissatisfied +with the weather and himself. He turned slowly a quarter or third of a +circle, trimming himself in the wind. + +In the west he could perceive nothing. In the north-west he thought he +had a trace, his hair bristled up as he barked loudly; then he stopped +discouraged, and sat down again, shaking his big head as if to say: “It +is useless to try. In these half-breezes of summer the air lies still, +and the scent does not travel at all.” + +“Come, Barbet, I never knew you to weary over your work. You have not +smelled in every direction.” + +The dog walked about idly. + +“Barbet, I beg you. It is wicked not to do your best to help others. I +beg you.” + +He started again at the north-west, and scented afresh without +perceiving anything, and, simply to please his mistress, turned slowly +around like the needle of a compass on its dial. No trace was to be +found in the west or south, and he sat down again. + +“Barbet, you are bad. You put no heart in your work. If you cannot act +honorably I will not have you any longer for my shipmate.” + +Elise and Barbet were shipmates, that is, they slept together. Sailors +sleep two in a bunk, and the number of bunks being limited she had +great difficulty in arranging that Barbet should share hers. For him, +it was the pleasantest moment of the cruise. When the time came for +sleep he let Elise lie at the back, while he stretched himself, his +head on his paws, facing outward. + +As long as there was any noise in the place he lay thus, sleeping that +half-sleep of dogs who know how to watch with their eyes shut. But +after each relief, when those who had come down last were sleeping in +their turn, and he heard their heavy snores, then, easy in his mind, +he slipped up to Elise, laid his head on her and gave himself up to +pleasant dreams. + +The rolling of the boat rocked him softly, and Barbet abandoned himself +to the joy of feeling under his head the rise and fall of her warm +breast. + +For nothing in the world would he have risked so delightful a place. At +Elise’s threat he sprang up, ready for anything rather than lose his +shipmate. He began turning about again. + +West-south-west--nothing. South-west--south-south-west--nothing. +South-south a quarter east. + +“Have you gone crazy, Barbet? You are upsetting me.” + +The dog pulled Elise by the leg. Seeing that she did not understand +he threw himself on the tiller, as if to push it in the direction he +wished. + +When she was steering as he wished, he ran forward to the jib, and by +leaps and snaps forced the sailor on duty there to shift the sheet. + +The boat tacked and ran south a quarter south-east. + +Then, proud as a commander on his deck, Barbet with a leap settled +himself on a cask not far from Elise, and from there watched at the +same time the helm, the sails, and the horizon, to see that the boat +should not make leeway from the strength of a current. + +Elise had a fresh cause for anxiety. She had been sent to the helm, and +was responsible for carrying out the orders given her. + +She had no right to deviate from them without fresh directions from the +captain. She called Silvere: + +“Wake up Poidevin. We have no right to change our course unless he +directs it.” + +Silvere hesitated. He knew what he would get by disturbing Poidevin’s +sleep; insults and a refusal, nothing more. + +“Very well, then I will awake him myself. Perhaps he will be less +disagreeable to a woman.” + +And confiding the boat to Silvere, Elise started down the ladder. +Barbet tried to follow her. + +“No, stay behind, Barbet. You know that the skipper does not like you +since the day when you upset his grog. One should not be clumsy if they +want to make friends.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +Elise was all in a tremble, and her heart beat fast as she descended +the ladder of the hatch and heard the heavy breathing of the captain, +who lay there snoring. But her uneasiness at knowing that the +_Bon-Pêcheur_ was in distress, and the fear of bringing help too late, +decided her. + +“Captain--it is I--I am sorry, but it is important.” + +“Heu--Heu”--Big Poidevin turned over to sleep on the other side. + +“Captain, listen, it is important.” + +Elise had no reply. She put out her hand and struck him lightly on his +fat shoulder. + +“Beetle head! Don’t touch me, or beware.” + +And the captain buried his head in the fold of his arm with a growl +that did not admit of further urging. + +Elise went back to the deck, called one of the sailors to the helm, and +taking Silvere by the arm led him to the forecastle. + +“I shall be bolder with you. I will hold your hand so as to add your +strength to mine. Come Barbet, one cannot have too many friends to +encourage one.” + +All three climbed down, Elise helped by her lover, and happy this time, +for she knew that she had the support of one man in facing another. +She knew that Silvere was not a coward, for she had had good proof. She +felt her strength increased by his strength, her courage by his courage. + +“Captain, you must wake up.” + +Poidevin snorted like a mad whale. He struck with his fist the wall of +his bunk, heavily enough to wake all the other sleepers. + +“By my sainted mother!” + +“South, a quarter south-east, captain.” + +“Let me sleep.” + +“It is on account of Cousin Florimond.” + +“Florimond! He is not worth even a half mug of grog.” + +“He is in trouble, captain! We must help him!” + +“A braggart! Let him get himself out of trouble, he who is so superior +to others.” + +“All the same, captain, you must get up and----” + +“No! Death of my soul, no!” + +And for the third time Poidevin went to sleep. + +“Then I am going to take the helm. You will hold me blameless?” + +“By my sainted mother!” + +That was Poidevin’s oath, his unusual exclamation, when he wished to +put an end to a discussion and was thoroughly angry. + +“Very well, captain, by your mother and by all that is dear to you, +I tell you that you must go to the help of these men in danger and +misery. If any are lost through your fault you will suffer tortures of +mind. You will see them at night in bodily presence, with eyes which +reproach you and fingers which point at you. You will see them pale +from lack of sleep, and you will have no more sleep yourself. It is not +right to stupefy one’s self with drink and leave others to die. They +will pursue you, Poidevin. You may drink harder than ever, but you will +see them as plainly as if you were sober. I saw my father and I wanted +to die. I tell you that you must get up.” + +Poidevin sat up stupidly. With his little gray eyes, all sunk in their +sockets, he looked at Elise, then at Silvere, then at the other sailors +who had been drawn by the noise of the dispute. + +“Come, follow up their tracks, captain. Lise is right. Sailors ought to +stand by one another.” + +Growling and shaking off painfully his stupor, the captain struggled to +his feet, then climbed out and went to the helm. He noted their course +and approved it, and the boat sailed on south a quarter south-east. + +Then Elise, exhausted by her efforts and overcome by her feelings, fell +into Silvere’s arms. + +“Lise, Lise, my beloved, you are more observant than any man and +handier than any woman.” + +And he drew her close to his heart and lips in an irresistible outburst +of admiration. + + * * * * * + +For an hour now they had run in the direction pointed out by Barbet, +and had seen nothing. Poidevin had become sober through impatience. +They would lose their clue to the herring; they would lose a day’s +fishing, and all for the pleasure of following a dog’s suggestions. He +would allow ten minutes, but not another minute more. If they waited +until night in order to find themselves in the bed of the fish they +risked going to bed themselves without any. + +The more the time ran on without any results the more anxiously did +Elise scan the sea. + +“Barbet, you have not deceived me?” + +The dog did not answer. He was mortified that they should have doubted +him. For an hour Elise had been troubling him to repeat every little +while the same signal, and he was annoyed in his turn. Silent and +resolute, his eye fixed on the point whence came the scent of the +shipwrecked men, he waited to see them before speaking. + +The ten minutes passed. Poidevin had no watch, but he could tell the +time by the sun without ever being out a second. It was a good enough +watch for him; it wound itself and did not have to be carried in the +pocket. + +Noting its position above the horizon the moment he saw the time was +up, he shouted: + +“Get ready to come about. Loose the jib-sheet!” + +“No, Poidevin, just ten minutes more and I will not ask for another +one. I promise you, Poidevin.” + +“Ready to come about!” + +“They cannot be far, captain, from the drift of their nets. Barbet, do +you see nothing? Speak, my old Barbet.” + +The dog remained silent, and the captain undecided. + +“Ten minutes. Is it too much to give for peace of mind? You will be +glad of it, Poidevin.” + +Ten minutes short as ten seconds. + +They sailed fast, but found nothing. + +Nothing on the horizon. A boat is large enough to be seen far off. One +can distinguish it easily. But there were only the colliers, with their +heavy rigging and their black sails. Poidevin had his eye on the sun. +The second ten minutes passed. + +“Ready to come about! Loose the jib-sheet.” + +“Captain, if you knew how I suffered on my father’s account, you would +risk five minutes more. Five minutes--will you condemn yourself for so +little time?” + +“You trouble me, Lise. We fairly creep along now under our load of +fish. Will it take us as long to go back as it has to come? If we once +lose the fish, who knows when we shall find them again.” + +“We will all take a hand in working her.” + +“You talk nonsense. Can you push the boat?” + +“Captain, do not punish yourself. You do not know the torment it +brings. Do you see nothing, my old Barbet? If you see ever so little, +tell Poidevin.” + +Barbet kept perfectly silent. + +“Ready to come about! Loose the jib-sheet.” + +And without further hesitation the boat headed back on the way she had +come. In despair, as she thought of her cousin Florimond, so fine and +so strong, whom the envious sea would soon claim, Elise sank down on +the deck. + +“Luff her. Hug the wind.” + +“Captain, I beg you----” + +“Give her nearly a full.” + +“Captain, Barbet speaks--come about!--Barbet has spoken!--Come about, +quickly!--Yes! over there!--No!--Barbet is fooling us!--That is not a +boat!--It is more like a beacon!--The glass----” + +Elise was at the hatch before she had finished speaking. She slipped +from the ladder in her haste to go down, but, picking herself up seized +the glass, and, climbing quickly back, adjusted it. + +“Come about, captain; there are three men there. They seem to be on a +buoy.” + +She ran to Poidevin, and placed it before his eyes. She trembled so +that he could see nothing. + +“Let me have it alone. You jiggle it so under my nose that you upset +all my ideas.” + +He squared it, correcting the range carefully, and looked for a third +time. Elise trembled with nervous anxiety. Finally Poidevin made them +out. He threw himself on the helm, and, with a voice like a roll of +thunder: + +“Hoist all sail. Do not lose a breath of wind. Head south, a quarter +south-east.” + +The boat again turned in the direction of the castaways. The men who +were not working her struggled for the glass. They could nearly make +out the wreckage with the naked eye, but the glass showed more than +three men. There were six, astride of a mast, a buoy, or a beacon; they +could not tell what it was. + +“Get the small boat ready. Take boat-hooks and ropes.” + +The boat could not sail fast enough to please the captain. Big Poidevin +was warm-hearted when he was not in liquor. He hated to cry, for it +gave him a cold; but his eyes filled with tears, so greatly was he +moved at these men’s sufferings. + +“Death of my soul, Elise! they will owe you a good turn, those fellows +there, if they ever realize what you have done for them.” + +“Let us make haste, captain. The sailors can make out only five men +through the glass. There were certainly six. One must have fallen.” + +There were not even five, but only four, when the sloop reached them. +All had seen the _Jeune-Adolphine_ coming, but their strength had not +held out. + +Elise slipped hurriedly into the small boat, taking with her Silvere +and two sailors. She was to steer, Silvere held himself free for the +work of rescue, and the two sailors were to row. + +They drew near the wretched men, who were clinging to a boat’s mast, as +they could tell by the rigging and by the tin pennant, which was still +showing the direction of the wind, as if in irony. + +The _Bon-Pêcheur’s_ hull had been crushed, and, before she disappeared +forever, she lay floating out of sight; as if in the last effort of a +faithful servant to offer in her top-mast a place of refuge for the +survivors of her crew. + +Florimond was there. They learned later on the details of the disaster. +He had been run down the night before, while fishing. A collier, rather +than swerve a trifle from her course, had gone over the _Bon-Pêcheur_, +which, hampered in her movements by the floating nets, had not been +able to avoid her. Twelve men, including the boy, had taken refuge +in the small boat, which was capable, at most, of holding half that +number. What had become of them? + +For fifteen hours the other six had clung to the main-mast. + +They had seen craft of all kinds. In those seas they were nearly as +common as vehicles on a road on shore; but no one had seen them, or +had wanted to see them. They were about to let go, in exhaustion and +despair, when the _Jeune-Adolphine_ had appeared. Two of them, alas! +had not been able to hold out for the few minutes until help came. + +“Keep up your courage, Cousin Florimond. Pull hard, men. Aim well, +Silvere.” + +It was not easy to come alongside the men. The rigging around the mast +kept the boat off, and made it necessary for them to slide down into +the water and be fished out afterward with the gaff. They were so weak, +so nearly at their last gasp, and so spent that they could do nothing +to help themselves. Unconsciously, as it were, they clung fast, seeming +to have lost all power of thought and action. The captain was highest +on the mast, and the three men were below him. + +“Aim straight, Silvere. Slide down, Old Quarrelsome.” + +Old Quarrelsome was a well-known sailor of the _Bon-Pêcheur_, and a +great hand to use his fists or his knife. Elise knew him, for she +had made her first cruise with him, and had often seen him among her +enemies. How many times he had stirred up Florimond against her. It was +he who held the jigger-sheet when Silvere and Barnabé had quarrelled, +and who had urged them on by his cries. Elise forgot it all, and +Silvere, too, had no desire to recall it. + +“Hurry, Old Quarrelsome, the others are waiting.” + +The man did not dare to move. His mind was weakened, as well as his +body. He looked at them stupidly, as if he did not understand. A kick +on the head, which Florimond brutally dealt him, made him loose his +hold. He plunged and disappeared, but the gaff followed and he came +to the surface with it fast to him, like a sturgeon at the end of a +harpoon, and was quickly hauled aboard. + +It was the second man’s turn. He was an orphan and nearly an idiot, +whom the sailors called Stutterer. It was, doubtless, partly through +pity, for words failed him more from stupidity than from any trouble +with his tongue. Elise knew him, too, as she knew all the men on the +_Bon-Pêcheur_. Ill-tempered by reason of his infirmity, he had treated +her roughly at times. She forgave him. + +“Slide down, Stutterer.” + +He clung stupidly to the mast, uttering cries like a monkey in +distress. A kick, which resounded on his hard skull, knocked him +senseless into the water, where he was seized by the hook of the gaff +and was soon with his fellow in the boat. + +“Hurrah! Silvere!” shouted Poidevin and all his men, as from the deck +of the _Jeune-Adolphine_ they watched this strange fishing. “Hurrah!” + +They had to go to the other side of the mast to get the third man. He +could not help himself any more than the others. He clung more firmly +even than they, and did not drop until he had received four kicks. He +was unconscious when he was hauled in at the end of Silvere’s unerring +gaff. + +Then they rowed to the _Jeune-Adolphine_ to carry the three men whom +they had rescued, for the boat was already overloaded. + +“We will come back for you, Florimond. Hold fast.” + +“Don’t be uneasy, Lise. I can hang on as long as necessary. I am not an +old woman.” + +Florimond was always a man of surprises. He was stronger than any one. +After hanging at arm’s length for fifteen hours, he could have hung on +another day and night. When he saw the boat returning he slid down the +mast to the water, refused the aid of the gaff which was held him, and +struck out, like a virtuoso in his bath, to swim to them. + +He was fine, was Florimond. His muscular arms cleft the water, above +which towered his proud, bronzed face. Suddenly he started, and stopped +as if caught fast. + +“Help, Silvere!” + +The gaff was within reach of his hand, but he could not seize it. His +rigid fingers stood out stiffly for some instants above the water, and +then disappeared. + +“Do not let him die, Silvere. To the rescue, my old Barbet.” + +The dog leaped overboard and reappeared presently, splashing like a +cat, with a piece of a blouse in his mouth. The gaff came to his aid +and dragged up a bundle of flesh and clothes, which seemed lifeless. +But the arms suddenly clutched the offered help. “Haul him in, Silvere. +He is saved!” + +[Illustration: HIS RIGID FINGERS STOOD OUT STIFFLY FOR SOME INSTANTS +ABOVE THE WATER. + + Chap. 26.] + +“Misery! Help, Poidevin!” + +Dragged down by Florimond’s weight and thrown off his balance, Silvere +went headlong into the sea. + +“Help, Poidevin!” + +But he was too far away to help. With a turn of her arm, Elise made +fast a rope around her waist. + +“Hold firmly, men, and haul hard after I have dived.” + +She threw herself headlong. The sailors hauled in the rope. What a +strange mass came with her! In the last agonies of a drowning man +Florimond had seized Silvere in a desperate clutch. They struggled hand +to hand, one clutching, the other pushing him off. In the fierceness of +the struggle they escaped from Elise’s grasp, and disappeared a second +time. She dived again. Slowly she came back to the surface, drawn by +the rope, and dragging her burden with both hands. + +“My strength is all gone. Florimond drags us down.” + +Barbet heard her cry. He had recovered his breath, and was swimming +about, waiting until he could be of use. He dashed forward, and, +seizing Florimond by the throat, strangled him until he loosed his hold. + +Elise helped first Silvere, then Florimond, who, in his mighty arms, +convulsively clutched Barbet, whom he half crushed. + +Elise dived again. + +What could she be searching for, now that they were all safe--Silvere, +Barbet, and Florimond? Did she hope to recover the two men of the +_Bon-Pêcheur_ who had fallen, overcome by weakness, the moment before +the arrival of the _Jeune-Adolphine_? Alas, the waves had swept them +away as they pleased! + +“Get aboard, Lise. Your Barbet is badly hurt.” + +“What is it? Misery! Hurry, men, and pull me in.” + +Half pulled, half climbing, Elise scrambled into the boat. She found +Barbet with rattling breath, his tongue hanging out, foam on his lips, +and only the whites of his eyes visible. + +“Speak to me, my old Barbet. Tell me that you are not hurt. It would be +too hard to lose your life in saving those of others, old Barbet.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +Barbet was cared for like a child. Stretched on a soft bed of nets and +bagging, he had the bunk all to himself. Elise had given it up to him. +Sick people must have comforts. She herself slept, sitting on a box +near his bed, and, like a true shipmate, took the best care of him. + +She made endless dressings and cooling drinks for him. He would turn +his eye, lighted with the wild gleams of fever, toward her, then his +head would drop weakly and slowly back. + +“Get well quickly, my old Barbet. What will Firmin say to see you in +this plight? He will scold me for having let you get hurt.” + +Barbet did not show any interest at all at the name of Firmin. He was +interested only in the things of life that appealed to his heart. Was +it likely that he would be moved at the thought of a lad who dared more +for ambition than for friendship. He wished to get well, truly, but +only to please Elise, whom he had always loved, who loved him in her +sorrow as well as in her joy, when he was sick and when he was well +alike. + +He had nearly died, and all through a misunderstanding. In throwing +himself on Florimond, he had wanted simply to free Silvere, and make +the task of saving him more easy. His good intentions had been badly +repaid, for he had been nearly throttled in a moment of furious rage by +the man whom he was trying to succor. + +Florimond himself, strong as always, had not suffered long from the +shock. He was one of those who leave illness to others, and keep none +for themselves. A night’s rest made him forget all his bodily fatigue. + +But he did not find it so easy to forget his troubles of mind. + +Not that he was much concerned at the loss of his boat. He counted on +the insurance companies making that good. Apart from his boat he was +rich. An old aunt, who admired his strength and beauty, had made him +her heir. Since then he had been in a position where he not only need +not sail himself, but might own ships sent out in charge of others. He +loved the sea so much that he had not been able to leave her. To-day he +was tired of her. He had found out what pleasure she takes in betraying +those upon whom she has piled up her favors. + +She was the true culprit, and he had had the meanness to persecute +another when the fault had been hers. Poor Elise. He had harassed her +and had accused her of a betrayal of trust, and now he knew that she +was innocent. He had caused her great distress, and, for her revenge, +she had saved his life. + +Without her he would have been drowned, and, from abyss to abyss in +that endless waste of waters, dragged down by the weight of his sins, +he would have tossed about pitilessly with staring eyes, his body +eaten by fishes, his soul in torture. She had saved him not only from +death, but from the pains of expiation. + +Courageous under all circumstances, forgetful of injuries, strong in +her sacrifice of self, how had he failed to appreciate her! Her heart +was as noble as her face was pure. Was she really to marry Silvere, a +man without shoulders or chest, all length and no breadth? If he were +rich even, this big gull; but he was not well enough off to be even +a captain. His father had made large sums in his trade as pilot, but +unfortunately he had not managed well, for they had gone to assist his +neighbors, and in kindly acts which had not helped the donor. + +Florimond paced the deck of the _Jeune-Adolphine_, full of troubled +thoughts. He was tired to death of the forecastle, the close air +distressed him. He was at ease only under the lash of the breeze, for +his heart was full of disquiet. + +Sometimes when he met him on the deck, so overcome with melancholy, +Poidevin would throw him a comforting word. + +“It is better to drown your trouble, Captain Florimond, than to let it +drown you. Come, the jug of grog is waiting. It would not be fair to +let it go dry from lack of notice.” + +But neither rum nor any other spirits could console Florimond. Poidevin +had to drink alone, and he did his best at it, looking into his mug for +good advice. + +He had not completed the cruise; that is to say, all his bins were not +filled, but he could not make up his mind whether he had better head +for home or not. + +In looking for the castaways they had lost the herring, and had not +been able to find them, although they had tried thoroughly. Besides, +in spite of the advanced season, the days were warm, and the fish +might ferment in the hold. The first week of September had gone, the +equinoctial storms were at hand. It was the time of the year when +squalls are so common that one meets them at every turn. Decidedly it +would be better to save what fish they had and pass a week ashore. Such +was the advice which the captain decided to follow after a whole day’s +session with his mug. + +“Well, lads, the cruise is over. Tell the man at the wheel to head for +home.” + +Elise was busy near Barbet, when she heard him shout this out at the +top of his voice. + +She started as she heard it. And Firmin? Should she not see him again? +To leave the Scotch seas was to give up the hope of meeting him. +Without stopping to think she ran to Poidevin. + +“Take me first to England, captain, I want to see my boy.” + +Well as he knew Elise’s plans, and thoroughly as he had decided not to +oppose them, at least unless compliance with them menaced the safety of +the boat, Poidevin was stunned at her demand. He raised his arms above +his head, and murmured some ill-humored exclamations. + +“Death of my soul! You think no more of flaunting your demands in our +faces than in turning a quid in your mouth. I should be a fool to do as +you wish. Try to meet your corvette on the way home, or you will have +no chance of seeing your Firmin. What do you expect? it is the way of +our trade.” + +“You must take me, captain; I came with the expectation of seeing my +boy. I will not go until I have succeeded in my plan.” + +“By my sainted mother!” + +Poidevin turned his back so angrily that Elise saw that it was useless +to insist. She passed the night near Barbet, and at dawn went on deck +to begin her outlook again. + +Through constant watching her eyes had gained an unusual power, so that +the most distant and the most fleeting objects were clear to them. + +It was hardly four o’clock. The horizon was indistinct by reason of a +haze or fog. At intervals she thought she could make out some black +dots, but they speedily disappeared. Then more anxiously than ever she +searched the great expanse, as if at any moment there might start forth +the well-appointed corvette she was looking for. + +Elise thought sadly that over yonder, behind the fogs, was a coast that +now she had no chance of knowing. There were the shores of Scotland +stretching away, green under the majestic reaches of ancient forests. +Scotland, rich and beautiful as a land preferred of nature, was already +far away; for, for seven hours they had sailed southward and they had +passed the northern bounds of England. Edinburgh and Berwick! Elise +had given up hope of ever seeing them. + +That night they should reach the neighborhood of the gulf into which +the Thames pours its muddy and impure waters. The air is black with +smoke, the sky itself is darkened. Its outlines cannot be distinguished +from the open sea because its shores are low, but it can easily be +known from the number of steamers inward bound. Elise dreaded to reach +it, for once there, it would be foolish to hope any longer. + +Was not that smoke on the northern horizon? No; it was only a flock of +sea-gulls which had waked with the day. + +Misery! Should the big sister have less courage than her little +brother? He had discovered a way of escape from the _flambart_, ought +she to hesitate? She would buy Poidevin’s small boat, paying for it +with her nets; she would take Silvere, and they would row ashore, they +two, and would find Firmin. + +On government ships the discipline is strict and the officers are +harsh. With his spirit of insubordination the lad would suffer; he +would want his sister. Without doubt he asked for her every night in +his prayers, and was consumed with desire to see her. + +There was no time to lose. Elise raised herself to go and strike a +bargain with the captain. But big Poidevin was still asleep. The night +before he had had a great orgy in the forecastle, and he had drunk to +his decision to return, emptying his mug twice more than usual. + +No, it was not a flight of sea-gulls which made that long trail in the +sky. It was really smoke, but not so thick, heavy, and black as that of +the colliers. + +What was the use of hoping! It was probably a steamer, like so many +others, sailing from some English port. Poidevin might be angry if he +wished; well, let him be; when one wishes a thing ought not one dare +ask for it? + +But this vessel really began to look like a corvette; her outlines +became distinct. Through the glass, which never left her, Elise made +out presently three top-masts and their yards rising gradually above +the sea. The breeze was soft that morning, and her smoke, which rose +high and straight, was seen first. + +The lower masts appeared in their turn, and at last the hull with +her guns. It was certainly a corvette under steam and sail. She was +now clearly in the field of the glass. She cleft the waves with +her graceful lines, and seemed as if following in their wake and +in pursuit of them. In a quarter of an hour she would overtake the +_Jeune-Adolphine_. It was certainly she! French colors! Yes it was she, +and Firmin was aboard. + +She could hardly keep her feet, she trembled so with delight. Suddenly +she recovered herself, and, bursting like a puff of wind into the +forecastle, cried with the full force of her lungs: + +“Silvere, the corvette! We shall see Firmin.” + +All the sailors were roused from their dreams; Poidevin alone snored +on. Silvere sprang to his feet ready to share the delight of his +betrothed. + +“Examine her yourself, Silvere. I am sure my heart has not deceived me.” + +Then hurriedly Elise went to the bunk where Barbet lay uncomplainingly. + +“Our little Firmin is close at hand, my old Barbet. If you would only +get well quickly we should be so happy, we three. What makes you scowl +so? It is bad not to trust in the love of one’s friends. I will go +away, you pain me.” + +Two light barks recalled Elise. The dog turned toward her his mournful +head and his sombre eyes. + +“I forgive you, my old Barbet. Sick people are always restless and full +of suspicion. Our Firmin does not forget you.” + +And Elise laid her cheek softly against his nose. + +“Always a warm nose, Barbet, and always these shivers! You need land +air to set you up again. This time we will go home without any regrets.” + +She petted him, gently smiling, stroking his head where the temples +beat with fever, and his neck, whose warmth she loved, but which was +now burning hot. She ran to get a fresh draught, and carefully and +patiently, spoonful by spoonful, she made the sick dog drink. Then she +dried his lips and put all her affection in a good-by kiss. + +Opening her box, which lay in front of the bunk, she took out of it her +best skirt and her most coquettish hat, and taking off her sou’wester +and her oilskin dress, arrayed herself as if for a high holiday. She +threw a last smile at Barbet. + +“Do not be uneasy, my old Barbet. I will bring Firmin as soon as he +mounts the deck.” + +And while the dog followed her with a mournful look, as if overcome +by some dismal foreboding, she hurried away. She was up the ladder +in two bounds, and started as she saw the corvette flying the French +flag close to them. She climbed the bulwarks quickly and clung there, +looking for Firmin. + +She saw him at the very end of the bowsprit, with nothing else to +steady himself by but the ropes. There he stood, at least fifty feet +away from the deck, in advance of the ship, as if hovering in the air +above the sea. He was like one of those bold figures which imagination +gives as guides to ships on allegorical voyages. + +Elise was so frightened that she had to get down, half dazed, from the +bulwarks to the solid surface of the deck. + +It was truly her lad, unconscious of danger, as he always was. She did +not dare to make a sign or utter a word, for fear he should be startled +and lose his balance. She hid herself behind a corner of the sail, and +had not yet regained her composure when the corvette came to leeward of +the sloop, took in sail so as to fetch her, and began to run alongside +in order to hail. + +“_Jeune-Adolphine._ Captain Amable Poidevin. Official orders!” + +The captain, hastily forewarned, appeared at that moment, still half +dazed with sleep. He announced himself at once as the captain, and the +boat stopped while the corvette came alongside. + +The interchange of words between the two boats was short. A letter +from the maritime prefect had arrived two days before at the +station at Plymouth, ordering them to search in the Scotch seas for +the _Jeune-Adolphine_, and to transfer to her the lad rescued from +the sea. This letter was the result of steps taken jointly by the +under-commissaires of Treport and Saint-Valery. They had joined forces +in order to arrange for Elise a surprise, and to give her the pleasure +of bringing home her brother. + +Orders were called out on the deck of the corvette. + +“Boatswain!” + +An old sailor with deep wrinkles came forward. + +“Bring the boy, Hénin.” + +On hearing this order, Elise could not restrain herself. + +“Firmin, my dear boy, my Firmin, hurry. I cannot wait.” + +But when the boatswain came to call him, Firmin steadied himself by the +rope and did not budge. + +Elise was wild with impatience. + +“Firmin, you break my heart by your delay. Come quickly. You will see +Barbet.” + +The boy was obstinate. Neither pleasant nor sharp words succeeded in +bringing him to the deck. The boatswain ordered them to seize him. Two +sailors sat astride the bowsprit, and gradually worked their way almost +to the rebel. But how were they to stand erect on this slippery pole +hardly large enough for the feet of a bird, and, if once erect, how +could they struggle with him without twenty times risking a plunge into +the sea? + +The boy impassible, with a steady look and perfectly determined, +watched them approach. + +He had been told of the orders which had come concerning him, and +refused to leave the vessel. The true life for him was not that of a +hand on one of the dirty little fishing-boats smelling of brine, but +that of a sailor on a glittering ship odorous of polished wood. + +This new life so full of hope, this future of riches and glory, had +opened to him. He did not wish to see his sister yet; he had sworn not +to return until he had won the lace of a quartermaster. + +But the corvette could not lie there at the caprice of a lad. After +long consultations among the officers, a topman climbed to that point +on the mast whence a cable runs to the very end of the bowsprit. + +Then, without hesitation, without even considering the danger, he swung +himself from the cable, and hand under hand he descended it slowly and +evenly, so that Firmin should not suspect his coming. + +The sailors who had seen the maneuver made as if to attack Firmin, in +order to keep him on guard. He had his eye on them, ready to take the +defensive. + +Not a sound. On the two boats all the men were watching, their eyes +opened, their lips closed, in their excitement. + +The topman, keeping steadily on, was approaching without being seen. +Two fathoms more, and the boy was taken. + +Through the deep silence, like the trail of a rocket, came a long, +strident cry: + +“Watch the top, my little man----” + +A cry which broke in on the stupor of officers and men, and +reverberated, with echo after echo, far across the sea. “Watch the top, +my little man.” + +Overtaxed by waiting, and excited by anxiety for her boy, Elise had +unconsciously shouted out a sister’s warning. + +While the sailor stopped, astonished, Firmin raised his head and saw +him close at hand. + +He did not give even a start of surprise. Quickly and resolutely, for +he was determined to escape, seeing himself cut off in front and above, +he flattened himself on the bowsprit and slipped down one of the cables +stretched beneath it. He hoped to reach the figure-head of Fortune, and +there to find refuge from his pursuers on her breast, as on that of a +protecting divinity. + +Unfortunately, in his haste he made a false move, lost his balance, and +disappeared under the waves. + +A cry of terror re-echoed from the deck of the _Jeune-Adolphine_ like +the cry of a mother in distress. + +But at that very moment a boat appeared from the other side of the +corvette, just in time to seize Firmin, as he came to the surface, and +row him to the _Jeune-Adolphine_. Two sailors caught him under the +arms, and made a rope fast around him. + +“Hoist him up!” + +Misery! As they were lifting him he managed to slip from the rope, fell +back into the water, and disappeared from sight between the boat and +the ship. + +“Seize him quick. He cannot swim.” + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: “CALM YOURSELF, ELISE, WE SHOULD MAKE THE OTHERS LAUGH.” + + Chap. 27.] + +What was Elise saying--He not swim! The scamp, he could swim like a +porpoise! He passed under the boat, reached the corvette, scaled her +ladder, and was on the deck he loved. + +“Captain, keep me. I want to become an officer.” + +The captain called Elise, and they began talking again. The letter of +the maritime prefect was only mandatory on one point. It directed that +the boy should be taken to his sister, and this had been done. If now +Elise would consent to his enlisting, they would keep her brother on +board. He was cut out for a good sailor. It was a pity to deprive the +country of his services. + +“Come, my daughter, decide.” + +Her eyes full of tears, her head drooping, her voice nearly +undistinguishable, Elise gave her consent. + +“Captain, it shall be as you wish, only let me embrace him.” + +At last she pressed to her breast her lost child, the child she loved. +What a flood of caresses, and what feverish kisses, she bestowed upon +him. + +“Firmin, my sweet little man, you are always beautiful. I tremble with +happiness at seeing you.” + +“Calm yourself, Elise, you will make the others laugh at us.” + +“Have no fear. One does not laugh at those who love one another. Let me +look at you.” + +“Look, instead, how everything shines on a big ship.” + +“It is your eyes that shine. I have no fancy for any other gleams.” + +“And see how trim everything is, and how strong the rigging.” + +“What do I care? It is only you that I wish to admire--a long look, a +long look, so that I may carry you away in my soul and eyes at least.” + +“Calm yourself, Lise. We shall meet again later on. I shall have won my +rank. You will be proud.” + +“Oh, no! Such gains are made at too great a cost. Since we were born, +we have never been separated.” + +“Elise, do go. You will make me lose my chance of being an officer. The +captain will take back his word. There is an end to his patience.” + +And Firmin pushed his sister to the ship’s side, where the ladder was +fixed. + +“Do go!” + +Elise was overcome. She had had too many blows. She could restrain no +longer the beating of her heart. Choking as she was, she forced herself +to say good-by. + +“I am going, captain. Be good to him.” + +She did not know how she got back to the _Jeune-Adolphine_. She seemed +deaf even to the voice of Firmin, who cried gayly: + +“Good-by, Elise! You will see me with stripes on my sleeves.” + +She passed without speaking before Silvere, Florimond, and Poidevin, +and all the sailors grouped together, and walked rigidly to the +forecastle. But she had barely reached there when her self-control gave +way, and she threw herself on her box. With her head resting on the +edge of the bunk, she wept beside Barbet. + +“My old Barbet, he does not love us any more; he has never loved us. He +did not even speak of you, old Barbet.” + +With a look in which shone his tender heart, Barbet seemed to say: + +“Friend, he must suffer who loves too well. If the affection of any +one else can console you, be sure of mine. It is yours for life and +death. Friend, there is still one who cherishes and adores you; your +big Silvere, who knows not how to tell his love, but can prove it. Do +you not see him silent and sad behind you. He weeps at your tears, +and his heart beats in sympathy with yours. His arms are open, tell +your sorrows to him. Is not a friend’s heart a refuge for all who are +wounded by ingratitude?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +Since morning the _Jeune-Adolphine_ had been in the Channel. It was her +last night at sea, for the next day at the evening tide she ought to be +fast at the quay at Dieppe, whither she was bound to sell her fish. + +Elise had been ordered to the helm during the second watch. Silvere had +wanted to take her place. Since she had been so unhappy he had become +more attentive, had spared her fatigue, had watched over her, and had +anticipated her wants. Alas! she had no wants. She was wrapt in an +indifference born of grief. He did not leave her; he comforted her by +his affectionate glances and by that silent sympathy of which delicate +natures know the secret. + +What could he say? He had tried to speak of Firmin, but it awakened all +her grief and she had burst into tears. He had ended by following her +about like a faithful dog, as Barbet would have followed her if he had +not been ill. + +This community of suffering had made Silvere pale, so greatly had +all these wakeful nights told upon him. Big men cannot endure a long +strain. Elise now, not only refused fresh help from him, but for the +last few nights, by her entreaties, had made him take his usual sleep. +She herself was lying down for the first time since Barbet was ill, +and was dreaming of Firmin when the summons to the deck brought her +back from the happy vision. + +She was never late at her post. Without troubling her head about her +companion of the watch, who was slower to wake, she hurried on deck to +relieve the man at the wheel. + +It was nearly the end of the full moon and the night was clear, though +at times thick, slow-moving clouds hid the sky for long intervals. +When Elise heard the closing of the hatch she could not tell which of +the men came out. Whoever it was, he would be her only companion for +several hours, for in light breezes two were enough to watch the boat. + +Elise heard his steps in the bow as he went to take his place as +lookout. + +The weather was a little uncertain. At times one of the heavy clouds +would send down a fine warm rain on the boat, and it was for that +reason that they had taken the precaution to close the hatch. + +There was a kind of languor in the air. Notwithstanding her accustomed +vigor Elise was depressed. She was tired, body and soul, but under a +presentiment of coming trouble she threw it off and held herself ready +for action. + +In spite of the darkness of the night she had a vague intuition that +the figure, which she had hardly seen, was that of Florimond. What was +he going to do, and what new fancy led him to take the place of one of +the men? Since he had come on the _Jeune-Adolphine_ he had not once +offered to help in handling her. He had always preserved his dignity +as captain before the crew, and here he was this night taking the +place of a common sailor. + +Was it really he? In order to know certainly, and to recognize the man +by the sound of his voice, Elise gave the usual call: + +“Keep your eyes open there, in the bow.” + +There was no response. + +“Who is on the lookout?” + +No answer. + +“Is it not you, Cousin Florimond?” + +Then, suddenly, she nearly let go the tiller. The heavy clouds had +parted and the moon shone clear through their rents. In the sudden +light Elise saw Florimond close to her. He was bent double and was +sneaking along in the shelter of the bulwarks. + +Then, in spite of herself, she was afraid. She remembered the day when, +face to face with him in the capstan hatch, he had been so violent. + +“What are you going to do, Cousin Florimond? I have not made you angry +again, I suppose.” + +He stood erect; he nearly touched her hand. At that moment the silvery +rays shone on the sail behind him, and his huge broad figure stood out +grandly against its white background. + +Around him on the deck everything was hidden in the shadow. He looked +almost more than human. His chest curved outward between his arms +squarely set on his shoulders. His neck, with its strong cords, +supported his head proudly. His face was strong, notwithstanding its +pure oval. He was not terrible, he was beautiful. + +“What do you want of me, Cousin Florimond? If I can grant it, I could +never have the heart to refuse.” + +“I want your promise to marry me, Lise. You are the cleverest of the +village girls, and I am the strongest of the men. We would make a fine +couple, we two.” + +“Do you think so, cousin? I am not worth your notice.” + +“You saved me from the sea. You are the most daring of any of the +girls.” + +“I am only a poor lass, and not made for riches, like you.” + +“You are made for me and I want you. I should never find any one who +would do me more credit.” + +“Why do you want me? You do not like me at all.” + +“I owe you my life. I want to pay my debt.” + +“We will talk later on. This is not the time for it. Leave me to mind +the helm.” + +“Listen, Elise, I want you. I believe that any man might be proud to +marry you.” + +In Florimond’s eyes Elise caught the jealous gleams which she feared. +From the start, she had tried to refuse him without speaking of her +engagement. She knew intuitively that she had but to mention Silvere’s +name to rouse the jealousy of the proud captain who had so suddenly +become his rival. + +She made another attempt to avoid a clash. + +“Return to your post, Cousin Florimond. If there should be a collision +we should be to blame.” + +“The other boats can look out for us.” + +“We will watch all the same. It is our duty.” + +“You wish to put me off, Lise. Do you not know me yet? If it is your +Silvere who is in the way of your marrying me, he can look out for +squalls.” + +“Why do you threaten him? Has he ever done you any harm?” + +“He is a great soft, half-coward.” + +“On the contrary, he is braver and more generous than any one.” + +She stopped, confused at this outburst, in which her heart had spoken +in spite of her lips. + +She was not afraid for herself, for she did not believe her sturdy +cousin would do a mean act. She had known him when he was a child, +the most beautiful child in the village, and had seen him grow up to +be the handsomest man. She knew that he was conceited, violent, and +inconsiderate of others, but she thought these were the traits of +strong characters. She endowed him with manly virtues, she thought him +brave and incapable of common crimes. + +Nevertheless, she was uneasy on Silvere’s account, for he was not the +kind of man to tolerate a rival, and foreseeing a quarrel between them +she resolved to turn his anger on herself. + +“Take your post, Cousin Florimond.” + +“No! Give up Silvere. He is too lazy for you.” + +And Cousin Florimond squared himself firmly on his legs as if to make +the contrast between them more forcible. + +“Go! Cousin Florimond.” + +“Give him up, _tonnerre_!” + +“Never! I have given him my word.” + +“So much the worse. It will cost you dear.” + +“It will not cost me enough to make me break it.” + +“It will cost you your lover, Lise. Can he hold his own against me?” + +“You have no right to quarrel with me about him. When you despised me, +he alone stood by me. I should be unnatural if I were to forget his +kindness. Take your post again, Cousin Florimond. Silvere has my word, +and he will have it as long as I live.” + +“Enough. _Tonnerre!_ You are playing a game to make me fall in love +with you.” + +“He protected me against all the villagers. He has a good heart and +kindly ways. Do not speak to me of marriage. He has given me his love. +I have given him mine.” + +“Hold your tongue. Are you trying to make me kill him?” + +“He is not afraid of you in the least, Cousin Florimond. He has faced +stronger men than you, and, since you have no gratitude for what +he has done for you, I will talk to you as you deserve. You are a +better-looking man, but your face is disfigured by passion. You ask my +love, but you get only my contempt. Do not speak to me! Do not speak to +me!” + +Florimond stepped toward her threateningly. + +“You are too free with your tongue to-night, Elise. You are trying to +find out what one gets who braves me. For the last time I say it, give +up Silvere.” + +“No, I love him.” + +“Look out, then! _Tonnerre!_ You’ve brought it on yourself, girl.” + +And Florimond threw himself heavily on Elise, crushing her with his +sinewy fingers. + +“Are you trying to kill me, because I would not tell a lie?” + +“Give him up!” + +“Never, Cousin Florimond.” + +“Hold your tongue! I do not know myself! You shall give him up! +_Tonnerre!_ Give him up, I say!” + +Not being able to force Elise to her knees, he took a step backward to +make a fresh attack. + +“No! Never--never--never!” + +During the instant that she was free she had picked up +something--anything to defend herself with, and handled it dexterously. + +“Help, Silvere! Help, Poidevin! Help, all!” + +In an instant Florimond was on his back, pinned to the ground by two +hands and two knees, which held him in spite of himself. He fought +desperately, he breathed hard, and the shock, as his back was forced +down again and again to the deck, fairly made it tremble. He sputtered +with rage. All the sailors came running, one after the other, and big +Poidevin with them, puffing like a drunkard waked too soon. + +[Illustration: SHE HAD PICKED UP SOMETHING--ANYTHING--TO DEFEND HERSELF. + + Chap. 28.] + +Pale, and overcome with surprise and fright, the panic-stricken crowd +stood there with wide-open eyes, looking about to see if it was some +strange nightmare which had brought them, only half awake, on deck. + +“Do not let him go, Silvere. He will do some harm.” + +The sailors stood about, not daring to come near, and fearing even to +touch this man, who had so strangely broken in on their sleep. + +Barbet had wakened them. Stretched at length, without strength, unable +to lift himself, but feverishly anxious, and hearing perhaps through +the closed hatch Elise’s troubled voice, he had whined, but the +sleeping ears were deaf. Then, with a last effort, he had howled loud +enough to wake at once all these snorers out of their heavy sleep. + +And they had all rushed out, Silvere first, as he thought of his +betrothed. It was he who had thrown Florimond down and was now holding +him fast. + +He had a strong grip, this big fellow. His timidity and his good nature +made him seem uncertain and weak. He was so bashful with women that he +hardly dared to look into their eyes, and when he approached Elise he +made himself gentle, as if to touch a child. But he was terrible at a +time like this, when he was angry at men like himself. Under his firm +hold it went hard with Florimond. + +“Tie him up,” said Poidevin suddenly. “We cannot arrange a guard of men +to watch him all the time.” + +On shipboard they have a liking for summary measures. It is the +easiest way to secure the safety of the boat against mutineers. +The sailors urged on Silvere, and among them the survivors of the +_Bon-Pêcheur_, old Quarrelsome and the Stutterer, were the most furious. + +“He is strangling already. Finish him, once for all, Silvere.” + +Then Elise forced her way through the men to where Florimond lay, and +set him free. + +“I do not want any one to be hurt on my account. Take your place again, +cousin. I will go back to the helm, and Silvere will protect me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +“Drink, I beg you, my old Barbet. Listen to your Elise. Drink a +little--very slowly--but at least drink. You are all cold. It will warm +you, old Barbet.” + +She offered him some drops of brandy in the palm of her hand. He paid +no attention to it. His lips were closed and shrivelled, a very bad +sign. On her return from the watch Elise had found him lying stiff and +without breath, as if his soul had passed in his last cry of distress. + +“You are just as you were at first, but you will get better now, as you +did then. If you will drink you will get well, my old Barbet.” + +He lay motionless, and Elise watched him and wept. + +Poidevin was snoring: all the men were asleep again. Florimond was +seated on a box in the darkest corner of the room, half asleep, but the +furrows in his forehead, his compressed lips, and the twitchings of his +arms betrayed the feverish desire for vengeance which filled his whole +being. Silvere alone watched by Elise’s side. + +He seized Barbet’s jaws with his two hands and tried with all his +might to unlock them. The lips opened a little and through them Elise +succeeded in slipping some drops of cordial, but they did not produce +a single tremor. + +“It is not true. It is not true,” she cried, and from that moment she +did not leave Barbet until they were in port. + + * * * * * + +It was to Dieppe that the _Jeune-Adolphine_ had come to leave her fish. +While the men hurried to the nearest tavern, Elise made her way to the +town with Barbet in her arms. + +She had sent Silvere to the sanitary bureau to get the addresses of +doctors, and the agent, thinking that it was some man who was ill, had +given him those of the principal physicians. + +On seeing the curious patient they brought, one laughed, another +was angry, and all sent Elise mournfully away without advice. From +street to street she carried the dog, mounting the steps in vain, for +everywhere she received the same refusal. + +Finally, the servant of one of these doctors, an old woman who had more +feeling than the younger ones, told Elise of a man thoroughly skilled +in the care of beasts, who lived between the town and the open fields, +in a place sheltered from the sea winds, where there was fresh air and +grass. + +“It will be fine for you here, my Barbet,” said Elise as she reached +the door, “but can I have the heart to leave you?” + +Barbet did not answer. His head swung helplessly over Elise’s arm, +his glassy eyes could not speak. The opinion was not favorable. The +veterinary made his diagnosis, screwing up his mouth and nodding his +head. + +“He is dead. Leave him. I will bury him to-morrow.” + +“Are you crazy, sir? Bury Barbet! As if one could find another friend +like him! I would give my life for him, just as he would give his for +me.” + +“It would be of no use. If he is not dead he is the same as dead. He +will be underground before two days.” + +“Oh, no, sir! You will find out how to make him well, for you are a +doctor. I will pay all expenses. The herring has furnished----” + +She put Barbet quickly into Silvere’s arms, and, drawing from under her +skirt a canvas bag, held it up for the veterinary to see. + +“The sale of the fish will fill it. There will be enough to pay you for +curing Barbet.” + +Silvere interrupted, to promise still more. + +“You are a couple of innocents,” said the veterinary rudely. “Leave the +dog with me.” + +“You will take me to board, too, sir. I am easy to please.” + +It was hard work to convince Elise that a hospital for animals was not +a tavern; the dog only was taken. Fortunately there was an inn not far +away, and Elise engaged a bed. She was going to live there during the +time it took to sell and deliver the herrings. + +She came hourly to the hospital door, rang the bell boldly, troubling +the concierge and the servants, and even the master, to get news of +Barbet. They refused her entrance under the plea of interfering with +his recovery, but she was so importunate that the surgeon ended by +being interested in a dog which was the object of so firm a friendship. +And so Barbet was saved. He was on the high way to recovery when the +_Jeune-Adolphine_ sailed. After a more careful and patient examination +than he usually gave his patients, the veterinary had discovered the +state of the injury, applied the right remedy and a solid dressing; +then he had turned the animal over to Elise, dismissing her with a +crabbed good nature when she was persistent in trying to pay for his +care. She was carried away with delight. + +“I was sure I should rescue you from death, my old Barbet. When we +fight for our friends, we are strong against evil.” + + * * * * * + +The _Jeune-Adolphine_ was sailing briskly toward her port. Barbet +preferred the deck. He was in the bow, stretched on a pile of nets and +mops, and it was thence that, six hours after leaving Dieppe, he saw +again the well-known bay, with its gray outlines softened away into +fog. Elise was near him. She lifted his head gently, and from afar +he made out the white houses of the town behind the red sands of the +dunes. As he saw these dear sights, his eye, so long bright with fever, +recovered its limpid serenity. + +The sun was just setting when the _Jeune-Adolphine_ appeared in the +harbor. She had been signalled a half hour before, on entering the +channel, and all those whose happiness was at risk with her, were +waiting on the pier, impatient for her landing. Elise and Silvere saw +Mother Pilote and good Mother Loirat. They threw toward them a long, +joyful cry--a cry of home-coming, the lightest and most joyous of those +which escape the human breast. + + * * * * * + +They were to have a week on shore, and Elise passed it in her cabin, +caring for Barbet. She had signed for the whole campaign, and could not +think of breaking her engagement. Barbet was too weak yet to take up +life on shipboard again, and their separation was close at hand, for +the _Jeune-Adolphine_ was to sail in two days. + +Elise was all the while in tears. She did not dare to leave the dog to +Mother Pilote, who could not be depended on to watch a sick person. She +wished to leave him with Chrétien. + +Chrétien had not gone to sea again. He had yielded to the wishes of +Mother Loirat, who had been so greatly aged by her recent shock that +she preferred poverty to being left alone. He fished from the beach, +according to the season. It was a wretched occupation, but a safe one +at least. + +Since Elise had returned home he often made his way to her cabin. He +would reach the house and watch her through the windows a long time +before he knocked. As soon as he was within he would seat himself and +remain an hour or two without saying anything, simply following her +with his childlike look. + +He had been there since noon, sitting in a corner of the cabin, and +more restless and more silent than ever before. His eyes, naturally +so quiet, were lighted at intervals by strange gleams. He fixed them +longingly on the bridal bouquet, which, on the sideboard under a glass +globe, shone brilliantly with its leaves of gold paper. Then he turned +them to Elise as if in some secret trouble. + +“What is it, Chrétien? tell me. Perhaps I may be able to comfort you.” + +She had no reply. She saw him look more earnestly than before at the +bouquet, and then glance at her with a sort of sweet supplication. +He seemed so sad, and to desire it so much, that she was not able to +resist the pleasure of granting his silent prayer. + +She ran to the sideboard, lifted the globe, took the bouquet, and, +blowing the dust off the leaves, broke off the brightest and gave it to +the young man. + +“They say that it brings luck to lovers. Have you then a promise, +Chrétien?” + +“I shall never marry.” + +“What are you saying? You are especially made for home life.” + +“No. I cannot hope to be happy, for you are to marry another. I shall +at least have the pleasure of dying for you.” + +Elise was sitting by Barbet, and as she talked she was running her +fingers through his long hair, all tangled like that of a sick person. +At Chrétien’s word, she rose in surprise, and withdrew her hand so +suddenly that she pulled out a tuft. Barbet did not cry out, but he +was not able to repress a little whimper of pain. + +“Is it possible that I hurt you, my old Barbet? You made me do it, +Chrétien, with your gloomy talk.” + +And leaning toward the dog, she petted him consolingly. + +Their confidential talk once broken, Chrétien had not another word to +say. He stayed a long time, abstracted and quiet, then, toward night, +he went out, throwing at Elise a long look of farewell. + +“Chrétien, where are you going? Tell me.” + +He was already some distance away. She followed him with her eyes for +some seconds. He went toward the dunes by the road that led to the +graveyard. Elise returned to Barbet and kissed his forehead. + +“Do not be restless, Barbet. Chrétien had a strange look about him. I +want to find out what he is going over there for.” + +She went out hastily and ran, for he was out of sight. She did not +catch sight of him again until after she had climbed the top of the +dune. He was not alone. As nearly as she could distinguish in the +twilight, Florimond and big Poidevin were with him. + +Nothing is so depressing as the coming of night. Oppressed with +forebodings, Elise quickened her pace. What could bring them there, +those three, so late, on this gloomy road? Could what she feared be +true? + +It was altogether improbable, she said; but the further she went the +stronger grew her fears. + +She recalled the strange actions of Cousin Florimond during the last +few days. He was not a man to acknowledge defeat, and since his return +he had renewed his attentions to her and his threats. He took advantage +of the absence of Silvere, who had gone some distance into the country +to announce his approaching wedding to some old relatives, and was +delayed by business. But contrary to Florimond’s expectations he had +met a new champion of Elise’s rights, for Chrétien had been only too +happy to take up the duty of protecting her, if only for a week. + +Had the two men quarrelled? At the very thought Elise trembled with +fear. She knew how all these sailors’ duels ended--duels with knives +and without mercy. + +She thought she should faint when she saw the three figures disappear +suddenly in the Crow’s Hole. They usually fought there in the ditch, +the better to keep them face to face and prevent either from escaping. +Elise tried to run, but her legs tottered under her. She tried to cry +out, to frighten them by this approach of a stranger, but her voice +died away in her throat. + +She heard the voice of Poidevin directing the fight. + +“To your work, lads. You know the custom. In a case of gallantry you +strike to kill.” + +There were some frightful instants of silence; overhead the sea-gulls +wheeled--sea-gulls drawn by the hope of blood; then came Poidevin’s +voice judging the blows. Then there was a hoarse clamor and two voices +cried together: + +“His account is settled. Yes. You have ripped him up like a sack.” + +“Who! Chrétien surely! Poor Mother Loirat!” And seized by a tremor of +unconquerable anguish Elise fell prostrate on the sand. She had fainted. + + * * * * * + +“Mam’selle Elise. It is I. Do you not know me! The bouquet has brought +me luck.” + +Elise came to herself in the arms of Chrétien, who carried her to her +cabin. + +“Fear no longer, Mam’selle Elise. Florimond will never trouble you +again. He had sworn to kill Silvere.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +The _Jeune-Adolphine_ did not sail the next day. A good fellow, after +all, Poidevin had a tender heart. Immediately after the fight, of which +he had been a witness, he had gone to the tavern to drown his emotion, +and he had drowned it so effectively that his reasoning faculties had +gone with it. + +Wandering through the town and tired of knocking at all the doors whose +bolts would not move for his key, he had ended by occupying a very +soft bed which he found in a damp ditch by the roadside. When the next +morning they lifted him up, muddy and with water-cress in his beard +and hair, he was helpless. His fat alone had saved him from a worse +fate. Howling with rheumatism, he kept his bed for a month, while the +_Jeune-Adolphine_ waited impatiently in the harbor. + +Silvere wished to take advantage of this respite and be married. On his +recent trip he had recovered some important sums lent by his father to +his country relatives. He was in easy circumstances as far as money was +concerned. What was there to wait for. + +They must wait for Barbet to get well. At least so Elise thought. She +would not have a happy wedding if her old friend did not assist. + +“Hurry and get well, my poor Barbet. I want you for a witness.” + +And a witness he was. Poidevin’s illness continued beyond the doctor’s +expectations; the days grew into weeks. The end of October was at hand +and the _Jeune-Adolphine_ could not hope to go fishing before the new +year. Already the sailors were dismantling her. They were not now +driven by the fear of having to sail, and Elise herself began to wish +for the long-announced marriage. + +“Hurry to get well, Barbet. You will not put us off until winter, will +you?” + +For a fortnight Barbet had moved about the room, dragging his hind legs +behind him. His strength came back very slowly. + +“You will not be able to dance at the wedding, you poor old crippled +Barbet.” + +He did not object to any remedies, salt baths, rubbings, tonics, but, +much as he wished it, he could not get well. At last, near All Saint’s +Day, after hours of attempts which cost him many a twinge, he managed +to stand on his four feet and walk. He tried it twenty times before +Elise. + +“You walk well now, my old Barbet.” + +And the wedding was fixed for the Saturday after Saint Martin’s Day. On +that day the sky was clear at the sun rising, with that blue of autumn +which pales as it nears the horizon. The south wind blew softly, while +the gray crows, the larks, the starlings, the green finches, and all +the birds of passage filled the air with joyous cries. + +At daybreak Elise went with Silvere to the graveyard to invoke from +her parents the first of the benedictions she was to receive that +day. She slowly climbed the dune road, supported by him whom she was +so soon to accept before men and for eternity as her only master, her +protector, and her husband. + +Half-way up she stopped. Below her the gulf hid beneath its +scintillations the deep abyss, but as she saw it from afar, so laughing +and so treacherous, Elise had not the tremors of other days. One is not +afraid of what one knows. + +“Silvere,” she said simply, “one clings closer to happiness when one +has fought for it.” + +Then she threw a last glance beyond the gulf toward England, and +her breast swelled with emotion at the remembrance. Her thoughts +flew to Firmin, the lad of her choice, whom she had loved so much. +Notwithstanding all, she reproached herself for leaving him. She said +to herself that soon other cares would take all her time, and some day, +perhaps, she would have children of her own who would awake in her new +inquietude and new duties. + +Silvere watched her, lost in this far-off revery. She lifted her eyes +to his unconsciously, and seeing that he divined her thoughts tried to +hide them in a smile. But he quickly reassured her. + +“You will always love your Firmin, will you not? Since he is your +brother he shall be mine, Lise. In a household all friendships should +be shared.” + + * * * * * + +After the blessings of the relations, comes that of the mayor. The +procession left the cottage, Silvere at its head, very handsome in +his new clothes, with his brown hat and his blue shirt with a heart +embroidered on it. Radiantly happy, Mother Pilote, hanging on the arm +of her great son, trotted gayly along in her holiday costume of red +skirt and green shawl. + +Elise was married in white. That is the rule for young girls. She +marched second in the procession, and took no one’s arm in order that +she might have Barbet beside her. + +He advanced gravely, as was due to the occasion. The night before, on +seeing them bring her white dress and crown of orange blossoms, he had +foreseen this holiday, and had given Elise no peace until she had taken +out from the chest his tarnished lace and chevrons. He had insisted on +her rubbing and polishing them for more than an hour, and attired to +his taste he yielded place to no one. + +Then came Silvere’s relatives and Chrétien and Mother Loirat; finally +M. Emile, who half-disappeared under a huge bouquet of chrysanthemums +all tied up in white ribbons. It was the gift of the commissaire of +Saint-Valery, and M. Emile thought it so beautiful that he wanted to +carry it all day. It took both his arms to hold it, and he had to lean +his head back so far that twenty times he nearly lost his high hat, +which had been all newly polished. + +The mayor received the company with his best smile. He pretended to +accept Barbet as witness, and the dog acted his part and responded to +each inquiry the same as the others. When asked, according to the usual +formula, “Do you agree to take Silvere Pollene here present for your +husband?” Elise answered softly in her sweet voice. Barbet, doubtless +judging the “Yes” not said with sufficient firmness and vigor, treated +it by his loudest bark. + +He was not provoked, when, as they left the _mairie_, Elise took +Silvere’s arm. He kept through the whole walk his own company, instead +of going with Mother Pilote, whom they tried to make him take as +companion. + +Mother Pilote herself was so full of smiles, so foolishly happy, that +she amused herself by trying to reconcile Barbet to his new companion. + +“You will not make anything by changing, Barbet. What do you expect? +From youth to age; it is always so in life.” + +It was worse still for Barbet at the church. He entered quietly, like a +person of importance. The beadle tried to drive him out; he showed his +teeth. Then Elise, without thinking of her white dress, took him boldly +up and carried him out to the Place. She made up, to console him, such +wheedling excuses and faithful promises, that he was content. + +They met again happily after the ceremony. All the town was assembled +along the route and, under showers of flowers which the girls flung, in +the midst of the firing of guns and letting off of powder with which +the young men of the village deafened them, between the congratulations +of the old people and the cries of wondering children, the company +walked to Silvere’s house for the mid-day meal. Then, faithful to +custom, after it they set out again for the fields. + +Animals were grazing in the meadows fresh from the autumn rains. Elise +recognized those through which she had run on that mournful night. They +were still green with the aftermath, while beyond them, in place of +ripening wheat and blossoming flowers, the new-ploughed ground awaited +the seed that was to bring a fresh crop. + +The procession, led by two violins and a fife, who had asked the honor +of taking part, kept its ranks a long time. + +Silvere overtopped by a head all his relatives and friends, and thus +overlooking all, he did not lack dignity. Besides, since he was assured +of Elise, he had gained in ease. His long arms and big hands, which +were so embarrassing to him before, assumed a fresh and nearly natural +grace. + +He held Elise by the hand after the fashion of village lovers, and +did not speak. These simple souls knew how to love and be silent. He +marched along, looking about with the astonished gaze of the sailor, to +whom all rural things are strange. But in the pressure of Elise’s hand +he felt a delicious tremor which stirred his heart like a caress. + +They reached the first village; some cottages half-hidden away among +trees. They were expected. On the steps of the tavern the young girls +in their Sunday dresses offered them cake and beer in exchange for +small silver. It is a tradition of the district. Elise was expected +to drink with Silvere. She just wet her lips and handed the glass to +her husband, who emptied it at a draught, as if he were drinking the +aroma of her he loved. Then they ate together of the cake, exchanging +a glance of infinite sweetness, a glance in which could be read the +thoughts of their hearts. Henceforth to them all was to be in common, +sorrow, joy, strength and weakness, good and evil, all the life of the +body and the life of the soul. + +It was the same at tavern after tavern. According to the custom they +could not skip one. They stopped, drank, paid, and took up their march, +but the procession began to lose its first regularity. The young people +grew animated and kept step with the violins as they entered the +villages. Then Silvere and Elise led off the marriage march. But when, +overcome with delight at his happiness, he held her close or, leaning +toward her, brushed the hair on her forehead, she gently and delicately +disengaged herself and ran to the mothers, whose age made them fall far +behind. She embraced them and encouraged them, taking the occasion to +smile at M. Emile and Barbet. + +These two shared the end of the procession with the old people, the +little clerk perspiring under his bouquet, the dog a little stiff in +his legs. + +Chrétien alone of all did not seem happy. His steel-gray eye, as it +turned toward Elise, seemed full of a plaintive sorrow. One cannot cure +themselves of a heart wound in a day. + +The supper, the real wedding feast, had been ordered at the sailor’s +tavern. Elise had not been willing that Mother Pilote should have the +fatigue of it. At the great table, where the mugs of beer and the white +dishes sparkled under the lamps, each one was seated according to his +merit and rank. The happy pair were midway, opposite the mayor, then +the witnesses and the relatives. The young people were at each end. +There was no fish served; they had enough of that every day. When they +were tired of the meat courses, bottles of old cider were emptied, +frothing, into the glasses. It was the happy moment when the satisfied +stomach sets the tongue free. Barbet himself, on his seat beside Elise, +notwithstanding the majesty of his dress, shared the general talk. + +Suddenly the door opened, allowing the entrance of a noisy crowd, who +elbowed one another in their haste, as if pushed from behind. In the +front were Old Quarrelsome and the Stutterer, and the other sailor of +the _Bon-Pêcheur_--the three whom Elise had saved. They bore their +present, a little sloop, which they had made together. The first had +carved the hull, the second had put in the masts and the rigging, the +third had added the sails and painted it in bright colors. The name, +_Bon-Pêcheur_, was on its stern, with the date, as a souvenir. + +A souvenir in which there was blended some sadness. The last survivor +of the _Bon-Pêcheur_, Florimond, was not there. But he was alive. +The blow of the knife which he had received would have killed twenty +ordinary men. Fighting hard for life, he had recovered, but he was +disfigured by a gash from his forehead to his chest. No longer able to +be the handsomest captain on that coast, he had left it, and become a +ship-owner at Calais. + +The three advanced to offer their present. The Stutterer wished to +speak, Old Quarrelsome tried to prevent him, and it was the third man, +who, finding nothing to say, gave the boat to the bride, kissing her +hands as he did so. + +Then four big fellows entered. They had been selected for their +strength; a sailor, a coast guard, a fisherman, and one of the +villagers, representing the different occupations of the town. Elbowing +one another, they arranged themselves behind Elise’s chair. + +The mayor arose. He was not an orator, but a dealer in spirits, a good +fellow with red cheeks and close-cut gray hair. He spoke simply. The +whole town wished to make a festival for Elise, in order to make up to +her in one day for the injustice she had suffered so many weeks. He +made a sign. The four men had already seized the bride’s chair. + +“Wait. I have not executed my commission.” + +And making his way under the table, the little hunchback laid his +bouquet on Elise’s knees. + +“Untie it, madame. I am too happy.” + +When the ribbons were unfastened, the bouquet fell apart into two +clusters, in the center of each of which was pinned an envelope. The +first she opened was an appointment for Silvere as assistant pilot. + +The shouts and stampings which greeted this news were repeated like a +happy echo on the stairs, then in the room below and on the Place. + +Elise trembled as she opened the other envelope. She found in it +a letter, and when she had run through it her eyes shone, her +cheeks reddened, and, seeing before her the happy face of the little +hunchback, she seized him with both hands and embraced him with all her +heart. + +It was a letter from Firmin. It announced that he had passed the first +of the steps that were to lead him to fortune. His good work and +his progress at the school on board had distinguished him. He was a +midshipman. + +Then the mayor gave the signal again. The four big fellows carried +Elise out. Her husband and the guests followed. + +The Place, so gloomy when the wedding party had passed through it +before the feast, had been transformed. It was in festal array. In the +centre a mast, wreathed with flowers and surrounded with three tiers of +lanterns, marked the place for the ball; the place where, many months +before, the assembled villagers had stoned her in whose honor they were +soon to dance. + +Before opening the quadrille they drank to her health. The mayor, +who was generous as well as rich, had furnished the liquor without +charge. Each one had brought his glass and filled it at one of the +casks, broached at the four corners of the Place. It was arranged that +they should fall in line and pass before the bride and groom to clink +glasses and drink to their health, but country people do not know how +to do things. They did not fall in line. They pressed and crowded +one another so that the glasses were half-emptied on the dresses and +jackets. They had to go back and fill and empty them again, but this +time they emptied them standing by the cask. + +And when they had drunk they danced. The night was cold, but they could +warm themselves at the casks. + +Long before midnight the old people went to bed. Elise had left the +ball for more than an hour then, to accompany Mother Pilote, the poor +old woman whose only child she was taking. + +“Do not weep, Mother Pilote. You have not lost a son: you have gained a +daughter.” + +She had been happy all day, but on finding herself alone in her house, +the old woman was suddenly seized with sadness. + +“Do not weep, Mother Pilote, you have two children to love you now, +instead of one.” + +These outbursts of filial affection only made the separation more +painful, and when Elise returned to the dancers she was still a little +sober and quiet. + +Toward morning the young people escorted the newly married pair +home. On the steps of the cottage Elise embraced all the girls, her +companions. After the farewells, Silvere wished her to enter first +through the wide-open door. She turned to see if Barbet had followed, +for in the noise of the dance they had forgotten him. But Barbet was +not there, and all who were waiting until the door closed on them set +out to hunt for him. Elise and Silvere found him on the step of the +house in which Chrétien lived. + +“What are you doing there, old Barbet? Are you hurt at me for having +forgotten you?” + +[Illustration: SHE WISHED TO CARRY HIM AWAY. + + Chap. 30.] + +He tried to answer with a look. Elise could not understand at all. +She wished to carry him away, and made him many excuses, prayers, and +caresses. But he was firm against all. + +That which he wanted to say she understood later. Since henceforth she +had another one devoted to her service, since she was to be loved and +protected all her life, Barbet could no longer serve her. He would take +up his old life as a dog of the coast guard and the village. He would +signal the incoming boats and take the children to school. + +“Lise, let us leave him. Without doubt he is jealous because you are +married.” + +She raised her beautiful, thoughtful eyes to Silvere and saw him all +smiling with love. Then, hurt by this unspeakable trouble, yielding +half-consciously to this new call of her spirit and carried away by the +intoxication of this new happiness, she forgot her companion of evil +days, her always firm friend, and for the first time in her life was +unjust to Barbet. She thought him untrue and jealous. + +But four years later, when she was the mother of two boys and the day +came for the elder, her little Baptiste, to go to school, Barbet became +his protector. Vigilant and faithful, the dog gave the son the same +tender care which formerly he had given the mother. Then only did Elise +understand Barbet. Devoted to the cause of the weak and afflicted, he +would have failed of his destiny if he had stayed with her. The new +master he had chosen, a master gentle and unhappy, Chrétien, sustained +by his friendship, found once more that life was sweet. He had become +a coast guard, and had taken the place in the eyes of the village of +Barbet’s first master, the dead captain. + +But Barbet had not waited for this far-distant time to take up his old +work, and each night when he brought home her little Baptiste, well +kept and watched, Elise kissed on his nose this good friend. + +“I am ashamed to have misunderstood you, Barbet. Are you not always +right?” + + +THE END. + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + +Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + +Perceived typographical errors have been corrected. + +Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. +Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78652 *** |