Nevertheless, an hour afterwards, Jean Barrada reappeared, ostensibly to
arrange one of those tackles which are used for the guns.
And this time, Yves called him in a low voice:
"Barrada, you might, like a good fellow, get me a drink of water."
Barrada went quickly to fetch his little mug, which during the day he
carried on his belt and which he put away at night in a gun; he poured
into it some water which was of the colour of rust, having been brought
from La Plata in an iron tank, and a little wine stolen from the
steward's room, and a little sugar stolen from the Commander's office.
And then with much kindness and very gently, he raised Yves' head and
gave him to drink.
"And now," he said, "won't you change your clothes?"
"Yes," replied Yves, in a meek voice, which had become almost childlike,
and sounded odd by contrast with his manner of a short time before.
He helped him to undress, humouring him as one might a child. He dried
his chest, his shoulders and his arms, put him on dry clothes, and made
him lie down again, first placing a sack under his head so that he might
be able to sleep easier.
When Yves murmured his thanks, an amiable smile, the first, passed over
his face, changing its whole expression. It was over now. His heart was
softened and he was himself again. To-day the change had come more
quickly than usual.
He felt an infinite tenderness as he thought of his mother, and he
wanted to cry; something like a tear even came into his eyes, which were
not used to yield to this weakness. . . . Perhaps after all a little
indulgence would again be shown him, on account of his good conduct on
board, on account of his endurance in hardship, and of his arduous work
in rough weather. If it were possible--if he was not given too harsh a
punishment, it was certain he would not repeat his offence and that he
would earn forgiveness.
It was a strong resolution this time. It needed but a single glass of
brandy, after the long abstinences of the sea, to make him lose his head
at once; and then the devil in him drove him to drink another, and
another again. But if he did not begin, if he never drank again, he
would have a sure means of keeping steady.
His repentance had the sincerity of the repentance of a child, and he
persuaded himself that, if he escaped this time from the dread court
martial which consigns sailors to prison, this would be his last great
fault.
He hoped also in me and, above all, wanted earnestly to see me. He
begged Barrada to go up and fetch me.