Yves had been my friend for seven years when he celebrated in this way
his return to his native land.
We had entered the navy by different doors: he two years before I did,
although he was some months younger.
The day on which I arrived at Brest, to don there that first naval
uniform, which I see still, I met Yves Kermadec by chance at the house
of a patron of his, an old Commander who had known his father. Yves was
then a boy of sixteen. I was told that he was about to become a
probationer after two years as a ship-boy. He had just returned from his
home, on the expiration of eight days' leave which had been given him;
his heart seemed to be very full of the good-byes he had lately bidden
his mother. This and our age, which was almost the same, were two points
we had in common.
A little later, having become a midshipman, I came across him again on
my first ship. He was then grown into a man and serving as a topman. And
I chose him for my hammock man.
For a midshipman, the hammock man is the sailor allotted to hang each
evening his little suspended bed and to take it down in the morning.
Before removing the hammock, it is naturally necessary to awaken the
sleeper within it and to ask him to get out. This is usually done by
saying to him:
"It is réveillé, captain."
This phrase has to be repeated many times before it produces its effect.
Afterwards, the hammock man carefully rolls up the little bed and takes
it away.
Yves performed this service very tactfully. I used also to meet him
daily for the drill, aloft on the main top.
There was a solidarity at that time between the midshipmen and the
topmen; and, during the long voyages especially, such as those we were
making, the relations between us became very cordial. On shore, in the
strange places in which sometimes, at night, we came across our topmen,
we were used to call them to our aid when there was danger or an
adventure took an ugly look, and then, thus united, we could lay down
the law.
In such cases, Yves was our most valuable ally.
His service records, however, were not excellent. "Exemplary on board; a
most capable and sailor-like man; but his conduct on shore is
impossible." Or: "Has shown admirable pluck and devotion," and then:
"Undisciplined, uncontrollable." Elsewhere: "Zeal, honour, and
fidelity," with "Incorrigible" in regard, etc. His nights in irons, his
days in prison were beyond counting.
Morally as well as physically, large, strong, and handsome, but with
some irregularities in details.
On board he was an indefatigable topman, always at work, always
vigilant, always quick, always clean.
On shore, if there was a sailor out of hand, riotous, drunk, it was
always he; if a sailor was picked up in the morning in the gutter, half
naked, stripped of his clothes as one might strip a corpse, by negroes
sometimes, at other times by Indians or Chinese, again it was always he.
The sailor absent without leave, who fought with the police, or used his
knife against the alguazils, again and always it was he. ... All kinds
of mad escapades were familiar to him.
At first I was amused at the things this Kermadec did. When he went
ashore with his friends it would be asked in the midshipmen's quarters:
"What fresh tale shall we hear to-morrow morning? In what condition will
they return?" And I used to say to myself: "My hammock will not be fixed
for me for two days at least."
It did not matter about the hammock. But this fellow Kermadec was so
devoted, he seemed so good-hearted, that I began to be genuinely
attached to him, rough sea-rover as he seemed to be and tipsy as he so
often was. I no longer laughed at his more serious misdeeds, and would
gladly have prevented them.
When this first voyage together was ended and we separated, it happened
that chance brought us together again on another ship. And then I grew
almost to love him.
There were, moreover, two circumstances in this second voyage which
helped greatly to unite us.
The first was at Montevideo one morning before daybreak. Yves had been
on shore since the previous evening, and I was approaching the quay in a
pinnace manned by sixteen men, for the purpose of laying in a supply of
fresh water.
I can recall the bleak half light of the dawn, the sky already luminous
but still starry, the deserted quay, alongside which we rowed slowly,
looking for the watering place; the large town, which had a false air of
Europe, with I know not what of primitive civilization.
As we passed we saw the long straight streets, immensely wide, opening
one after the other on the whitening sky. At this uncertain hour when
the night was gradually being dissipated, not a light, not a sound; here
and there, some straggler without a home, moving with aimless
hesitation; along the sea front, evil-looking taverns, large wooden
buildings, smelling of spices and alcohol, but closed and dark as tombs.
We stopped before one called the tavern _de la Independancia._
A Spanish song coming from within, more or less stifled; a door,
half-opened on the street; two men outside fighting with knives; a
drunken woman, who could be heard vomiting against the wall. On the
quay, heaps of bullock skins freshly flayed, infecting the sweet pure
air with an odour of venison. . . .
A singular convoy came out of the tavern; four men carrying another, who
seemed to be very drunk, unconscious. They hurried towards the ships, as
if they were afraid of us.
We knew this game, which is common enough in the evil places along this
coast; to ply sailors with liquor, to make them sign some preposterous
engagement, and then to carry them on board by force when they can no
longer keep their legs. Then the ship puts to sea as quickly as may be,
and when the man comes to his senses he is far from shore; he is fairly
caught, under a yoke of iron, and borne away, like a slave, to the whale
fisheries, far from any inhabited land. And once there, his escape need
no longer be feared, for he is a _deserter_ from his country's service,
lost. . . .
And so this convoy passing along the quay excited our suspicion. They
pressed on like thieves, and I said to the sailors: "Let us follow
them!" Seeing our intention the men dropped their burden, which fell
heavily to the ground, and made off as fast as their legs would carry
them.
And the burden was Kermadec. While we were occupied in picking him up
and establishing his identity, the others had made good their escape and
were now locked in the tavern. The sailors wanted to batter in the
doors, to take the place by assault, but that would have led to
diplomatic complications with Uruguay.
Besides, Yves was saved, and that was the essential thing. I brought him
back to the ship, wrapt in a cloak and lying on the goatskins which
contained our provision of fresh water.
And to have rendered him this service increased my attachment to him.
The second time was when we were at Pernambuco. I had given a promissory
note to some Portuguese in a gambling den. The next day I had to find
the money, and as I had none, and as my friends had none either, I was
in a difficulty.
Yves took the situation very tragically, and at once offered me the
money of his own which he had entrusted to my care, and which I kept in
a drawer of my desk.
"It would give me much pleasure. Captain, if you would take it! I have
no further need to go ashore and, as you know well, it would be better
for me if I could not go."
"Yves, my good fellow, I would accept your money gladly for a few days,
since you wish to lend it me; but, you know, it is short of what I want
by a hundred francs. So you see it's hardly worth while."
"Another hundred francs? I think I have that below in my kit-bag."
And he went away, leaving me very much astonished. That he should have
another hundred francs in his kit-bag seemed very unlikely.
He was a long time in returning. He had not found them. I had
anticipated that.
At length he reappeared.
"Here you are!" he said, handing me his poor sailor's purse, with a
happy smile.
Then a doubt came to me and, to resolve it, I said to him:
"Yves, lend me your watch, too, like a good fellow; I left mine in
pledge."
He was very confused, and said it was broken. I had guessed right: to
get these hundred francs he had just sold it with the chain, for half
its value, to a petty officer on board.
And so Yves knew that he could call on me in any circumstances. And when
Barrada came for me on his behalf, I went down to him where he lay, in
irons, in the hold.
But this time, by striking this old warrant officer, he had got himself
in a very serious position; my intercession for him was in vain, and his
punishment was heavy. Four months afterwards he had to put to sea again
without having seen his mother.
When we were on the point of embarking together on the _Sibylle_ for a
voyage round the world in three hundred days, I took him on a Sunday to
Saint Pol-de-Léon, in order to console him.
It was all I could do for him, for his Plouherzel was a long way from
Brest, in the Côtes-du-Nord, in the depth of a remote part of the
country, and at that time there was no railway which could take us there
in a single day.