A corner of the hold of the _Médée_, in all the disarray of laying up.
A lantern illumines a vast medley of heterogeneous objects more or less
nibbled by rats.
A dozen or so sailors--Barrada, Guiaberry, Barazère, Le Hello, all the
little band of friends--are grouped about a man lying on the floor. It
is Yves in irons, stretched on the damp boards, his head supported on
his elbow, his foot in the padlocked ring of the "bar of justice."
The most implacable of his three enemies. Petty Officer Lagatut, stands
before him, threatening him in his old drunken voice. He threatens him
with revenge for that affair of the cutter, in which, to his mind, I had
taken too large a part.
He has quitted his close arrest to come and abuse him--and I, whose
watch it is and who am making a round, enter from behind and find him
there--the old rogue is very neatly caught! The sailors who saw me
enter, chuckle quietly in their sleeves, in anticipation of what is
about to happen. Yves makes no reply, contenting himself with turning
over and presenting his back to his tormentor with supreme insolence.
For he, too, had seen me enter.
"We have begun a game of écarté together," said Petty Officer Lagatut;
"you, Kermadec, boatswain; I, Lagatut, chief gunner, decorated with the
Legion of Honour. Thanks to certain officers who protect you, you have
taken the first two tricks: it remains to see who is going to take the
three others."
"Petty Officer Lagatut," said I from behind, "we will play a
three-handed game, if you are agreeable: a game of _rams_, that will be
more amusing. And you, my good Yves, take another trick."
A chicken finding a knife, a thief who stumbles against a policeman, a
mouse, which, by inadvertence, puts its paw on a cat, have not a longer
face than Petty Officer Lagatut at that moment.
This little pleasantry of mine was not perhaps in the best of form. But
the gallery, which was very friendly to us, greatly enjoyed this triumph
of Yves.