The captain received me on his quarter-deck, dressed in reasonably
correct American fashion; the _chola_, transformed, wore a red silk
dress with a magnificent collar of pearls collected on the Pomoto
islands; I was struck by her good looks and her perfect figure.
We repair together to the room of the formidable iron-barred walls. It
is dark and gloomy there; but, through the little deep-set windows, we
see the splendour of what look like enchanted things: a sea of a milky
blue, and with the polish of a turquoise, a distant island, of a purple
iris colour, and a multitude of little orange-tinted clouds floating in
a golden green sky.
Afterwards when we turn our eyes from these little open windows, from
the contemplation of all this light, the low-pitched cabin seems
stranger than before, with its irregular shape and its massive beams,
its arsenal of revolvers, of knuckle-dusters, leather thongs and whips.
The dinner consists of tinned foods from San Francisco, exquisite fruits
from the Isle of Tonga-Taboo, needle-fish, slim little inhabitants of
the warm seas; and we drink French wines, Peruvian _pisco_ and English
liqueurs.
The Chinaman who waits upon us wears a silk robe of episcopal violet and
slippers with thick paper soles. The _chola_ sings a _zamacuéca_ of
Chile, playing, on a _diguhela_, a sort of accompaniment which sounds
like the monotonous little clatter of a trotting mule. The doors of the
fortress are wide open. Thanks to the presence of my sixteen armed men,
a sense of security reigns, a peaceful intimacy, which are really very
touching.
In the bow the men from the _Primauguet_ are drinking and singing with
the crew of the whaler. It is a general holiday on board. And, from the
distance, I see Yves and Goulven, who, for their part, are not drinking,
walking up and down in conversation. Goulven, the taller of the two, has
passed his arm round the shoulders of his brother, who holds him, in
turn, round the waist. Isolated from the rest they continued their
stroll, talking together in a low voice.
The glasses were emptied everywhere in strange toasts. The captain, who
at first resembled the impassive statue of a marine or river god, woke
up, and began to laugh a powerful laugh which shook his whole body; his
mouth opened like that of a cetacean, and he started to talk of strange
things in English, forgetting himself so far in his confidences as to
tell me things for which he might well have been hanged; his
conversation turns into a pretty tale of unmitigated piracy. . . .
The _chola_ retires to her cabin, and a tattooed sailor is brought in
and undressed during the dessert. The object of this is to show me the
tattooing which represents a fox hunt.
It begins at the neck: horsemen, hounds, in full cry, wind in a spiral
round his body.
"You haven't yet seen the fox?" the captain asks me with a boisterous
laugh.
The discovery of the fox, it seems, is going to be a very funny
business, for he is ready to die with laughter at the thought of it. And
he makes the man, who is already tipsy, turn round and round several
times so that we may follow the hunt which continues its downward
course. In the neighbourhood of his loins, the hunt thickens and one
foresees the end is near.
"See! there he is!" cries the captain with the head of a river god, at
the height of his savage merriment, throwing himself back, transported
with satisfaction and laughter.
The hunted beast has gone to earth; only half of it can be seen. And
that is the great culminating surprise. The sailor is invited to drink
with us, as a reward for letting us see him.
It was time to go on deck and get a little pure air, the fresh and
delicious air of the evening. The sea, which still was motionless and
heavy, gleamed in the distance, reflecting the last lights that came
from the west. And now the men began to dance to a jig-like air played
on a flute.
As they danced the men cast sidelong glances at us, half in shy
curiosity, half in scornful disdain. They had some of those tricks of
physiognomy which sea-going men have preserved from our primitive
ancestors; and comical gestures at every turn, an excessive mimicry,
like animals in the wild state. Sometimes they threw themselves back,
cambering their bodies; sometimes, by virtue of natural suppleness and
their habits of stratagem, they crouched down, arching their backs, in
the manner of wild beasts when they walk in the light of day. Round and
round they went, to the sound of the fluted music, of the little
jigging, infantine tol-de-rol-lol; very serious, dancing very well, with
graceful poses of arms and circular movements of legs.
But Yves and Goulven continued to walk up and down together. They had
many things still to say to each other, and they were making the most of
these last final minutes, for they knew that I was about to leave. They
had seen each other once, fifteen years before, while Yves was still
quite a little fellow, on that day which Goulven had spent at
Plouherzel, in hiding like a fugitive, and, as far as could be seen,
they would never meet again.
Suddenly, we saw two of the dancers seize each other round the waist,
throw themselves to the ground, still close grappled one with the other,
and then begin to fight, to throttle one another, taken with a sudden
rage; they tried to use their knives and already there were red marks of
blood on the deck.
The captain with the river god head separated them by lashing them both
with a whip of hippopotamus hide.
"No matter," he said in English; "they are drunk!"
It was time to go. Goulven and Yves embraced each other, and I saw tears
in Goulven's eyes.
As we were returning over the tranquil sea, the first southern stars
enkindling on high, Yves spoke to me of his brother:
"He is not very happy. Although he earns a good deal of money and has a
little house in California, to which he hopes to return. But there it
is; it is the longing for his home country which is killing him."
This captain promised to bring his _chola_ to have dinner with me on the
following day on my ship. But, during the night, the whaler put to sea,
vanished into the empty immensity; we never saw her again.