II

That Sunday the weather was appalling, one of those sudden calamities

of September that unchain such fearful tempests on the rocky coast of

Grandport. At nightfall Coqueville sighted a ship in distress driven by

the wind. But the shadows deepened, they could not dream of rendering

help. Since the evening before, the “Zéphir” and the “Baleine” had been

moored in the little natural harbor situated at the left of the beach,

between two walls of granite. Neither La Queue nor Rouget had dared

to go out, the worst of it was that M. Mouchel, representing the Widow

Dufeu, had taken the trouble to come in person that Saturday to promise

them a reward if they would make a serious effort; fish was scarce, they

were complaining at the markets. So, Sunday evening, going to bed

under squalls of rain, Coqueville growled in a bad humor. It was the

everlasting story: orders kept coming in while the sea guarded its fish.

And all the village talked of the ship which they had seen passing in

the hurricane, and which must assuredly by that time be sleeping at the

bottom of the water. The next day, Monday, the sky was dark as ever. The

sea, still high, raged without being able to calm itself, although the

wind was blowing less strong. It fell completely, but the waves kept up

their furious motion. In spite of everything, the two boats went out in

the afternoon. Toward four o’clock, the “Zéphir” came in again, having

caught nothing. While the sailors, Tupain and Brisemotte, anchored in

the little harbor, La Queue, exasperated, on the shore, shook his fist

at the ocean. And M. Mouchel was waiting! Margot was there, with the

half of Coqueville, watching the last surgings of the tempest, sharing

her father’s rancor against the sea and the sky.

“But where is the ‘Baleine’?” demanded some one.

“Out there beyond the point,” said La Queue. “If that carcass comes back

whole to-day, it will be by a chance.”

He was full of contempt. Then he informed them that it was good for the

Mahés to risk their skins in that way; when one is not worth a sou, one

may perish. As for him, he preferred to break his word to M. Mouchel.

In the meantime, Margot was examining the point of rocks behind which

the “Baleine” was hidden.

“Father,” she asked at last, “have they caught something?”

“They?” he cried. “Nothing at all.”

He calmed himself and added more gently, seeing the Emperor, who was

sneering at him:

“I do not know whether they have caught anything, but as they never do

catch anything--”

“Perhaps, to-day, all the same, they have taken something,” said the

Emperor ill-naturedly. “Such things have been seen.” La Queue was about

to reply angrily. But the Abbé Radiguet, who came up, calmed him. From

the porch of the church the abbé had happened to observe the “Baleine”;

and the bark seemed to be giving chase to some big fish. This news

greatly interested Coqueville. In the groups reunited on the shore there

were Mahés and Floches, the former praying that the boat might come in

with a miraculous catch, the others making vows that it might come in

empty.

Margot, holding herself very straight, did not take her eyes from the

sea. “There they are!” said she simply.

And in fact a black dot showed itself beyond the point. All looked at

it. One would have said a cork dancing on the water. The Emperor did not

see even the black dot. One must be of Coqueville to recognize at that

distance the “Baleine” and those who manned her.

“See!” said Margot, who had the best eyes of the coast, “it is Fouasse

and Rouget who are rowing--The little one is standing up in the bow.”

She called Delphin “the little one” so as not to mention his name. And

from then on they followed the course of the bark, trying to account for

her strange movements. As the curé said, she appeared to be giving

chase to some great fish that might be fleeing before her. That seemed

extraordinary. The Emperor pretended that their net was without doubt

being carried away. But La Queue cried that they were do-nothings, and

that they were just amusing themselves. Quite certain they were not

fishing for seals! All the Floches made merry over that joke; while the

Mahés, vexed, declared that Rouget was a fine fellow all the same, and

that he was risking his skin while others at the least puff of wind

preferred _terra firma_. The Abbé Radiguet was forced to interpose again

for there were slaps in the air.

“What ails them?” said Margot abruptly. “They are off again!” They

ceased menacing one another, and every eye searched the horizon, The

“Baleine” was once more hidden behind the point. This time La Queue

himself became uneasy. He could not account for such maneuvres. The fear

that Rouget was really in a fair way to catch some fish threw him off

his mental balance. No one left the beach, although there was nothing

strange to be seen. They stayed there nearly two hours, they watched

incessantly for the bark, which appeared from time to time, then

disappeared. It finished by not showing itself at all any more. La

Queue, enraged, breathing in his heart the abominable wish, declared

that she must have sunk; and, as just at that moment Rouget’s wife

appeared with Brisemotte, he looked at them both, sneering, while he

patted Tupain on the shoulder to console him already for the death of

his brother, Fouasse. But he stopped laughing when he caught sight of

his daughter Margot, silent and looming, her eyes on the distance; it

was quite possibly for Delphin.

“What are you up to over there?” he scolded. “Be off home with you!

Mind, Margot!”

She did not stir. Then all at once: “Ah! there they are!”

He gave a cry of surprise. Margot, with her good eyes, swore that she no

longer saw a soul in the bark; neither Rouget, nor Fouasse, nor any one!

The “Baleine,” as if abandoned, ran before the wind, tacking about every

minute, rocking herself with a lazy air.

A west wind had fortunately risen and was driving her toward the land,

but with strange caprices which tossed her to right and to left. Then

all Coqueville ran down to the shore. One half shouted to the other

half, there remained not a girl in the houses to look after the soup.

It was a catastrophe; something inexplicable, the strangeness of which

completely turned their heads. Marie, the wife of Rouget, after a

moment’s reflection, thought it her duty to burst into tears. Tupain

succeeded in merely carrying an air of affliction. All the Mahés were in

great distress, while the Floches tried to appear conventional. Margot

collapsed as if she had her legs broken.

“What are you up to again!” cried La Queue, who stumbled upon her.

“I am tired,” she answered simply.

And she turned her face toward the sea, her cheeks between her hands,

shading her eyes with the ends of her fingers, gazing fixedly at the

bark rocking itself idly on the waves with the air of a good fellow who

has drunk too much.

In the meanwhile suppositions were rife. Perhaps the three men had

fallen into the water? Only, all three at a time, that seemed absurd.

La Queue would have liked well to persuade them that the “Baleine” had

gone to pieces like a rotten egg; but the boat still held the sea;

they shrugged their shoulders. Then, as if the three men had actually

perished, he remembered that he was Mayor and spoke of formalities.

“Leave off!” cried the Emperor, “Does one die in such a silly way?” “If

they had fallen overboard, little Delphin would have been here by this!”

All Coqueville had to agree, Delphin swam like a herring. But where then

could the three men be? They shouted: “I tell you, yes!”--“I tell you,

no!”--“Too stupid!”--“Stupid yourself!” And matters came to the point

of exchanging blows. The Abbé Radiguet was obliged to make an appeal for

reconciliation, while the Emperor hustled the crowd about to establish

order. Meanwhile, the bark, without haste, continued to dance before the

world. It waltzed, seeming to mock at the people; the sea carried her

in, making her salute the land in long rhythmic reverences. Surely it

was a bark in a crazy fit. Margot, her cheeks between her hands, kept

always gazing. A yawl had just put out of the harbor to go to meet the

“Baleine.” It was Brisemotte, who had exhibited that impatience, as

if he had been delayed in giving certainty to Rouget’s wife. From that

moment all Coqueville interested itself in the yawl. The voices rose

higher: “Well, does he see anything?”

The “Baleine” advanced with her mysterious and mocking air. At last they

saw him draw himself up and look into the bark that he had succeeded

in taking in tow. All held their breath. But, abruptly, he burst out

laughing. That was a surprise; what had he to be amused at? “What is it?

What have you got there?” they shouted to him furiously.

He, without replying, laughed still louder. He made gestures as if to

say that they would see. Then having fastened the “Baleine” to the yawl,

he towed her back. And an unlooked-for spectacle stunned Coqueville. In

the bottom of the bark, the three men--Rouget, Delphin, Fouasse--were

beatifically stretched out on their backs, snoring, with fists clenched,

dead drunk. In their midst was found a little cask stove in, some full

cask they had come across at sea and which they had appreciated. Without

doubt, it was very good, for they had drunk it all save a liter’s worth

which had leaked into the bark and which was mixed with the sea water.

“Ah! the pig!” cried the wife of Rouget, brutally, ceasing to whimper.

“Well, it’s characteristic--their catch!” said La Queue, who affected

great disgust.

“Forsooth!” replied the Emperor, “they catch what they can! They have at

least caught a cask, while others have not caught anything at all.”

The Mayor shut up, greatly vexed. Coqueville brayed. They understood

now. When barks are intoxicated, they dance as men do; and that one,

in truth, had her belly full of liquor. Ah, the slut! What a minx!

She festooned over the ocean with the air of a sot who could no longer

recognize his home. And Coqueville laughed, and fumed, the Mahés found

it funny, while the Floches found it disgusting. They surrounded the

“Baleine,” they craned their necks, they strained their eyes to see

sleeping there the three jolly dogs who were exposing the secret springs

of their jubilation, oblivious of the crowd hanging over them. The abuse

and the laughter troubled them but little. Rouget did not hear his

wife accuse him of drinking up all they had; Fouasse did not feel the

stealthy kicks with which his brother Tupain rammed his sides. As for

Delphin, he was pretty, after he had drunk, with his blond hair, his

rosy face drowned in bliss. Mar-got had gotten up, and silently, for the

present, she contemplated the little fellow with a hard expression.

“Must put them to bed!” cried a voice.

But just then Delphin opened his eyes. He rolled looks of rapture over

the people. They questioned him on all sides with an eagerness that

dazed him somewhat, the more easily since he was still as drunk as a

thrush.

“Well! What?” he stuttered; “it was a little cask--There is no fish.

Therefore, we have caught a little cask.”

He did not get beyond that. To every sentence he added simply: “It was

very good!”

“But what was it in the cask?” they asked him hotly.

“Ah! I don’t know--it was very good.”

By this time Coqueville was burning to know. Every one lowered their

noses to the boat, sniffing vigorously. With one opinion, it smelt of

liquor; only no one could guess what liquor. The Emperor, who flattered

himself that he had drunk of everything that a man can drink, said that

he would see. He solemnly took in the palm of his hand a little of the

liquor that was swimming in the bottom of the bark. The crowd became

all at once silent. They waited. But the Emperor, after sucking up a

mouthful, shook his head as if still badly informed. He sucked twice,

more and more embarrassed, with an air of uneasiness and surprise. And

he was bound to confess:

“I do not know--It’s strange--If there was no salt water in it, I would

know, no doubt--My word of honor, it is very strange!”

They looked at him. They stood struck with awe before that which the

Emperor himself did not venture to pronounce. Coqueville contemplated

with respect the little empty cask.

“It was very good!” once more said Delphin, who seemed to be making game

of the people. Then, indicating the sea with a comprehensive sweep,

he added: “If you want some, there is more there--I saw them--little

casks--little casks--little casks--”

And he rocked himself with the refrain which he kept singing, gazing

tenderly at Margot. He had just caught sight of her. Furious, she made a

motion as if to slap him; but he did not even close his eyes; he awaited

the slap with an air of tenderness.

The Abbé Radiguet, puzzled by that unknown tipple, he, too, dipped his

finger in the bark and sucked it. Like the Emperor, he shook his head:

no, he was not familiar with that, it was very extraordinary. They

agreed on but one point: the cask must have been wreckage from the ship

in distress, signaled Sunday evening. The English ships often carried to

Grandport such cargoes of liquor and fine wines.

Little by little the day faded and the people were withdrawn into

shadow. But La Queue remained absorbed, tormented by an idea which he no

longer expressed. He stopped, he listened a last time to Delphin, whom

they were carrying along, and who was repeating in his sing-song voice:

“Little casks--little casks--little casks--if you want some, there are

more!”