[Illustration: SHE PRESSED MORE CLOSELY THE HAND OF HER LITTLE BROTHER.
Frontispiece.]
A FISHER GIRL OF FRANCE
FROM THE FRENCH OF
FERNAND CALMETTES
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR_
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER 1 PAGE 1
“ 2 “ 7
“ 3 “ 17
“ 4 “ 27
“ 5 “ 38
“ 6 “ 46
“ 7 “ 55
“ 8 “ 66
“ 9 “ 74
“ 10 “ 85
“ 11 “ 93
“ 12 “ 102
“ 13 “ 109
“ 14 “ 119
“ 15 “ 129
“ 16 “ 138
“ 17 “ 148
“ 18 “ 157
“ 19 “ 165
“ 20 “ 172
“ 21 “ 180
“ 22 “ 195
“ 23 “ 205
“ 24 “ 216
“ 25 “ 222
“ 26 “ 229
“ 27 “ 241
“ 28 “ 256
“ 29 “ 265
“ 30 “ 274
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FACING PAGE
SHE PRESSED MORE CLOSELY THE HAND OF HER
LITTLE BROTHER, _Frontispiece_
THE “BON-PÊCHEUR” SPED GLADLY NORTHWARD, 12
THE JUG BETWEEN HIS FEET, 26
ALL THE FORTUNE OF THE CREW FLOATED WITH THE CURRENT, 38
THE WHITE NIGHT SEEMED TO PENETRATE HIS HEART, 50
NEAR HER, A SAILOR CALLED OUT, 70
A SAD RETURN, 84
SHE SAW THE LITTLE VILLAGE WITH THE WHITE HOUSE, 88
THE OLD WOMAN BARRED THE DOOR, 100
SHE QUICKENED HER PACE, PRESSING HER HEAVING CHEST, 104
THE NEXT NIGHT ELISE SAW HER FATHER AGAIN, 128
SHE WOULD SEE AGAIN THOSE SHE LOVED, 140
HE WAS HAPPY BECAUSE HER CONFIDENCE HAD RETURNED, 162
“ARE YOU GOING TO WAIT THERE UNTIL YOU ARE DRY,” 170
“FATHER, IF YOU WILL HELP I WILL FIND YOU,” 192
HE UTTERED A SERIES OF MODULATED BARKS, 212
HIS RIGID FINGERS STOOD OUT STIFFLY, 238
“CALM YOURSELF, ELISE, WE SHALL MAKE THE OTHERS LAUGH,” 252
SHE HAD PICKED UP SOMETHING TO DEFEND HERSELF, 262
SHE WISHED TO CARRY HIM AWAY, 284
A
FISHER GIRL OF FRANCE.
CHAPTER I.
To-morrow at daybreak they will go aboard together, Elise Hénin and
her little brother Firmin. They have put on their Sunday clothes to
say farewell to their mother, who sleeps on the slope of the dune in
a corner of the old graveyard. Nine years has the poor woman lain
there in the peace of her last sleep--deaf forever to the noise of the
tempests which roused her so often, of old, to the vigil of anxious
nights.
She went from the cares of life a long time before her husband. He was
swallowed up by the sea, which never gave back his body. One night,
when the wind was not high--one hardly knows how it came about--he
was caught in a fatal current and was lost, with his boat and six
companions, in the wild eddies of the most dangerous shoal on that
coast. In some shelter for shipwrecked sailors, beneath the wave, he
is waiting for a day, perhaps not distant, when a mighty tempest shall
stir the depths and, opening his prison of sand, return his body to
earth again.
His death brought ruin to his family. Although he was a skipper, yet
his boat was all he owned. Earning more or less at the risk of the
tides, he was returning from a profitable cruise with a happy heart and
a full purse, for he had sold his fish at a good price at the market of
Boulogne. The sea had all in its grip--man, boat, and earnings.
From the road that climbed the dune one could see the spot beneath one
on the horizon. The color of the sea was lighter there than over the
depths, and the rays of the sun made it glisten with a silvery sheen.
It seemed so smiling that one would have declared it harmless.
Elise stopped as her thoughts wandered to that accursed gulf. She
pressed more closely the hand of her little brother, as a mother who
fears for her child’s safety.
For it was she who had brought him up, this twelve-year-old brother,
whom she loves for his sturdy figure and his robust health. She has
had one idea only, that of making him a good sailor. It was she who
sang him sailors’ songs to put him to sleep when little; it was she
who carried him, hardly awake, along the dune crests to show him the
far-off ships and to direct his first look to what was going on at sea.
It was she, too, who took him to the harbor that he might play among
the rigging.
Then, when they were old enough, they had gone with their father on
his boat, learning to handle it. Elise knew as much about fishing as a
sailor. Her father was very proud of her. He had her always aboard, and
it was a miracle that she had not been lost with him. But that week
she had been kept at home, because Firmin was ill. She wished to take
care of him herself, and would not trust him to strange hands. And so
they had become orphans, sister and brother, without protection and
without bread.
But to-day their fortune seemed assured. They had been engaged on a
sloop for the coming herring fishery. Elise had persuaded the skipper,
her cousin and godfather, to take them on his boat notwithstanding the
prejudice which sailors in petticoats generally inspire. She was as
strong as a man and asked less wages, and this was so much in her favor.
For herself it was enough that she was to be with her brother, apart
from whom she would have been too unhappy to live.
“I am proud of you,” she said gayly, “you will make a fine ship’s boy.
I was afraid to remain at home alone. Come, make haste, we have still
many things to arrange for our departure.”
And with a lengthened step she hurried the boy along the sandy dune
road. It was high noon. The strong June sun, directly overhead, darted
down its burning rays, but the young girl did not appear to feel them.
Lithe and alert, she moved along, with figure erect and back slightly
arched, in all the vigor of her nineteen years.
Her graceful contour stood out distinctly against the sky. It had
little of that masculine strength that marks savage beauties, but under
her brown corset and gray skirt one could divine the clear-cut outline
which distinguishes the purer races.
Hurrying her brother along, she soon gained the crest of the dune; then
she stopped abruptly, with an involuntary start, for at the turn of the
road she saw before her the figure of a strapping young fellow, his
arms swinging as he walked, and his face pale and a little sad.
“You have frightened us, Silvere. It is not the time for a stroll. Are
you expecting any one?”
“Yes, you, Elise. I had an idea that you would come here, and I
ventured, in order to have a last word with you. Is it decided that you
are to sail to-morrow?”
“Certainly! we have to earn our bread.”
“If you would but consent, I would manage to earn enough for us both.
Elise, it breaks my heart to see you injure yourself with men’s work.”
“What would you have? I know no other, nor have I a taste for any
other.”
“If you would marry me, you would have only to keep the house. Will you
make me wretched by refusing me again?”
“Silvere, I do not wish to give you pain, but it is not right of you to
urge me always against my duty. I have told you my determination. I do
not intend to marry until the day when my little Firmin shall be of an
age to be a real sailor. It is my duty to help him, since I am the same
as his mother.”
“We would aid him together.”
“No, he would not be at all happy if he knew that he was an expense to
another. And then, I am ambitious that he should become a skipper as
his father was. I could not give myself up to this if I married you.
When one has a house one should devote one’s self to it.”
“Then you leave me no hope?”
“As I have told you, wait. Give me time to bring up the child. I will
not refuse after that.”
“All the same, it is a long time to wait.”
Elise had not let go the hand of her brother, which she held pressed in
her own. She felt it stirring, tugging.
“What do you wish, my little man, what troubles you?”
“Bend down, I wish to whisper to you.”
And his lips raised toward his sister’s ear, in a grumbling tone the
lad told his trouble. He did not wish his sister’s marriage to be put
off on his account. He was old enough to go to sea alone. He pressed
his point with an energy one would not have expected in a lad of his
years. As he spoke he put on a resolute air, and under his close-cut
hair his strong features expressed so vigorous a will that Elise was
much disturbed.
“You are a brave boy, but you are too young to go without me. Never
mind. I shall not be unhappy as long as we are together and you love
me.”
With her sweetest look she smiled at the lad, then, turning toward
Silvere, she gave him her hand.
“Silvere, since our engagement is to be long, come with me to the
graveyard. Let us exchange our vows over the grave of my mother.”
And pensively, without speaking further, she walked on, supported on
one side by her lover while on the other she led her brother.
The graveyard was near at hand. Above its low wall could be seen, lost
among dusty tamarisks and brambles already turning brown, some stone
tombs and some crosses of worn-out wood, tottering and almost uprooted
by the west wind. It was well called the field of the dead, for under
the pitiless sun it seemed a desert indeed. Silvere stopped short at
the melancholy sight. With an unconscious gesture, he held back the
young girl.
“Elise, do not let us plight our troth here. It is too sad.”
“Nevertheless, come. Mother will not be happy if we fail in respect. I
have no one but her to advise me, since my father is beneath the sea.”
Along the narrow footpaths she led the young man to the highest
point of the cemetery, where there was the least shelter. There,
in a forgotten corner, a slab, defaced and broken at the corners,
alone marked the spot which the children knew to be their mother’s
resting-place.
“Mother,” said Elise solemnly, “since our dead father’s soul is no more
with us, it is thy wish which I would obey. Make thy soul pass into
mine.”
And on her knees beside Silvere, their two hands joined, she waited for
the mother’s blessing to penetrate her heart.
An alkaline vapor rose from the overheated soil, and came suffocatingly
to their nostrils. Silvere had a feeling of faintness. He rose, trying
to lift Elise, but for some time still she remained at prayer, invoking
on her brother and herself the protection of the dead.