Florimond accused Elise of meanness and treachery, and declared that he
would never forgive her.
When she had ordered the hatches closed, her order had been carried out
so quickly that they had forgotten him, as he lay unconscious under the
capstan hatch, and had nailed him in like a package in a box.
Shaken by the rolling and pounded by the pitching, he had come to
himself, and had cried aloud, but his calls were lost in the noise of
the storm. Too impatient to wait quietly for the help which they seemed
to refuse him, he had seized the machinist’s tools and pried with all
his force on the cover. Not being able to lift it he tried to smash it,
this trap which weighed him down like a cover on a coffin. He rained
a volley of blows upon it. Could it be that they did not hear him? If
they kept him a prisoner in this way, it was because he was betrayed.
Then he took fresh courage and shouted until he was breathless, but
still the trap was not raised.
Then he understood. It was to destroy him that they shut him up, to
wipe out with his death all evidence of their insubordination. In case
the boat was lost they would not let him have a chance for life, as
he would have had if free. He would go to the bottom with the boat
without being able to struggle even, drowned stupidly like a rat in a
pantry. And believing that the others, busy above, were rejoicing at
his approaching end he pounded, pounded, without stopping.
He heard every quiver of the boat, and listened anxiously to its groans
and wails of agony. He heard the waves beating her sides, as if to
stave them in. One after another he felt the blows strike the hull,
which trembled to its keel.
_Tonnerre!_ To die shut up, living, in his tomb!
And all on account of this Lison, this girl whom he had taken because
she was dying of hunger. He was well recompensed. She was a fraud, a
traitress, like all the rest of her kind. It was she who had brought
him bad luck.
He had refused to go after Firmin, an idiot who was not worth the
danger one would have run for him. Now she was being revenged, this
Lison. She had bewitched the crew; she was captain on deck, while he,
the true captain, was thrown into the hold like the commonest sailor.
Then, as his jealous fancies grew, Florimond became mad with anger. His
breath came hurriedly, he dug his nails into his breast, he was burning
with rage.
He threw himself against the cover. If he could but break it loose, so
as to open a passage and reappear in the midst of these miserable dogs,
how he would lash them as they deserved. He would show them what they
gained in taking a new captain--this Lison who brought trouble and
bad luck. She had caused a mutiny, without doubt that she might seize
the helm and declare on their return, with the crew to back her, that
she knew how to manage a boat as well as a captain. It is death to a
boat to have a woman aboard. If only before he went down he could hold
her five minutes between his fingers, and drag her strangling in the
gulf with him. _Tonnerre!_ In his rage for vengeance he tried to lift
with his shoulders the covering of his prison, and wore himself out
in useless efforts. He was lying flat on his back, exhausted by his
unsatisfied hatred, when he heard the hatch open.
Hardly had she seen the sloop firmly tied to the quay than Elise
remembered Florimond. Was it possible that, in the midst of the
confusion of the squall, the captain had been forgotten? If they had
gone down he would have drowned without having a chance to fight for
life, or to ever see again the sky above him.
Elise gave orders at once, and to hurry their execution took a hand
herself. In an instant she had seized a lever and ripped off the cover;
then, dropping on her knees, in order to see and to speak more clearly:
“Cousin Florimond, we are in port--all safe!”
There was no answer.
“You frighten me, Cousin Florimond. Are you injured?” and bending
over him she felt his forehead and hands. She started back suddenly,
frightened and shivering. He had risen to his feet, his wide-open
eyes had a strange glare, his raised finger threatened her. His head
touched the ceiling, his face seemed strangely pale in the deep shadow.
Elise was so frightened that she threw herself behind the machine,
hardly daring to raise her eyes, and trembling as if before a judge.
“Listen, Cousin Florimond, the men sent me to the helm. I was busy with
the boat. It is true that I ought to have thought of you.”
She waited for his response. Even though it should be hard and unjust,
yet if he would only speak, she could at least be able to tell how
angry he was by his voice.
“Cousin Florimond, answer me! Do you not forgive me? It was not my
fault that they made me take the helm in your place. My body is as
wounded as my feelings. Do not torture me any more. Answer me, Cousin
Florimond.”
His lips did not move, but his wide-open eyes glared, as if to chastise
the frightened soul who trembled under their menace.
“Mercy, Cousin Florimond; will you break my heart, because I forgot
you in the midst of such danger? It all came about from closing the
hatches. I ordered it done just as you would have yourself.”
Rigid as his own spectre, Florimond appeared terrible in his immobility.
“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!”
And poor Elise, overcome, fell on her knees, her face hidden between
her two hands.
“Bad luck! _Tonnerre!_ Bewitcher of sailors! You made them nail me
in the hold, so that you would be free to take my place. It is your
turn to be locked up. You will stay here until the arrival of the
commissaire; then you can tell your story to the police, you thief!”
At this sudden accusation, Elise rose to her feet. She was reassured
by his outburst of noisy rage. “I have stolen nothing. It was your own
sailors who put me in your place. It was not my fault. You were knocked
senseless, Cousin Florimond.”
“Be quiet, traitress and----”
He stopped suddenly, interrupted by a call which made him start.
“Hello, captain”; he recognized the voice immediately. It was that of
the official inspector. Turning to go on deck, he said in a low tone to
Elise, “I am going to tell him of your doings.”
“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!”
“Be quiet, traitress, thief!”
Leaving her frightened and in tears, he was quickly on deck. The
under-commissaire of marines awaited him, very magnificent and
dignified, in his tightly buttoned overcoat and his silver-laced hat.
He had seen the dramatic entrance of this strange boat into his port,
and came more from curiosity than from the demands of the service. When
he first stepped aboard he had asked for the captain, and thus had
recalled him to the recollection of the sailors.
Busy as they were in unloading the nets in order to free the hull,
or working the pumps, the men had not given a thought to Florimond.
Besides, their minds were so full of Elise, and of her courage and
skill in handling the boat, that unconsciously they had forgotten the
real captain.
The officer had surprised them by his unexpected demand. They brought
him to the capstan hatch, and hearing Florimond’s angry voice they had
spoken loudly, so as not to allow it to come to the ears of authority.
As a rule, sailors are not happy to find themselves face to face with
a maritime officer. They have always some little fault in mind. The
fishing laws are severe, and if they cannot hoodwink the police, they
are likely to lose all their profits in fines and penalties.
Florimond had no fancy for this class of visitors any more than his
men, and he, too, had upon his conscience certain small sins. In
engaging a woman he had not gone contrary to the law, which allowed
captains perfect liberty in the choice of their crew. But in the fear
of being refused a clearance, he had, when he had showed his list, put
Elise down as a man. On this point, therefore, he was not entirely at
ease.
On another score also he was troubled. He admitted to himself that
the blow with which he had laid open Barnabé’s head might cause an
inquiry to lie against him for abuse of power. And in the uninterrupted
succession of conflicts and misadventures which had assailed him since
his departure, he could not clearly distinguish on whose side was the
right or wrong.
In spite of his threats to Elise, therefore, he prudently kept silence
about her, and told only of the two things absolutely necessary--the
disappearance of the small boat, and the theft of the nets. He made
hardly any allusion at all to Firmin’s being carried off--a boy without
relatives--he stopped short. From the capstan hatch came a burst of
sobs.
“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!”
He went on in a louder tone--“a little deserter who got on to the
_flambart_ in order to seek adventures----”
“Mercy, Cousin Florimond!”
“A young sea vermin who overturned discipline, who----”
The commissaire stopped Florimond with a cynical gesture.
“You are too excited, captain! I suspect there is something hidden
behind all this. I will make an inquiry about this little fellow.” And
he clambered back upon the quay, where were piled up all that they had
saved of nets, floats, and rigging. He verified the importance of the
theft, examined the parted hawser and the torn nets, then he summoned
all the sailors for an inquiry.
All answered alike, as if inspired by the captain. There had been no
trouble on the _Bon-Pêcheur_. Nevertheless Barnabé appeared otherwise
disposed. When he saw his turn for speaking come, he squared himself
proudly and tossed his head, in order to attract attention to his
bandages and wounds.
Florimond saw him. He knew that he would not keep quiet before the
police, and that they would get from him enough to make them all
trouble. He was thoroughly afraid of some foolish indiscretion. One
gains only harm when one meddles with the law. He placed himself
directly before the landsman, and, raising his great figure to its full
height, seemed to make that of Barnabé all the smaller. He attracted
his attention by a light whistle, and frowned threateningly at him.
Barnabé dropped his head. From that instant he was docile. He had in
mind the lesson which he had received with the blow. One would have
said that he had been injured permanently in his brain, and that the
presence of the captain was enough to paralyze it. But as he lowered
his tone at the dictation of his master, he was rated at his true value
by his comrades. He, no more than the others, had complaints to make,
and the inquiry ended without results.
The sailors had not allowed the commissaire to perceive the presence
of Elise, but hardly had they seen him depart than they ran toward the
capstan hatch.
“On deck, Lison! The penalty merchant is gone back to his shop.”
Florimond instantly interposed.
“Away there all! Let her cry her eyes out. The first man who defends
her I will twist up like a knot in a sheet!”
The men drew aside like cowards, and that was the end.
The necessary steps at the maritime bureau, and the necessary work to
get the _Bon-Pêcheur_ to the ship-yard, took four long days. During all
this time Florimond nursed his anger. He knew now, how Elise had saved
the _Bon-Pêcheur_, and what a debt he had involuntarily contracted to
her. The thought tortured him. He almost certainly would not have run
the risks she had. He would never have dared to drift for four hours
with open seams in such a storm. He would have run before the wind, he
would have fallen into the eddies of the Vergoyer, and without doubt he
would have met death there.
He had burnings in his stomach, and rushes of blood to the head. Oh,
this Lison! He owed her not only his boat--he owed her his life. He
would rather have perished. He would not then have had such a gnawing
at the heart.
Could it be that his luck had turned? Never had such a chapter of
accidents come to a good skipper. What would they say at home; that he
was too proud, and that it served him right? He had always been the
first to return without a man lost, his bins full; and now to-morrow
he must appear, his boat injured, his nets gone, four men lost, too,
and not the tail of a fish. Would any one believe that it was not his
fault? It is hard lines for a skipper to have to own defeat.
In fifteen days he had three times just escaped with his life. He had
been close to death, close to ruin! He would no longer be the foremost
skipper of that coast. A young girl had stolen his glory from him. He
could hear even now all these sailors singing the praises of this Lison
in the taverns at home. What would they say of him? He would like to
take a turn of a rope around their evil tongues.
In fact, he could no longer stand the sight of Elise, and turned away
wretched at hearing even her name. He kept her away from the work, and
was out of patience that she must stay two days more on board. He would
have sent her home with half the crew, but he was afraid that, before
his return, the sailors’ tongues would have already been at work,
building up Elise’s fame on the ruins of his own.
And only when all was ready, the nets and provisions stored, the sloop
careened in the ship-yard on the beach, and the farewells exchanged,
did Florimond take the homeward route with his companions.
* * * * *
What a sorrowful return it was! They walked with lowered heads, their
old knitted jerseys tucked into the bands of their trousers. They were
barefoot, with their kits on their backs, their shoes knocking together
beneath them. Sailors do not use up good shoes on bad country roads.
Accustomed to the smooth deck, and made tender by being perpetually
wet, their feet do not take kindly to these stony ways. They trotted
and limped like a company in full rout. A melancholy return!
They mounted the rough path to the cliffs. When they were on their
summits, they went, for two hours, now down, now up, across the
valleys, along the path of the coast guards, close to the sea. The sky
was clear. Under the cheerful light their unhappy condition seemed even
more sad.
First came Elise, the least bent, the least overcome. Her glances
searched the horizon without ceasing, as if in a last hope. One would
have said that she expected to see the boat which had carried off
Firmin come sweeping before the breeze. Her thoughts wandered away,
dreamy and tender, toward the boy whom she could not forget.
Next came the men, bent like beasts of burden, their eyes fixed on the
ground.
Last of all came the captain, more despondent, more stricken than the
others, his large back bent, not under the weight of his kit--he would
not have minded ten times as much; the burden which weighed him down
was one which his strong shoulders had not felt before. Defeat was
a heavy load for him. Until to-day, he had laughed at bad luck, had
hardly pitied those whose lives he had seen shipwrecked. Oh, this Lison!
[Illustration: A SAD RETURN.
Chap. 9.]