After a last thought consecrated to the past they quitted the lost
sailors’ gulf. At the place pointed out by Barbet, Silvere left the
anchor, made fast to a float, as a guide for the future. At last the
boat headed for home. But the wind was against them, and they made so
little progress that they soon had to give up the idea of entering on
the day tide.
Elise saw this before Silvere told her. What difference did it make?
She had regained her hope in the future, and, in the reaction from
her past sufferings, was thoroughly happy. Leaning toward Silvere she
looked at him so gratefully that the young man could not contain his
emotion:
“Elise, you know that I would willingly give my life for you. From this
hour there shall be no more sorrow for us.”
What is Barbet trying to show them?
“Is it that wretched boat which excites him so?”
“Yes, yonder, with the brown sail. The boat which sails in our wake.”
“It seems as if it followed us, tack for tack. I will find out.”
“Silvere, do not let us trouble ourselves about other people’s affairs
when they are no concern of ours. Let each one be left to his own
devices!”
Silvere was obstinate. He changed the boat’s course, he tacked and
luffed at random, or kept straight ahead. The other boat followed each
manœuvre exactly.
The chase lasted for five hours. As they had to wait for the tide they
kept in the open sea, so as to have more room than in the channel; but
whatever direction Silvere took he always saw astern the little brown
sail, taking the wind just as he did. It became irritating. He kept his
eyes on his unknown enemy, but, whenever he tried to overtake him, the
brown sail always escaped before he was near enough to recognize it.
“It is not from our village. It must be a boat from Cayeux. _Parbleu!_
We have not had our eyes open. I recognize that short mast. It is the
_Marie-Albert_ of Saint-Valery, Barnabé’s uncle’s boat. There are
two men on board and I imagine that he is one of them, the wretched
landlubber.”
Elise was seized with painful forebodings. Was she never to have a
quarter of an hour’s pleasure free from fears? What could he be after,
this Barnabé, that he attached himself to her as if she belonged to him?
“I will overtake him,” cried Silvere suddenly. “I will have
satisfaction or capsize first.”
“Silvere, I beg you, give up this useless pursuit. If we come up with
Barnabé what complaint have we to make? Trouble comes fast enough
without going to meet it half way.”
“Elise, since we have spare time let us make use of it. Look to the
sail--Starboard.”
Pressed against the tiller Silvere paid no attention to her, and spoke
only to give orders. He changed the boat’s course so quickly that she
received blows and shocks enough to capsize her. They gained on the
enemy by skilful sailing, but she quickly made up what she had lost,
and the men in both boats were so occupied, one in flying, the other in
pursuing, that they paid no attention to their course. It was a wonder
that they had not run aground on the shoals twenty times.
At one time they were so close together that the men glared at one
another, and excited by this exchange of angry looks threw at each
other a volley of insults.
“You great gull, you shall not have Elise to yourself. I will come and
take her in such a fashion that she will not resist.”
“Look after yourself. Your claws shall be cut for you.”
Barnabé’s uncle, an old fellow with a groggy nose, kept sullenly
silent, evidently in a very bad humor. Elise interposed:
“Silvere, I pray, let us leave them alone if we wish them to leave us
alone.”
“No, I will scour the hair of this miserable cur. What business has he
to come smelling after us? Starboard--port.”
His orders followed so quickly, that they were tossed about without
cessation. All at once Elise uttered a cry of distress.
“Silvere, we have returned to the Vergoyer.”
Silvere did not hear. He did not know what risks he ran, or where he
was going. He saw only a brown sail which continually escaped him, and
which he had sworn to overhaul if he had to follow it to the shores of
England.
Every instant there came new tacks and new shocks, and on the choppy
sea of the Vergoyer the two boats pitched wildly.
“We shall overhaul them, Elise--port!”
“Silvere, do not take the trouble. See, here is our buoy. We are back
again at the lost sailor’s gulf.”
“Be quiet. You keep the boat back by your talking. We are losing
headway. Port--Lise--Lise----”
“What makes you grow so pale! You frighten me!”
“Lise--Lise----”
“Enough, Silvere. We risk our lives at every tack. Shall we keep on
until the Vergoyer has devoured us too? You frighten me--you are so
pale--speak to me--speak to me. Let us give up the chase, I beg, as a
proof of friendship.”
“Lise--Lise----”
“Are you suffering?--answer me--have you had a blow? We shall surely be
capsized if we do not get away from here.”
“Elise--there--there----”
“Speak plainly! You are killing me with anxiety!”
“There--the brown sail----”
“Misery! Can it be? What has become of her? I cannot see her.
Barnabé--ahoy!”
Elise shouted again and kept on shouting, but Barnabé did not answer.
At the minute she had lost sight of him he had brought his boat about
at the wrong moment, and it had turned over so easily that it seemed as
if he had intended it.
Poor Barnabé! He had better have gone again on the _Bon-Pêcheur_. But
at the thought of finding himself face to face with Florimond for long
weeks, fast between two planks with no chance of escape, he was anxious
to cancel his engagement. His request had been promptly granted. No one
regrets losing a bad companion.
Their thoughts were full of him as Elise and Silvere left the Vergoyer.
Poor Barnabé! He was not really bad at heart. He was more dangerous in
his friendships than in his enmity, for his evil tongue spoiled all the
good he did. He certainly did delight to annoy others, and so was the
cause of his own death. Ought one not to forgive him?
Elise remained thoughtful for a long time. She had gone to the stern,
and was leaning on Silvere’s shoulder while he delicately lent himself
to the _rôle_ of protector. He laid a course that did not require him
to change the sail, and in working the tiller he was careful not to
stir his shoulder where Elise’s head was lying quietly in melancholy
abstraction. Sweet Elise! He did not dare to bend his head so as to
look at her, but he felt that she was in a revery, and held his great
body still in a sort of respectful adoration.
He surrounded her with caressing thoughts. He felt the warmth of her
forehead on his shoulder, her hair brushed his cheek. He heard her
breath light and soft in rhythm with the rough breathing of Barbet.
The rise and fall of her chest, supported on his own, sent through him
a shiver of pleasure. He smiled over her, his dear Elise, with that
sweet smile which fathers have for frail children to whom they give all
tenderness.
Elise’s thought was at the same time pleasant and sorrowful. She held
Barbet between her crossed arms and craftily closed his mouth to
restrain his joyous outbursts. Truly the dog was lacking in reserve.
From the moment that the brown sail had disappeared he had broken
out into joyful barks. Even at this very moment, notwithstanding her
fingers which with all their might held his mouth closed, he half
opened it and threw out little joyful cries. Elise awoke with a start
from her dream.
“You have no respect, Barbet. Come, be quiet. It is only a villain who
rejoices over the death of others. Be quiet.”
Recalled to propriety by a light tap on the nose, Barbet lay silently
in arms which held him tightly. Then Elise fell a-thinking again, while
Silvere, tender as a lover, attentive as a faithful friend, supported
her. He was happy because he saw that her confidence had returned, and
he was taking her home.
They entered the channel, slipping homeward with the tide as it came
into the bay. Already the last gleams of twilight had faded from the
sea and left it black, for the night was without moon and without
stars. The breeze had not changed since morning and Silvere counted
less on it than on the tide. He held the tiller fast, and not having to
work the boat gave himself up to the enjoyment of the moment.
[Illustration: HE WAS HAPPY, BECAUSE HE SAW THAT HER CONFIDENCE HAD
RETURNED.
Chap. 18.]
He started suddenly with an intuition of danger. Quick! This is no time
for dreams. Night is the time for collisions. Besides, was not a soul
in his keeping? Ought he not to watch over this child whom he held
trembling on his heart?
“Listen, Elise. I am sorry to break in on your revery, but there is a
tug behind us drawing a large boat. I think it is a schooner from the
orders given out. She will surely run us down if we do not light our
lanterns.”
He was right. Hardly had the lantern glimmered at the mast-head when
there came from the direction where he had heard the noise a shout, in
a voice which emotion rendered sweet and far reaching:
“Boat ahoy! Ahoy!”
Silvere steered his boat one side to avoid a collision, and when,
behind the tug, there passed through the darkness a large schooner with
lofty masts, the same clear voice came from her deck:
“Silvere Pollenne--Elise Hénin--Ahoy!”
“Chrétien Loirat!”
“And the Danzels and old Coulin!”
“All aboard here!”
Hurrah! They were all there--the four men who were lost from the
_Bon-Pêcheur_--Chrétien, the two big fellows, and the old sailor. All
were safe again. Firmin no doubt would soon come in his turn.
Then, in an outburst of happiness, Elise threw herself into the arms
of her lover, who pressed her gently to his breast.
“Silvere, I should have been dead if you had not loved me. Now we will
be married and together will take care of Mother Pilote.”