The wharf was as busy a scene as if it had been midday. Among the brigs
and schooners unloading wood from Norway, the women were not long in
making out a strange-looking steamer. She did not have paddles like
a tug, she was shorter than a despatch-boat, and not so sharp as a
corvette. Her deck was loaded with rope ladders, with long tubes, and
strange dresses. On her davits hung boats such as were ordinarily found
only on larger vessels,--a big ship’s boat, and a steam-launch.
“Look there, Elise, this surely has something to do with your father.
You can see visors such as divers wear.”
The steamer had really come in answer to Elise’s petition, which had
reached the Maritime Prefect at Dunkirk at a time when trials of
diving apparatus were about to be made. They wished to experiment at
different depths, to investigate the character of the seas, to test
dangerous whirlpools, eddies, and contrary currents. The rough waters
of Berck and Etaples had been selected for the experiment. The search
which Elise asked for gave an opportunity for practice. It was a sort
of practical problem, the solution of which would confirm scientific
theories. The steamer had then naturally been ordered to put herself
in communication with the Bureau at Saint-Valery, to obtain the
additional information necessary to its work.
The experiments were to commence at the next tide, and all the town had
waked up well before its usual hour. At the quay, on the river bank,
on the side of the town near the steamer, which was already smoking,
groups of sailors were talking excitedly. Among them the women speedily
recognized their husbands, more interested in listening than in seeing
their families. They hardly turned their heads at the call which
Silvere threw at them from the opposite pier.
Nevertheless, a service boat came alongside, and a few moments
afterward mothers, wives, and children joined the men. Their embraces
were short. Their hearts were stirred only by this great news: the
Vergoyer was to be explored.
A legend had grown from age to age about this gulf, to which each year
added fresh victims. The names of those who had been lost there with
their boats had been told over and over so often that it had come to be
believed that, from generation to generation, since the ages, enormous
riches had been piling up in this accursed gulf. Had not, only two
springs before, after a storm from the north, one of those storms when
the sea cuts away the sands, a lugger from Cayeux, buried more than
thirty years before, been thrown up and floated? It was found aground
on its side, as strong as when new. Other wrecks had been thrown up
with it, and with them an old box stuffed with pistoles, which had made
the finder rich.
This old shipwrecked lugger, which had taken a fresh lease of life,
after having so long a lapse, had since led a happy existence. She had
all the boldness of one brought back to life, one who had been in the
realms of death, and thereafter feared nothing. The captain who bought
her faced the roughest weather in her. How many others might, like her,
be recovered, good for use? There was no doubt that they would find
treasures enough to fill the pockets of all the coasters of the bay,
and every man hoped to take part in the work.
Perhaps they might be hired. They were not familiar with the work, but
was it necessary for one to have studied much to know how to put on a
visor and dig in the wet sand? If one should find a box of gold like
that other, one would be rich enough to fit out a big fishing-boat and
be a captain in one’s turn. And it is much pleasanter to be a captain
than a hand.
The sailors urged one another to go to the officers of the steamer and
find out if work was offered, and under what conditions they would have
a chance to be taken.
They did not stop talking for an instant, and talking is dry work, so
they soon entered the first open tavern, and there talked on, very much
at their ease, before their full bowls of hot coffee. The children lay
asleep on the benches or in the corners. The sun had risen long ago,
but they had not yet decided who should go and ask the officers.
“Let’s find Lise,” cried one of the big fellows, with moist lips and
bright eyes. Three cups of coffee had rubbed up his ideas.
As one man they overturned the benches, and, swallowing at a gulp what
was left in their cups, dashed out of the tavern to find Elise.
She was seated at the door of the Bureau, on the first of three steps
where, for whole days during the last weeks, she had waited so often
for the commissaire to come out. But where yesterday she was so
unhappy, she was to-day full of new hopes.
The wives of the two big fellows were the first to arrive, dragging
their children off their feet beside them, and urging their husbands to
ask the young girl’s help. They shouted and gestured, as if counting
on noise to prove their prior rights. While all talked wildly around
Elise, the old sailor, who had kept back, was attacked by his two older
daughters.
They urged that he, too, should try to get work on the steamer; if
there were treasures to be found, it would be too stupid to leave them
to other people. He did not yield easily, and the nearer the time came
to act the more he hesitated. For his part, he had seen enough misery
on top of the water, without going underneath in search of it. At his
age he had no taste for convict’s work.
But by his resistance he only increased the urgency of his daughters,
who grew frantic in their attempts to convince him. Mother Loirat heard
them. She was so angry that she interposed:
“The old man is right, it is no work for honest men. Every one despises
miscreants who get rich by stealing dead men’s money.”
Then she went to Elise:
“Do not try to help them, my child. All they want is to steal the money
of those who have been shipwrecked.”
“Have no fear, good Mother Loirat. I have not given the money a
thought. All I want is to free the soul of my father and your three
sons. You and Chrétien will go. You have the right which your tears
have given you.”
A feeling of rage and disappointment passed through the crowd of
sailors, furious at the contempt which Elise showed for them. They
began to growl out threats.
* * * * *
“Ahoy there, sailors, clear the road for your betters. Ahoy!” The big
fellows and all the women turned about at the sharp, impertinent voice
which demanded room so cavalierly.
“A ship’s figure-head on a seal’s skeleton! Wretched bundle! He shall
not pass! the baboon! he is all humps and no hollows.”
The little clerk struggled, and Elise made a dash forward to clear
the way to the Bureau for him, when suddenly the sailors fell back of
themselves. Between their two files, drawn back respectfully, came
the under-commissaire, very dignified in his silver-laced hat. He
recognized Elise.
“You are not late; it is well. Pass in before me.”
Elise hesitated. She looked about for Silvere, who had gone to the
quay to make inquiries. She wanted to wait for him. Could she dare
face alone and unaided the majesty of the Bureau? The chief pushed
her forward, then he went in after her, and was followed by the little
clerk, who slammed the door furiously in the faces of the dumfounded
sailors.
The commissaire was punctual. The last stroke of six was just sounding.
* * * * *
Some minutes after the door opened. The Clerk reappeared, and from the
top of the three steps overlooked the crowd of sailors arrogantly. He
held a roll of papers in his hand and struck an attitude, as if about
to read something important. All eyes grew large, all mouths opened in
fixed attention. He unrolled his paper and spread it out; when he saw
that they were taken in by his trick he put it back in his pocket, and
said quietly:
“Is Silvere Pollenne among you, please?”
All faces lengthened with disappointment. Silvere had just that moment
returned from the quay. He followed the clerk into the office, and the
door slammed furiously a second time before the dazed looks of the
sailors.
It opened again a quarter of an hour later. The little clerk came out,
entirely hidden behind an enormous register which aroused fresh hopes.
They needed men without doubt. They would make those sign the book whom
they engaged.
They began to push one another about, to be first. There was a delay of
at least three minutes, then the book was closed, and the imperturbable
clerk shrilly, but just loud enough to be heard, called out:
“Mme. Loirat and Chrétien Loirat, will you have the kindness to
answer? You are requested to enter.”
They went in together, and the door closed after them with two slams
more irritating than a box on the ears.
“He despises us, does he, this baboon?” Sailors, children, above all
the women, picked up stones, resolved to punish this insolent fellow if
he dared show himself. All hands were raised, when they heard the noise
of the door open. They dropped immediately.
The commissaire came out, with Elise at his side; behind her Silvere,
Chrétien, Mother Loirat, and finally M. Emile, the little clerk. He
moved his hump about delightedly, did M. Emile, as he passed before the
big sailors, proud as a king’s fool before the courtiers. He had the
body of a child and, notwithstanding his great high, shiny silk hat,
he did not come up to the sailors’ shoulders. He walked along no less
pompously on that account, bursting with impertinent pride.
“There! Pick that up if you wish to move your hump!”
Two blows had knocked his high hat into the mud. It was a signal for
the sailors to stampede. They set off in haste, while M. Emile stood
still, gazing after his injured head-piece. He was a truly piteous
spectacle, as he looked at it all crushed out of shape. Tears came to
his eyes, which became more lack-lustre than ever. Fortunately Elise
saw him. She ran and picked up his hat, brushed and set it right, and
put it on.
“I wore it to please you, Mlle. Elise. These rustics are jealous at my
fine appearance.”
“Come quickly! Your chief is scowling. I tremble for you.”
They joined the under-commissaire, who turned his head quietly and said
shortly:
“I have been thinking, M. Emile, and I have no further need for you.
Return to the Bureau. We will talk matters over to-night.”
“Oh, sir,” Elise begged, “forgive him. It is not his fault. It is his
misfortune.”
The under-commissaire did not appear to hear her. He continued his
route toward the quay where the steamer was anchored.