Chapter IX

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!

Chap. 9.]