Chapter XXIV

It was the third Sunday in August when Elise, confident in a happy future and certain that this time she would have good luck, embarked on the _Jeune-Adolphine_. She had said farewell to Mother Pilote, whom she left quite disconsolate, and who had wished to soften her solitude by keeping Barbet. But how could Barbet live away from Elise? He, too, was going to sea.

It was the beginning of the autumn fishing. They sought the herring now, not to the north of Scotland, but in the North Sea near the extreme limits of England. Doubtless the corvette which had rescued Firmin would be stationed at Edinburgh or Berwick. Elise counted on finding some way to meet him. In the North Sea the fishing-grounds are more contracted than in the ocean, the boats are nearer together and communicate more easily. It would be very strange if they did not meet either the corvette herself, or at least one of the coasters who run between the fishers and the nearest English port.

Thanks to Silvere, Elise owned a share in the nets. He had not been willing that she should be at a disadvantage on account of her poverty, and had persuaded her to accept a new outfit.

And the third day after the new moon, these nets dropped into the water for the first time.

The _Jeune-Adolphine_ had reached the fishing-grounds at noon only, but the breeze and the weather were so favorable that they spread the nets without delay.

Twilight, with its serene harmony, fell on the sea. When all the nets had been set and the boat, towed by them, drifted idly in the current, Elise, fascinated by the beauty of the night, could not make up her mind to sleep.

Stretched on the gunwale beside Silvere, she watched the golden lights on the changing sea, which seemed in harmony with her thoughts.

“Silvere, I think that we love each other more tenderly when we are together in such tranquil scenes. Where away is England?”

For a long time she was silent, looking in the direction where Silvere had pointed.

“There is where Firmin is. He was too ambitious to be a simple coast sailor like us. Do not be hurt that I think of him. I am so happy to know that you love me.”

He said nothing, this big Silvere, so much afraid was he of startling the tender murmur which just reached his ears. He overtopped Elise by a full head, and, bent down toward her, he watched her with delight, so full of life and so beautiful did she seem under this soft light.

“Be sure, Elise, that I am not jealous of Firmin. We will both love him, as we both love Mother Pilote. You are not envious of her because I love her. I love you both, but not with the same warmth. It must be right, because it is human nature.”

During two hours of drifting they talked together, hearing only their own voice and heedless of the songs that came through the half-open hatch.

Big Poidevin was drunk. Two hours of his cabin was equivalent with him to a dozen drinks, just enough to fill him full. But though his brain might be drowsy his eye was wide open, and when the moment came to take up the nets he was the first on deck, summoning all the men to work.

“Hollo! Beetle heads! Strike up work.”

Big Poidevin, an old quartermaster, carried his liquor as no other veteran aboard.

When he was full he was as steady as if he was anchored with four cables. He was the most solid drinker on the coast. It was his pride, after a dozen drinks, to keep his balance as steady as if he had dined on the empty wind.

As to the rest, he was a good liver and a pleasant companion. He had no family, and took his pleasures only in his bottle and glass. He had a horror of the shore, where, as he said, he did not love to lie like a boat aground.

“Hollo! lads! When the capstan snores, the sailor wakes.”

The capstan did not snore yet, but it was evident that he meant to set it at work.

“Hollo! lads! Wind from the north-east with the moon. We will take up fish by the binful. Hollo! All on deck.”

At the captain’s call, Elise came with Silvere. They were not of opinion that it was wise to take up the nets yet. As they had talked, they had now and then cast an eye on the line of floats, and had noticed that they had not settled, as was the case under a catch of fish. The nets were, without doubt, empty.

Their advice was sound. After a long discussion Poidevin agreed to follow it, and disappeared down the forecastle ladder. He was going back for another hour to his mug and flask.

“Let us go and sleep like the others, Lise. You will be ill if you neglect your sleep.”

“No, not to-night, Silvere. It is too delicious. It goes to one’s very heart. I love to watch the sea, now that it has given back my father.”

“Lise, dreams are not food. A good sailor, to keep strong, must eat and sleep. Fishing is hard enough when one gets one’s rest.”

“Silvere, look there. The sea seems to be on fire. Is it not flashing? What say you?”

Yes, it was the flash of the herring which, like a trail of phosphorus, drew near them rapidly. The wave seemed on fire, so filled was it with iridescent lights; sapphire blue, emerald green, red gold, shading off into silvery gleams. It was as if a pageant beneath the water was advancing, with a bewilderment of gleaming metal and precious gems. It was impossible to look at it. The moon, ordinarily so white, seemed, in comparison, of a dirty gray. It looked so dejected that Elise threw it a glance of pity.

“Is it possible that this light in the sea can snuff out the moon, as she snuffs out the stars? Silvere, what makes the herring gleam so? They burn the eyes.”

She buried her face in his shoulder. He, laughing, held her dear head with his great hand, which he tried to make soft for the task.

“Look, Lise. They are going to rush into our net. Look, it will be like fireworks.”

As rapidly as a lake of fire which has burst its bounds, the school of herring advanced, grazing the surface of the water, every back and fin scintillating with light, and lighting up the night with their blinding gleams.

“Quick, Lise, they are here.”

There was a splash of fire like burning coals; an electric snapping through the whole mass, as if a stream, arrested by a wall, had dashed back on itself in foaming fury. All the nets came to the surface along their length to the very end, in a gleaming tremor. And the school of herring, dispersing abruptly, disappeared behind the boat, like the last rays of an expiring fire.

After the light had passed, and their eyes, accustomed again to the twilight, could distinguish objects, they saw that the nets were dragged down under the weight of their strangling, struggling victims.

“Captain, it is time to haul in. The floats are sunk.”

Big Poidevin had had an hour too much. Contrary to his habit, he scuffled along and staggered. When he tried to mount to the deck, he missed the rounds of the ladder and fell heavily on the planking.

“This is no time to lose control, captain; the fish can be taken by armfuls.”

The captain rose to his feet, furious at losing his reputation as a hard-headed drinker. He bent all his energies to gaining the deck without further weakness, and, the ladder mounted, he called all the men with a triumphant shout.

With pantings and groanings from the capstan, and shouts from the sailors, the work began. As soon as taken aboard the nets were shaken over the hatches, into which the fish fell in a phosphorescent rain. Salt was thrown in with them, and when the hatches were filled to the very top all hands were ready for a chowder. They had caught thousands.

It was the next day at noon only that the work was finished. In a single night more than half the boat’s bins were full, half of their catch was taken. Six hundred measures. It was wonderful.

They spread their nets again the next night and the nights after that. While the fishing is good no one minds hard work and each day brings variety.

They caught after that, according to the weather, from two hundred measures at most, down to fifty and even twenty-five.

The chance to meet a school at the right moment does not come twice.