Chapter XXVI

Elise was all in a tremble, and her heart beat fast as she descended the ladder of the hatch and heard the heavy breathing of the captain, who lay there snoring. But her uneasiness at knowing that the _Bon-Pêcheur_ was in distress, and the fear of bringing help too late, decided her.

“Captain--it is I--I am sorry, but it is important.”

“Heu--Heu”--Big Poidevin turned over to sleep on the other side.

“Captain, listen, it is important.”

Elise had no reply. She put out her hand and struck him lightly on his fat shoulder.

“Beetle head! Don’t touch me, or beware.”

And the captain buried his head in the fold of his arm with a growl that did not admit of further urging.

Elise went back to the deck, called one of the sailors to the helm, and taking Silvere by the arm led him to the forecastle.

“I shall be bolder with you. I will hold your hand so as to add your strength to mine. Come Barbet, one cannot have too many friends to encourage one.”

All three climbed down, Elise helped by her lover, and happy this time, for she knew that she had the support of one man in facing another. She knew that Silvere was not a coward, for she had had good proof. She felt her strength increased by his strength, her courage by his courage.

“Captain, you must wake up.”

Poidevin snorted like a mad whale. He struck with his fist the wall of his bunk, heavily enough to wake all the other sleepers.

“By my sainted mother!”

“South, a quarter south-east, captain.”

“Let me sleep.”

“It is on account of Cousin Florimond.”

“Florimond! He is not worth even a half mug of grog.”

“He is in trouble, captain! We must help him!”

“A braggart! Let him get himself out of trouble, he who is so superior to others.”

“All the same, captain, you must get up and----”

“No! Death of my soul, no!”

And for the third time Poidevin went to sleep.

“Then I am going to take the helm. You will hold me blameless?”

“By my sainted mother!”

That was Poidevin’s oath, his unusual exclamation, when he wished to put an end to a discussion and was thoroughly angry.

“Very well, captain, by your mother and by all that is dear to you, I tell you that you must go to the help of these men in danger and misery. If any are lost through your fault you will suffer tortures of mind. You will see them at night in bodily presence, with eyes which reproach you and fingers which point at you. You will see them pale from lack of sleep, and you will have no more sleep yourself. It is not right to stupefy one’s self with drink and leave others to die. They will pursue you, Poidevin. You may drink harder than ever, but you will see them as plainly as if you were sober. I saw my father and I wanted to die. I tell you that you must get up.”

Poidevin sat up stupidly. With his little gray eyes, all sunk in their sockets, he looked at Elise, then at Silvere, then at the other sailors who had been drawn by the noise of the dispute.

“Come, follow up their tracks, captain. Lise is right. Sailors ought to stand by one another.”

Growling and shaking off painfully his stupor, the captain struggled to his feet, then climbed out and went to the helm. He noted their course and approved it, and the boat sailed on south a quarter south-east.

Then Elise, exhausted by her efforts and overcome by her feelings, fell into Silvere’s arms.

“Lise, Lise, my beloved, you are more observant than any man and handier than any woman.”

And he drew her close to his heart and lips in an irresistible outburst of admiration.

* * * * *

For an hour now they had run in the direction pointed out by Barbet, and had seen nothing. Poidevin had become sober through impatience. They would lose their clue to the herring; they would lose a day’s fishing, and all for the pleasure of following a dog’s suggestions. He would allow ten minutes, but not another minute more. If they waited until night in order to find themselves in the bed of the fish they risked going to bed themselves without any.

The more the time ran on without any results the more anxiously did Elise scan the sea.

“Barbet, you have not deceived me?”

The dog did not answer. He was mortified that they should have doubted him. For an hour Elise had been troubling him to repeat every little while the same signal, and he was annoyed in his turn. Silent and resolute, his eye fixed on the point whence came the scent of the shipwrecked men, he waited to see them before speaking.

The ten minutes passed. Poidevin had no watch, but he could tell the time by the sun without ever being out a second. It was a good enough watch for him; it wound itself and did not have to be carried in the pocket.

Noting its position above the horizon the moment he saw the time was up, he shouted:

“Get ready to come about. Loose the jib-sheet!”

“No, Poidevin, just ten minutes more and I will not ask for another one. I promise you, Poidevin.”

“Ready to come about!”

“They cannot be far, captain, from the drift of their nets. Barbet, do you see nothing? Speak, my old Barbet.”

The dog remained silent, and the captain undecided.

“Ten minutes. Is it too much to give for peace of mind? You will be glad of it, Poidevin.”

Ten minutes short as ten seconds.

They sailed fast, but found nothing.

Nothing on the horizon. A boat is large enough to be seen far off. One can distinguish it easily. But there were only the colliers, with their heavy rigging and their black sails. Poidevin had his eye on the sun. The second ten minutes passed.

“Ready to come about! Loose the jib-sheet.”

“Captain, if you knew how I suffered on my father’s account, you would risk five minutes more. Five minutes--will you condemn yourself for so little time?”

“You trouble me, Lise. We fairly creep along now under our load of fish. Will it take us as long to go back as it has to come? If we once lose the fish, who knows when we shall find them again.”

“We will all take a hand in working her.”

“You talk nonsense. Can you push the boat?”

“Captain, do not punish yourself. You do not know the torment it brings. Do you see nothing, my old Barbet? If you see ever so little, tell Poidevin.”

Barbet kept perfectly silent.

“Ready to come about! Loose the jib-sheet.”

And without further hesitation the boat headed back on the way she had come. In despair, as she thought of her cousin Florimond, so fine and so strong, whom the envious sea would soon claim, Elise sank down on the deck.

“Luff her. Hug the wind.”

“Captain, I beg you----”

“Give her nearly a full.”

“Captain, Barbet speaks--come about!--Barbet has spoken!--Come about, quickly!--Yes! over there!--No!--Barbet is fooling us!--That is not a boat!--It is more like a beacon!--The glass----”

Elise was at the hatch before she had finished speaking. She slipped from the ladder in her haste to go down, but, picking herself up seized the glass, and, climbing quickly back, adjusted it.

“Come about, captain; there are three men there. They seem to be on a buoy.”

She ran to Poidevin, and placed it before his eyes. She trembled so that he could see nothing.

“Let me have it alone. You jiggle it so under my nose that you upset all my ideas.”

He squared it, correcting the range carefully, and looked for a third time. Elise trembled with nervous anxiety. Finally Poidevin made them out. He threw himself on the helm, and, with a voice like a roll of thunder:

“Hoist all sail. Do not lose a breath of wind. Head south, a quarter south-east.”

The boat again turned in the direction of the castaways. The men who were not working her struggled for the glass. They could nearly make out the wreckage with the naked eye, but the glass showed more than three men. There were six, astride of a mast, a buoy, or a beacon; they could not tell what it was.

“Get the small boat ready. Take boat-hooks and ropes.”

The boat could not sail fast enough to please the captain. Big Poidevin was warm-hearted when he was not in liquor. He hated to cry, for it gave him a cold; but his eyes filled with tears, so greatly was he moved at these men’s sufferings.

“Death of my soul, Elise! they will owe you a good turn, those fellows there, if they ever realize what you have done for them.”

“Let us make haste, captain. The sailors can make out only five men through the glass. There were certainly six. One must have fallen.”

There were not even five, but only four, when the sloop reached them. All had seen the _Jeune-Adolphine_ coming, but their strength had not held out.

Elise slipped hurriedly into the small boat, taking with her Silvere and two sailors. She was to steer, Silvere held himself free for the work of rescue, and the two sailors were to row.

They drew near the wretched men, who were clinging to a boat’s mast, as they could tell by the rigging and by the tin pennant, which was still showing the direction of the wind, as if in irony.

The _Bon-Pêcheur’s_ hull had been crushed, and, before she disappeared forever, she lay floating out of sight; as if in the last effort of a faithful servant to offer in her top-mast a place of refuge for the survivors of her crew.

Florimond was there. They learned later on the details of the disaster. He had been run down the night before, while fishing. A collier, rather than swerve a trifle from her course, had gone over the _Bon-Pêcheur_, which, hampered in her movements by the floating nets, had not been able to avoid her. Twelve men, including the boy, had taken refuge in the small boat, which was capable, at most, of holding half that number. What had become of them?

For fifteen hours the other six had clung to the main-mast.

They had seen craft of all kinds. In those seas they were nearly as common as vehicles on a road on shore; but no one had seen them, or had wanted to see them. They were about to let go, in exhaustion and despair, when the _Jeune-Adolphine_ had appeared. Two of them, alas! had not been able to hold out for the few minutes until help came.

“Keep up your courage, Cousin Florimond. Pull hard, men. Aim well, Silvere.”

It was not easy to come alongside the men. The rigging around the mast kept the boat off, and made it necessary for them to slide down into the water and be fished out afterward with the gaff. They were so weak, so nearly at their last gasp, and so spent that they could do nothing to help themselves. Unconsciously, as it were, they clung fast, seeming to have lost all power of thought and action. The captain was highest on the mast, and the three men were below him.

“Aim straight, Silvere. Slide down, Old Quarrelsome.”

Old Quarrelsome was a well-known sailor of the _Bon-Pêcheur_, and a great hand to use his fists or his knife. Elise knew him, for she had made her first cruise with him, and had often seen him among her enemies. How many times he had stirred up Florimond against her. It was he who held the jigger-sheet when Silvere and Barnabé had quarrelled, and who had urged them on by his cries. Elise forgot it all, and Silvere, too, had no desire to recall it.

“Hurry, Old Quarrelsome, the others are waiting.”

The man did not dare to move. His mind was weakened, as well as his body. He looked at them stupidly, as if he did not understand. A kick on the head, which Florimond brutally dealt him, made him loose his hold. He plunged and disappeared, but the gaff followed and he came to the surface with it fast to him, like a sturgeon at the end of a harpoon, and was quickly hauled aboard.

It was the second man’s turn. He was an orphan and nearly an idiot, whom the sailors called Stutterer. It was, doubtless, partly through pity, for words failed him more from stupidity than from any trouble with his tongue. Elise knew him, too, as she knew all the men on the _Bon-Pêcheur_. Ill-tempered by reason of his infirmity, he had treated her roughly at times. She forgave him.

“Slide down, Stutterer.”

He clung stupidly to the mast, uttering cries like a monkey in distress. A kick, which resounded on his hard skull, knocked him senseless into the water, where he was seized by the hook of the gaff and was soon with his fellow in the boat.

“Hurrah! Silvere!” shouted Poidevin and all his men, as from the deck of the _Jeune-Adolphine_ they watched this strange fishing. “Hurrah!”

They had to go to the other side of the mast to get the third man. He could not help himself any more than the others. He clung more firmly even than they, and did not drop until he had received four kicks. He was unconscious when he was hauled in at the end of Silvere’s unerring gaff.

Then they rowed to the _Jeune-Adolphine_ to carry the three men whom they had rescued, for the boat was already overloaded.

“We will come back for you, Florimond. Hold fast.”

“Don’t be uneasy, Lise. I can hang on as long as necessary. I am not an old woman.”

Florimond was always a man of surprises. He was stronger than any one. After hanging at arm’s length for fifteen hours, he could have hung on another day and night. When he saw the boat returning he slid down the mast to the water, refused the aid of the gaff which was held him, and struck out, like a virtuoso in his bath, to swim to them.

He was fine, was Florimond. His muscular arms cleft the water, above which towered his proud, bronzed face. Suddenly he started, and stopped as if caught fast.

“Help, Silvere!”

The gaff was within reach of his hand, but he could not seize it. His rigid fingers stood out stiffly for some instants above the water, and then disappeared.

“Do not let him die, Silvere. To the rescue, my old Barbet.”

The dog leaped overboard and reappeared presently, splashing like a cat, with a piece of a blouse in his mouth. The gaff came to his aid and dragged up a bundle of flesh and clothes, which seemed lifeless. But the arms suddenly clutched the offered help. “Haul him in, Silvere. He is saved!”

Chap. 26.]

“Misery! Help, Poidevin!”

Dragged down by Florimond’s weight and thrown off his balance, Silvere went headlong into the sea.

“Help, Poidevin!”

But he was too far away to help. With a turn of her arm, Elise made fast a rope around her waist.

“Hold firmly, men, and haul hard after I have dived.”

She threw herself headlong. The sailors hauled in the rope. What a strange mass came with her! In the last agonies of a drowning man Florimond had seized Silvere in a desperate clutch. They struggled hand to hand, one clutching, the other pushing him off. In the fierceness of the struggle they escaped from Elise’s grasp, and disappeared a second time. She dived again. Slowly she came back to the surface, drawn by the rope, and dragging her burden with both hands.

“My strength is all gone. Florimond drags us down.”

Barbet heard her cry. He had recovered his breath, and was swimming about, waiting until he could be of use. He dashed forward, and, seizing Florimond by the throat, strangled him until he loosed his hold.

Elise helped first Silvere, then Florimond, who, in his mighty arms, convulsively clutched Barbet, whom he half crushed.

Elise dived again.

What could she be searching for, now that they were all safe--Silvere, Barbet, and Florimond? Did she hope to recover the two men of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ who had fallen, overcome by weakness, the moment before the arrival of the _Jeune-Adolphine_? Alas, the waves had swept them away as they pleased!

“Get aboard, Lise. Your Barbet is badly hurt.”

“What is it? Misery! Hurry, men, and pull me in.”

Half pulled, half climbing, Elise scrambled into the boat. She found Barbet with rattling breath, his tongue hanging out, foam on his lips, and only the whites of his eyes visible.

“Speak to me, my old Barbet. Tell me that you are not hurt. It would be too hard to lose your life in saving those of others, old Barbet.”