Chapter XXVII

Barbet was cared for like a child. Stretched on a soft bed of nets and bagging, he had the bunk all to himself. Elise had given it up to him. Sick people must have comforts. She herself slept, sitting on a box near his bed, and, like a true shipmate, took the best care of him.

She made endless dressings and cooling drinks for him. He would turn his eye, lighted with the wild gleams of fever, toward her, then his head would drop weakly and slowly back.

“Get well quickly, my old Barbet. What will Firmin say to see you in this plight? He will scold me for having let you get hurt.”

Barbet did not show any interest at all at the name of Firmin. He was interested only in the things of life that appealed to his heart. Was it likely that he would be moved at the thought of a lad who dared more for ambition than for friendship. He wished to get well, truly, but only to please Elise, whom he had always loved, who loved him in her sorrow as well as in her joy, when he was sick and when he was well alike.

He had nearly died, and all through a misunderstanding. In throwing himself on Florimond, he had wanted simply to free Silvere, and make the task of saving him more easy. His good intentions had been badly repaid, for he had been nearly throttled in a moment of furious rage by the man whom he was trying to succor.

Florimond himself, strong as always, had not suffered long from the shock. He was one of those who leave illness to others, and keep none for themselves. A night’s rest made him forget all his bodily fatigue.

But he did not find it so easy to forget his troubles of mind.

Not that he was much concerned at the loss of his boat. He counted on the insurance companies making that good. Apart from his boat he was rich. An old aunt, who admired his strength and beauty, had made him her heir. Since then he had been in a position where he not only need not sail himself, but might own ships sent out in charge of others. He loved the sea so much that he had not been able to leave her. To-day he was tired of her. He had found out what pleasure she takes in betraying those upon whom she has piled up her favors.

She was the true culprit, and he had had the meanness to persecute another when the fault had been hers. Poor Elise. He had harassed her and had accused her of a betrayal of trust, and now he knew that she was innocent. He had caused her great distress, and, for her revenge, she had saved his life.

Without her he would have been drowned, and, from abyss to abyss in that endless waste of waters, dragged down by the weight of his sins, he would have tossed about pitilessly with staring eyes, his body eaten by fishes, his soul in torture. She had saved him not only from death, but from the pains of expiation.

Courageous under all circumstances, forgetful of injuries, strong in her sacrifice of self, how had he failed to appreciate her! Her heart was as noble as her face was pure. Was she really to marry Silvere, a man without shoulders or chest, all length and no breadth? If he were rich even, this big gull; but he was not well enough off to be even a captain. His father had made large sums in his trade as pilot, but unfortunately he had not managed well, for they had gone to assist his neighbors, and in kindly acts which had not helped the donor.

Florimond paced the deck of the _Jeune-Adolphine_, full of troubled thoughts. He was tired to death of the forecastle, the close air distressed him. He was at ease only under the lash of the breeze, for his heart was full of disquiet.

Sometimes when he met him on the deck, so overcome with melancholy, Poidevin would throw him a comforting word.

“It is better to drown your trouble, Captain Florimond, than to let it drown you. Come, the jug of grog is waiting. It would not be fair to let it go dry from lack of notice.”

But neither rum nor any other spirits could console Florimond. Poidevin had to drink alone, and he did his best at it, looking into his mug for good advice.

He had not completed the cruise; that is to say, all his bins were not filled, but he could not make up his mind whether he had better head for home or not.

In looking for the castaways they had lost the herring, and had not been able to find them, although they had tried thoroughly. Besides, in spite of the advanced season, the days were warm, and the fish might ferment in the hold. The first week of September had gone, the equinoctial storms were at hand. It was the time of the year when squalls are so common that one meets them at every turn. Decidedly it would be better to save what fish they had and pass a week ashore. Such was the advice which the captain decided to follow after a whole day’s session with his mug.

“Well, lads, the cruise is over. Tell the man at the wheel to head for home.”

Elise was busy near Barbet, when she heard him shout this out at the top of his voice.

She started as she heard it. And Firmin? Should she not see him again? To leave the Scotch seas was to give up the hope of meeting him. Without stopping to think she ran to Poidevin.

“Take me first to England, captain, I want to see my boy.”

Well as he knew Elise’s plans, and thoroughly as he had decided not to oppose them, at least unless compliance with them menaced the safety of the boat, Poidevin was stunned at her demand. He raised his arms above his head, and murmured some ill-humored exclamations.

“Death of my soul! You think no more of flaunting your demands in our faces than in turning a quid in your mouth. I should be a fool to do as you wish. Try to meet your corvette on the way home, or you will have no chance of seeing your Firmin. What do you expect? it is the way of our trade.”

“You must take me, captain; I came with the expectation of seeing my boy. I will not go until I have succeeded in my plan.”

“By my sainted mother!”

Poidevin turned his back so angrily that Elise saw that it was useless to insist. She passed the night near Barbet, and at dawn went on deck to begin her outlook again.

Through constant watching her eyes had gained an unusual power, so that the most distant and the most fleeting objects were clear to them.

It was hardly four o’clock. The horizon was indistinct by reason of a haze or fog. At intervals she thought she could make out some black dots, but they speedily disappeared. Then more anxiously than ever she searched the great expanse, as if at any moment there might start forth the well-appointed corvette she was looking for.

Elise thought sadly that over yonder, behind the fogs, was a coast that now she had no chance of knowing. There were the shores of Scotland stretching away, green under the majestic reaches of ancient forests. Scotland, rich and beautiful as a land preferred of nature, was already far away; for, for seven hours they had sailed southward and they had passed the northern bounds of England. Edinburgh and Berwick! Elise had given up hope of ever seeing them.

That night they should reach the neighborhood of the gulf into which the Thames pours its muddy and impure waters. The air is black with smoke, the sky itself is darkened. Its outlines cannot be distinguished from the open sea because its shores are low, but it can easily be known from the number of steamers inward bound. Elise dreaded to reach it, for once there, it would be foolish to hope any longer.

Was not that smoke on the northern horizon? No; it was only a flock of sea-gulls which had waked with the day.

Misery! Should the big sister have less courage than her little brother? He had discovered a way of escape from the _flambart_, ought she to hesitate? She would buy Poidevin’s small boat, paying for it with her nets; she would take Silvere, and they would row ashore, they two, and would find Firmin.

On government ships the discipline is strict and the officers are harsh. With his spirit of insubordination the lad would suffer; he would want his sister. Without doubt he asked for her every night in his prayers, and was consumed with desire to see her.

There was no time to lose. Elise raised herself to go and strike a bargain with the captain. But big Poidevin was still asleep. The night before he had had a great orgy in the forecastle, and he had drunk to his decision to return, emptying his mug twice more than usual.

No, it was not a flight of sea-gulls which made that long trail in the sky. It was really smoke, but not so thick, heavy, and black as that of the colliers.

What was the use of hoping! It was probably a steamer, like so many others, sailing from some English port. Poidevin might be angry if he wished; well, let him be; when one wishes a thing ought not one dare ask for it?

But this vessel really began to look like a corvette; her outlines became distinct. Through the glass, which never left her, Elise made out presently three top-masts and their yards rising gradually above the sea. The breeze was soft that morning, and her smoke, which rose high and straight, was seen first.

The lower masts appeared in their turn, and at last the hull with her guns. It was certainly a corvette under steam and sail. She was now clearly in the field of the glass. She cleft the waves with her graceful lines, and seemed as if following in their wake and in pursuit of them. In a quarter of an hour she would overtake the _Jeune-Adolphine_. It was certainly she! French colors! Yes it was she, and Firmin was aboard.

She could hardly keep her feet, she trembled so with delight. Suddenly she recovered herself, and, bursting like a puff of wind into the forecastle, cried with the full force of her lungs:

“Silvere, the corvette! We shall see Firmin.”

All the sailors were roused from their dreams; Poidevin alone snored on. Silvere sprang to his feet ready to share the delight of his betrothed.

“Examine her yourself, Silvere. I am sure my heart has not deceived me.”

Then hurriedly Elise went to the bunk where Barbet lay uncomplainingly.

“Our little Firmin is close at hand, my old Barbet. If you would only get well quickly we should be so happy, we three. What makes you scowl so? It is bad not to trust in the love of one’s friends. I will go away, you pain me.”

Two light barks recalled Elise. The dog turned toward her his mournful head and his sombre eyes.

“I forgive you, my old Barbet. Sick people are always restless and full of suspicion. Our Firmin does not forget you.”

And Elise laid her cheek softly against his nose.

“Always a warm nose, Barbet, and always these shivers! You need land air to set you up again. This time we will go home without any regrets.”

She petted him, gently smiling, stroking his head where the temples beat with fever, and his neck, whose warmth she loved, but which was now burning hot. She ran to get a fresh draught, and carefully and patiently, spoonful by spoonful, she made the sick dog drink. Then she dried his lips and put all her affection in a good-by kiss.

Opening her box, which lay in front of the bunk, she took out of it her best skirt and her most coquettish hat, and taking off her sou’wester and her oilskin dress, arrayed herself as if for a high holiday. She threw a last smile at Barbet.

“Do not be uneasy, my old Barbet. I will bring Firmin as soon as he mounts the deck.”

And while the dog followed her with a mournful look, as if overcome by some dismal foreboding, she hurried away. She was up the ladder in two bounds, and started as she saw the corvette flying the French flag close to them. She climbed the bulwarks quickly and clung there, looking for Firmin.

She saw him at the very end of the bowsprit, with nothing else to steady himself by but the ropes. There he stood, at least fifty feet away from the deck, in advance of the ship, as if hovering in the air above the sea. He was like one of those bold figures which imagination gives as guides to ships on allegorical voyages.

Elise was so frightened that she had to get down, half dazed, from the bulwarks to the solid surface of the deck.

It was truly her lad, unconscious of danger, as he always was. She did not dare to make a sign or utter a word, for fear he should be startled and lose his balance. She hid herself behind a corner of the sail, and had not yet regained her composure when the corvette came to leeward of the sloop, took in sail so as to fetch her, and began to run alongside in order to hail.

“_Jeune-Adolphine._ Captain Amable Poidevin. Official orders!”

The captain, hastily forewarned, appeared at that moment, still half dazed with sleep. He announced himself at once as the captain, and the boat stopped while the corvette came alongside.

The interchange of words between the two boats was short. A letter from the maritime prefect had arrived two days before at the station at Plymouth, ordering them to search in the Scotch seas for the _Jeune-Adolphine_, and to transfer to her the lad rescued from the sea. This letter was the result of steps taken jointly by the under-commissaires of Treport and Saint-Valery. They had joined forces in order to arrange for Elise a surprise, and to give her the pleasure of bringing home her brother.

Orders were called out on the deck of the corvette.

“Boatswain!”

An old sailor with deep wrinkles came forward.

“Bring the boy, Hénin.”

On hearing this order, Elise could not restrain herself.

“Firmin, my dear boy, my Firmin, hurry. I cannot wait.”

But when the boatswain came to call him, Firmin steadied himself by the rope and did not budge.

Elise was wild with impatience.

“Firmin, you break my heart by your delay. Come quickly. You will see Barbet.”

The boy was obstinate. Neither pleasant nor sharp words succeeded in bringing him to the deck. The boatswain ordered them to seize him. Two sailors sat astride the bowsprit, and gradually worked their way almost to the rebel. But how were they to stand erect on this slippery pole hardly large enough for the feet of a bird, and, if once erect, how could they struggle with him without twenty times risking a plunge into the sea?

The boy impassible, with a steady look and perfectly determined, watched them approach.

He had been told of the orders which had come concerning him, and refused to leave the vessel. The true life for him was not that of a hand on one of the dirty little fishing-boats smelling of brine, but that of a sailor on a glittering ship odorous of polished wood.

This new life so full of hope, this future of riches and glory, had opened to him. He did not wish to see his sister yet; he had sworn not to return until he had won the lace of a quartermaster.

But the corvette could not lie there at the caprice of a lad. After long consultations among the officers, a topman climbed to that point on the mast whence a cable runs to the very end of the bowsprit.

Then, without hesitation, without even considering the danger, he swung himself from the cable, and hand under hand he descended it slowly and evenly, so that Firmin should not suspect his coming.

The sailors who had seen the maneuver made as if to attack Firmin, in order to keep him on guard. He had his eye on them, ready to take the defensive.

Not a sound. On the two boats all the men were watching, their eyes opened, their lips closed, in their excitement.

The topman, keeping steadily on, was approaching without being seen. Two fathoms more, and the boy was taken.

Through the deep silence, like the trail of a rocket, came a long, strident cry:

“Watch the top, my little man----”

A cry which broke in on the stupor of officers and men, and reverberated, with echo after echo, far across the sea. “Watch the top, my little man.”

Overtaxed by waiting, and excited by anxiety for her boy, Elise had unconsciously shouted out a sister’s warning.

While the sailor stopped, astonished, Firmin raised his head and saw him close at hand.

He did not give even a start of surprise. Quickly and resolutely, for he was determined to escape, seeing himself cut off in front and above, he flattened himself on the bowsprit and slipped down one of the cables stretched beneath it. He hoped to reach the figure-head of Fortune, and there to find refuge from his pursuers on her breast, as on that of a protecting divinity.

Unfortunately, in his haste he made a false move, lost his balance, and disappeared under the waves.

A cry of terror re-echoed from the deck of the _Jeune-Adolphine_ like the cry of a mother in distress.

But at that very moment a boat appeared from the other side of the corvette, just in time to seize Firmin, as he came to the surface, and row him to the _Jeune-Adolphine_. Two sailors caught him under the arms, and made a rope fast around him.

“Hoist him up!”

Misery! As they were lifting him he managed to slip from the rope, fell back into the water, and disappeared from sight between the boat and the ship.

“Seize him quick. He cannot swim.”

* * * * *

Chap. 27.]

What was Elise saying--He not swim! The scamp, he could swim like a porpoise! He passed under the boat, reached the corvette, scaled her ladder, and was on the deck he loved.

“Captain, keep me. I want to become an officer.”

The captain called Elise, and they began talking again. The letter of the maritime prefect was only mandatory on one point. It directed that the boy should be taken to his sister, and this had been done. If now Elise would consent to his enlisting, they would keep her brother on board. He was cut out for a good sailor. It was a pity to deprive the country of his services.

“Come, my daughter, decide.”

Her eyes full of tears, her head drooping, her voice nearly undistinguishable, Elise gave her consent.

“Captain, it shall be as you wish, only let me embrace him.”

At last she pressed to her breast her lost child, the child she loved. What a flood of caresses, and what feverish kisses, she bestowed upon him.

“Firmin, my sweet little man, you are always beautiful. I tremble with happiness at seeing you.”

“Calm yourself, Elise, you will make the others laugh at us.”

“Have no fear. One does not laugh at those who love one another. Let me look at you.”

“Look, instead, how everything shines on a big ship.”

“It is your eyes that shine. I have no fancy for any other gleams.”

“And see how trim everything is, and how strong the rigging.”

“What do I care? It is only you that I wish to admire--a long look, a long look, so that I may carry you away in my soul and eyes at least.”

“Calm yourself, Lise. We shall meet again later on. I shall have won my rank. You will be proud.”

“Oh, no! Such gains are made at too great a cost. Since we were born, we have never been separated.”

“Elise, do go. You will make me lose my chance of being an officer. The captain will take back his word. There is an end to his patience.”

And Firmin pushed his sister to the ship’s side, where the ladder was fixed.

“Do go!”

Elise was overcome. She had had too many blows. She could restrain no longer the beating of her heart. Choking as she was, she forced herself to say good-by.

“I am going, captain. Be good to him.”

She did not know how she got back to the _Jeune-Adolphine_. She seemed deaf even to the voice of Firmin, who cried gayly:

“Good-by, Elise! You will see me with stripes on my sleeves.”

She passed without speaking before Silvere, Florimond, and Poidevin, and all the sailors grouped together, and walked rigidly to the forecastle. But she had barely reached there when her self-control gave way, and she threw herself on her box. With her head resting on the edge of the bunk, she wept beside Barbet.

“My old Barbet, he does not love us any more; he has never loved us. He did not even speak of you, old Barbet.”

With a look in which shone his tender heart, Barbet seemed to say:

“Friend, he must suffer who loves too well. If the affection of any one else can console you, be sure of mine. It is yours for life and death. Friend, there is still one who cherishes and adores you; your big Silvere, who knows not how to tell his love, but can prove it. Do you not see him silent and sad behind you. He weeps at your tears, and his heart beats in sympathy with yours. His arms are open, tell your sorrows to him. Is not a friend’s heart a refuge for all who are wounded by ingratitude?”