The works of Victor Hurgo ; [general introduction and notes by Robert Louis Stevenson]

Presented to the
LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by

K. G. Morden

TOILERS OF THE SEA

m

I

«sm

Rantaine Throwing the Coast-Guardsman From

the Clif.

Photogravure. — From Drawing by E. Duez.

Cbition ht ILuxt

THE WORKS

O F

VICTOR HUGO

VOLUME V

TOILERS OF THE SEA
BUG JARGAL

tKte Jeffersion ^regfii

X^^ 24

EDITION DE LUXE

One Thousand copies of this
edition have been printed for
sale in america, of which this is

^0

CRITICAL NOTE

BY

Robert Louis Stevenson

Superstition and social exigency having been dealt with in
Notre Dame and Les Miserahles, it remained for The Toilers
of the Sea to show man hand to hand with the elements, the
last form of external force that is brought against him. And
here once more the artistic effect and the moral lesson are
worked out together, and are, indeed, one. Gilliat, alone
upon the reef at his herculean task, offers a type of human in-
dustry in the midst of the vague " diffusion of forces into the
illimitable," and the visionary development of " wasted
labor " in the sea, and the winds, and the clouds. No char-
acter was ever thrown into such strange relief as Gilliat. The
great circle of sea-birds that come wonderingly around him
on the night of his arrival, strikes at once the note of his pre-
eminence and isolation. He fills the whole reef with his in-
defatigable toil ; this solitary spot in the ocean rings with the
clamor of his anvil ; we see him as he comes and goes, thrown
out sharply against the clear background of the sea. And
yet his isolation is not to be compared with the isolation of
Robinson Crusoe, for example ; indeed, no two books could be
more instructive to set side by side than The Toilers of the
Sea and this other of the old days before art had learned to
occupy itself with what lies outside of human will. Crusoe
was one sole centre of interest in the midst of a nature utterly
dead and utterly unrealized by the artist; but this is not how
we feel with Gilliat ; we feel that he is opposed by a " dark
coalition of forces," that an " immense animosity " surrounds
him ; we are the witnesses of the terrible warfare that he wages
with " the silent inclemency of phenomena going their own

V

vi CRITICAL NOTE

way, and the great general law, implacable and passive " ;
" a conspiracy of the indifFerency of things " is against him.
There is not one interest on the reef, but two. Just as we
recognize Gilliat for the hero, we recognize, as implied by this
indifferency of things, this direction of forces to some purpose
outside our purposes, yet another character who may almost
take rank as the villain of the novel, and the two face up to
one another blow for blow, feint for feint, until, in the storm,
they fight it epically out, and Gilliat remains the victor ; — a
victor, however, who has still to encounter the octopus. I
need say nothing of the grewsome, repulsive excellence of that
famous scene ; it will be enough to remind the reader that
Gilliat is in pursuit of a crab when he is himself assaulted by
the devil fish, and that this, in its way, is the last touch to the
inner significance of the book ; here, indeed, is the true position
of man in the universe.

But in The Toilers of the Sea, with all its strength, with all
its eloquence, with all the beauty and fitness of its main situa-
tions, we cannot conceal from ourselves that there is a thread
of something that will not bear calm scrutiny. There is
much that is disquieting about the storm, admirably as it be-
gins. I am very doubtful whether it would be possible to keep
the boat from foundering in such circumstances, by any
amount of breakwater and broken rock. I do not understand
the way in which the waves are spoken of, and prefer just to
take it as a loose way of speaking, and pass on. And lastly,
how does it happen that the sea was quite calm next day .'' Is
this great hurricane a piece of scene-painting after all? And
when we have forgiven Gilliat's prodigies of strength (al-
though, in soberness, he reminds us more of Porthos in the
Vicomte de Bragelonne than is quite desirable), what is to be
said to his suicide, and how are we to condemn in adequate
terms that unprincipled avidity after effect, which tells us
that the sloop disappeared over the horizon, and the head
under the water, at one and the same moment? Monsieur Hugo
may say what he will, but we know better ; we know very well
that they did not; a thing like that raises up a despairing

CRITICAL NOTE vii

spirit of opposition in a man's readers; they give him the lie
fiercely, as they read. Lastly, we have here already some be-
ginning of that curious series of English blunders, that makes
us wonder if there are neither proof sheets nor judicious
friends in the whole of France, and effects us sometimes with
a sickening uneasiness as to what may be our own exploits
when we touch upon foreign countries and foreign tongues.
It is here that we shall find the famous " first of the fourth,"
and many English words that may be comprehensible perhaps
in Paris. It is here that we learn that " laird " in Scotland is
the same title as " lord " in England. Here, also, is an ac-
count of a Highland soldier's equipment, which we recommend
to the lovers of genuine fun.

PREFACE

RELIGION, Society, and Nature, — these are the three
struggles of man. These three struggles are his three
needs. He has need of a faith, hence the temple ; he must
create, hence the city ; he must live, hence the plough and the
ship. But these three solutions comprise three conflicts.
The mysterious difficulty of life results from all three. Man
strives with obstacles under the form of superstition, under
the form of prejudice, and under the form of the elements, a
triple avdyKf] (fate) weighs upon us, — the avayK-q of dogmas,
the avayK-q of laws, the avayK-q of things. In " Notre-Dame
de Paris" the author denounced the first ; in " Les Miserables"
he exemplified the second ; in this book he indicates the third.
With these three fatalities which environ man mingles that in-
ward fatality, the supreme avdyKrj, the human heart.

Hauteville House, March, 1866.

IX

/ dedicate this booh to the rocJc of hospitality and liberty,
to that portion of old Norman ground inhabited by the
noble little nation of the sea: to the island of Guernsey,
austere yet kind, my present refuge, my probable tomb.

V. K,

CONTENTS

Vol. I.

PART I.— SIEUR CLUBIN

BOOK I. — The History of a Bad Reputation

Chapter Page

I. A Word written ok the Snow 1

II. The Bu de i.a Rue 3

III. For your Wife: when you Marry 8

IV. Unpopularity 11

V. MoR" Suspicious Facts about Gilliatt 21

VI. The Dutch "loop 24

VII. A Fit Tenant fc . a Haunted House 29

VIII. The Gild-Holm-'Ur 32

BOOK II. — Mess Lethierry

T. A Troubled Life, but a Quiet Conscience 35

II. One of his Whi'ts 37

III. The Old Iea Dialect 39

IV. The Vulnerable Part is where we Love 41

BOOK HI. — The Durande and Deruchette

I. Prattle and Smoke 43

II. The Old Story of Utopia 4(5

III. Rantaine 48

IV. Continuation of the Story of Utopia 52

V. The Devil Boat 54

VI. Lethierry in his Glory 59

VII. The same Godfather and the same Patron Saint . . 61

VIII. Bonnie Dundee 63

IX. The Man who discovered Rantaine's True Character . 67

X. Long Yarns 68

XI. A Glance at Future Husbands 71

XII. An Anomaly in the Character of Lethierry .... 72

XIII. Thoughtij:s8NEss adds another Charm 77

•

xii CONTENTS

BOOK IV.— The Bagpipe.
Chapter Paok

I. Gleams of Dawn or of a Conflagration 79

II. The Unknown unfolds itself by Degrees 81

III. The Air " Bonnie Dundee " finds an Echo on the Hill 84

IV. Four Years Later 85

V. A Deserved Success has always its Detractors ... 87

VI. The Sloop Cashmere saves a Shipwrecked Crew ... 89
VII. How an Idler had the Good Fortune to be seen by a

Fisherman 91

BOOK v.— The Revolver.

I. Conversations at the Jean Tavern 95

II. Clubin sees Some One 10:?

III. Clubin carries away Something and brings back Noth-

V ING 105

IV. Pleinmont 108

V. The Birds'-Nesters 115

VI. The Jacressarde 127

VII. Nocturnal Buyers and Mysterious Sellers 134

VIII. A " Carom " off the Red Ball and the Black . . . 138
IX. Useful Information for Persons who expect or fear the

Arrival of Letters from beyond Sea 148

BOOK VI. — The Drunken Steersman and the Sober Captain.

I. The Douvres 153

II. An Unexpected Flask of Brandy 156

III. Conversations interrupted 159

IV. Captain Clubin displays all his Great Remakkable

Virtues 167

V. Clubin attains the Crowning-Point of his Glory . . 173

VI. The Interior of an Abyss suddenly Revealed .... 178

VII. The Unexpected intervenes 186

BOOK VII. — The Danger of opening a Book at Random.

I. The Pearl at the Foot of a Precipice 191

II. Great Astonishment on the Western Coast .... 199
III. A Quotation from the Bible 204

TOILERS OF THE SEA

PART I

SIEUR CLUBIN

BOOK I

THE HISTORY OF A BAD REPUTATION

CHAPTER I

A WOED WRITTEN ON THE SNOW

THE Christmas of 182 — was a memorable day in Guern-
sey. There was a lieavy fall of snow on that day ; and
in the Channel Islands a winter when ice forms is unusual, and
a snow-storm is an event.

On Christmas morning the road that extends along the
beach from St. Peter's Port to the Vale was shrouded in white,
for snow had been falling from midnight until daybreak.
About nine o'clock, soon after the rising of the winter's sun,
this road was well-nigh deserted, it being too early for the
Church of England people to go to St. Sampson's, or for the
Wesleyans to repair to Eldad Chapel. In that portion of the
highway leading from the first to the second tower only three
persons were visible. Tlicsc were a child, a man, and a woman.
1

2 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Walking at a distance from each other, these pedestrians had
no apparent acquaintance with each other. The child, a boy
about eight years old, had stopped, and was looking curiously
at the wintry scene. The man walked behind the woman, at
a distance of about a hundred paces. Like her, he was com-
ing from the direction of St. Sampson. The appearance of
the man, who was still young, was like that of a workman or a
sailor. He wore his working-day clothes, — a kind of Guern-
sey shirt of coarse brown stuff, and trousers partly concealed
by tarpaulin leggings, — a costume which seemed to indicate
that, notwithstanding the holy day, he was going to no place
of worship. His heavy shoes of rough leather, with their
soles covered with large nails, left upon the snow, as he walked,
a print more like that of a prison lock than the foot of a man.
The woman, on the contrary, was evidently dressed for church.
She wore a large wadded mantle of black silk, over a coquct-
tishly made dress of Irish poplin, trimmed with red and white
bands; and but for her red stockings she might have been
taken for a Parisian. She walked with such a light, free step,
so little suggestive of the burden of life that it was easy to see
that she was young. Her movements possessed that subtle
grace which indicates that most delicate of all transitions, that
soft intermingling, as it were, of two twilights, — the transi-
tion from girlhood into womanhood. The man seemed to take
no notice of her.

Suddenly, near a group of oaks in the corner of a field, at a
spot called the Basses Maisons, she turned, and the movement
seemed to attract the attention of the man. She stopped,
seemed to reflect a moment, then stooped, and the man fancied
she was tracing some letters in the snow with her finger. Then
she rose again, went on her way at a quicker pace, turned
once more, this time smiling, and disappeared to the left of
the roadway, in the footpath which leads to the Ivy Castle.
When she turned for the second time, the man recognized
Deruchette, a charming girl of that neighbourhood.

The man felt no inclination to quicken his pace ; but some
minutes later he found himself near the group of oaks at the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 3

corner of the enclosure. Already he had ceased to think of
the vanished Deruchette ; and if, at that moment, a porpoise
had appeared above the water, or a robin had caught his eye in
the hedges, it is probable that he would have passed on with
his gaze fixed on the redbreast or the porpoise. But it hap-
pened that his eyes were fixed upon the ground, and his gaze
fell mechanically upon the spot where the girl had stopped.
Two little footprints were plainly visible there; and beside
them he read this word, evidently written by her in the
snow, —

" GILLIAT."

It was his own name. •

He lingered for a while motionless, looking at the letters,
the little footprints, and the snow; then walked on, in a
thoughtful mood.

CHAPTER II

THE BU DE I.A RUE

GILLIATT Hved in the parish of St. Sampson. He was
not liked by his neighbours; and there were good rea-
sons for the fact.

To begin with, he lived in a queer kind of " haunted "
dwelling. In the islands of Jersey and Guernsey, in the
country, or even in the town, as you pass some deserted spot
or walk through some street with many inhabitants, you will
come upon a house the entrance to which is completely bar-
ricaded. Holly bushes obstruct the doorway, rough boards
conceal the windows below ; while the casements of the upper
stories are neither closed nor open: for all the window-frames
are barred, but the glass is broken. If there is a little yard,
grass grows between its stones ; and its wall is crumbling away.
If there is a garden, it is choked with nettles, brambles, and

4 TOILERS OF THE SEA

hemlock, and strange insects abound in it. The chimneys are
cracked, the roof is falling in ; as much of the rooms as can be
seen from without presents a dismantled appearance. The
woodwork is rotten ; the stone mildewed. The wall-paper has
peeled off and hangs loose, until it presents a history of the
bygone fashions of paper-hangings, — the scrawling patterns
oif the Empire, the crescent-shaped draperies of the Di-
rectory, the balustrades and pillars of the days of Louis
XVI. The thick draperies of cobwebs, filled with flies,
indicate the quiet reign long enjoyed by innumerable spiders.
Sometimes a broken jug may be noticed on a shelf. Such
houses are considered haunted. The devil visits them by
night. *

Houses are like the human beings who inhabit them. They
become to their former selves what the corpse is to the living
body. Superstition kills them. Then their aspect is terrible.
These dead houses are common in the Channel Islands.

Rural and maritime populations are very much troubled
with regard to the Evil One. In the Channel Isles, and on the
neighbouring coast of France, the ideas of the people on this
subject are very precise. In their opinion, the devil has rep-
resentatives in all parts of the earth. It is certain that
Belphegor is the ambassador from the infernal regions in
France, Hutgin in Italy, Belial in Turkey, Thamuz in Spain,
Martinet in Switzerland, and Mamon in England. Satan is
an emperor just like any other: a sort of Satan Caesar. His
establishment is well organized. Dagon is grand almoner,
Succor Benoth, chief of the Eunuchs ; Asmodeus, banker at
the gaming-table ; Kobal, manager of the theatre, and Verdelet
grand-master of the ceremonies. Nybbas is the court-fool.
Wierus, a savant, a good strygologue, and a man of much
learning in demonolog}"^, calls Nybbas the great parodist.

The Norman fisherman, who frequent the Channel, have
many precautions to take at sea, by reason of the illusions
with which Satan environs them. It has long been an article
of popular faith that Saint Maclou inhabited the great square
rock called Ortach, in the sea between Aurignj and the Cas-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 5

kets ; and many old sailors used to declare that they had often
seen him sitting there, reading in a book. Accordingly the
sailors, as they passed, were in the habit of kneeling many
times before the Ortach rock, until the day when the fable
was destroyed, and the truth took its place. For it has been
discovered, and is now well established, that the lonely in-
habitant of the rock is not a saint, but a devil. This evil
spirit, whose name is Jochmus, had the impudence to pass him-
self off for many centuries as Saint Maclou. Even the
Church herself is not proof against delusions of this kind.
The demons Raguhel, Oribel, and Tobiel were regarded as
saints until the year 7'i5, when Pope Zachary, having at
length detected them, turned them out. To accomplish feats
like this, which are doubtless very useful, you must be a
regular connoisseur in d£vils.

The old inhabitants of these parts relate — though all this
refers to bygone times — that the Catholic population of the
Norman Archipelago was once, though quite involuntarily, in
even more intimate relations with the powers of darkness than
the Huguenots themselves. How this happened, however, we
do not pretend to say ; but it is certain that this minority suf-
fered considerable annoyance from this cause. It appears
that Satan had taken a fancy to the Catholics, and sought
their company a good deal, — a circumstance which might
give rise to the belief that the devil is more Catholic than
Protestant. One of his most insufferable familiarities con-
sisted in paying nocturnal visits to married Catholics in bed,
just at the time when the husband had fallen asleep, and the
wife had begun to doze, — a fruitful source of domestic
trouble. Patouillet was of the opinion that such was Vol-
taire's paternity. The truth of all this is perfectly well
known, and is even mentioned in the forms of excommunication
in the rubic de error'ibus nocturnis et de semine diaholorum.
The practice w^as particularly common at St. Helier's towards
the end of the last century, probably as a punishment for the
Revolution ; for the evil consequences of revolutionary ex-
cesses are incalculable. However this may have been, it is

6 TOILERS OF THE SEA

certain that this possibiUty of a visit from the demon at night,
when it is impossible to see distinctly, or even in slumber caused
much embarrassment among orthodox dames. The idea of
giving to the world a Voltaire was by no means a pleasant one.
One of these anxious ladies, consulted her confessor on this
extremely delicate subject, and the best means for a timely
discovery of the cheat. The confessor replied, " In order to
be sure that it is your husband who is by your side, and not
a demon, place your hand on his head. If you find horns,
you may be sure . . . " "Of what? " said the lady.

Gilliatt's house had been haunted, but was no longer in
that condition. It was only regarded with even more suspicion
on that account, however. No one versed in demonology can
be ignorant of the fact that when a sorcerer has installed him-
self in a haunted dwelling, the devil considers the house suf-
ficiently occupied, and is polite enough to abstain from further
visits there, — unless called in, like the doctor.

This house was known by the name of the Bu de la Rue.
It was situated at the end of a small rocky promontory which
formed a small harbourage in the creek of Houmet Paradis.
The water at this point is quite deep. The house stood quite
alone upon the point, almost separated from the island, and
with just enough ground around it for a small garden, which
was some times inundated by the high tides. Between the
port of St. Sampson and the creek of Houmet Paradis
rises a steep hill, surmounted by the block of towers covered
with ivy, and known as Vale Castle, or the Chateau de
I'Archange ; so that, at St. Sampson, the Bu de la Rue was
shut out from sight.

Sorcerers are common in Guernsey. They exercise their
profession in certain parishes in profound indiflPerence to the
nineteenth century. Some of their practices are positively
criminal. They set gold to boiling, they gather herbs at mid-
night, they cast sinister looks upon the people's cattle. When
the people consult them they send for bottles containing
" water of the sick," and they are heard to mutter myste-
riously, " the water has a sad look." In March, 1857, one of

TOILERS OF THE SEA 7

them discovered. In water of this kind, seven demons. They
are fearful and feared. Another, quite recently, bewitched a
baker, " as well as his oven." Another had the diabolical
wickedness to wafer and seal up envelopes " containing noth-
ing." Another went so far as to have on a shelf three bottles
labelled " B." These monstrous facts are well authenticated.
Some of these sorcerers are obliging, and for two or three
guineas will take on themselves the complaint from which you
are suffering. Then they roll upon their beds, and groan
with pain ; and while they are in these agonies the believer
exclaims, " There ! I am well again." Others cure all kinds
of diseases by merely tying a handkerchief round their pa-
tients' loins, — a remedy so simple that it Is astonishing that
no one had thought of it before. In the last century the
Cour Royale of Guernsey bound such folks upon a heap of
fagots and burnt them alive. In these days it condemns them
to eight weeks' imprisonment ; four weeks on bread and water,
and the remainder of the term in solitary confinement.
Amant alterna catenas.

The last Instance of burning sorcerers in Guernsey took
place In 1747. The city authorities devoted one of its
squares, the Carrefour du Bordage, to that ceremony. Be-
tween 1565 and 1700, eleven sorcerei's suffered death at this
spot. As a rule the criminals made confession of their guilt.
They were helped to confess by the application of torture.
The Carrefour du Bordage has indeed rendered many other
services to society and religion. It was here that heretics
were burned at the stake. Under Queen Mary, among other
Huguenots burnt here, were a mother and two daughters.
The name of this mother was Perrotine ]\Iassy. One of the
daughters was pregnant, and was delivered of a child in the
midst of the flames. The new-born infant rolled out of the
fiery furnace. A man named House took it in his arms ; but
Helier Gosselin, the bailiff, like a good Catholic, commanded
the child to be again cast into the fire.

8 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER III

FOR YOUR wife: when you marry

WE must return to Gilllatt.
The country people told how, towards the close of the
great Revolution, a woman, brhiging a httle child with her,
£ame to live in Guernsey. She was an Englishwoman ; that
is, unless she was a Frenchwoman. She had a name which the
Guernsey pronunciation and the country folks' bad spelling
had finally converted into " Gilliatt." She lived alone with
the child, which, according to some, was a nephew ; according
to others, a son; according to others, again, a strange child
whom she was protecting. She had some means, — enough
to struggle on in a poor way, — and she purchased a small
plot of ground at La Sergentee, and another at La Roque
Crespel, near Rocquaine. The house of the Bu de la Rue was
haunted at this period. For more than thirty years no one
had inhabited it. It was falling into ruins. The garden, so
often invaded by the sea, would produce nothing. Besides
noises and lights seen there at night-time, the house had this
alarming peculiarity : any one who should leave there in the
evening, upon the mantel-piece, a ball of worsted, a few
needles, and a plate filled with soup, would assuredly find, in
the morning, the soup consumed, the plate empty, and a pair
of mittens ready knitted. The house, demon included, was
offered for sale for a few pounds sterling.

The strange woman became the purchaser, evidently
tempted by the devil, or by the low price.

She did more than purchase the house, — she took up her
abode there with the child; and from that moment peace
reigned within its walls. " The Bu de la Rue has found a fit
tenant," said the country people. The haunting ceased.
There was no longer any light seen there save that of the tal-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 9

low candle of the new-coiner. " A witch's candle is the same
as the devil's torch." This proverb satisfied the public.

The woman cultivated several perches of land which be-
longed to her. She had a good cow, of the sort which pro-
duces yellow butter. She gathered her white beans, cauli-
flowers, and " Golden drop " potatoes. She sold, like other
people, " her parsnips by the tonneau, her onions by the hun-
dred, and her beans by the denercl." She did not go to
market herself, but disposed of her crops through the agency
of Guilbert Falliot, at the sign of the Abreveurs of St. Samp-
son. The account-book of Falliot bears evidence that he sold
for her, on one occasion, as much as twelve bushels of rare
early " three months' " potatoes.

The house had been only partially repaired ; but sufficiently
to make it habitable. It was only in very bad weather that
the rain came in. The interior consisted of a ground-floor
suite of rooms, and a garret overhead. The ground-floor was
divided into three rooms, — two for sleeping, and one for
meals. A ladder connected it with the loft above. The
woman attended to the kitchen and taught the child to read.
She did not go to church or chapel, which, all things con-
sidered, led to the conclusion that she must be French. To
attend no place of worship is a serious offence.

In short, the new-comers were a puzzle to the neighbour-
hood.

That the woman was French seemed probable. Volcanoes
cast forth stones, and revolutions men, so families are re-
moved to distant places ; human beings are compelled to pass
their lives far from their native homes ; groups of relatives
and friends disperse and decay ; strange people fall, as it
were, from the clouds, — some in Germany, some in England,
some in America. The people of the country view them with
surprise and curiosity. Whence come these strangers? Yon-
der Vesuvius smoking with revolutionary fires casts them out.
These aerolites, these famished and ruined people, these foot-
balls of destiny, are known as refugees, emigres, adventurers.
If they sojourn among strangers, they are tolerated; if they

10 TOILERS OF THE SEA

depart, there is a feeling of relief. Sometimes these wander*
ers are harmless, inoffensive people, strangers, — at least, as
regards the women, — to the events which have led to their
exile, objects of persecution, helpless projectiles astonished at
their fate. They take root again where they can. They
have done no harm to any one, and scarcely comprehend what
has befallen them. So I have seen a poor tuft of grass thrown
into the air by the explosion of a mine. No great explosion
was ever followed by more of such waifs than the first French
Revolution.

The strange woman whom the Guernsey folks called
" Gilliatt " was, possibly, such a tuft of grass.

The woman grew older ; the child became a youth. They
lived alone, shunned by all; but they were sufficient to each
other. " Wolf and wolf-cub lick each other." This was
another of the kindly proverbs which the neighbourhood ap-
plied to them. Meanwhile, the child grew to youth, the youth
grew to manhood; and then, as the old and withered bark
falls from the tree, the mother died. She left to her son the
little field of Sergentee, the small property called La Roque
Crespel, and the house known as the Bu de la Rue; with the
addition, as the official inventory said, of " one hundred
guineas in gold in the pid d'une eauche, — that is to say, in
the foot of an old stocking." The house was already suffi-
ciently furnished with two oaken chests, tMO beds, six chairs
and a table, besides necessary household utensils. On a hang-
ing shelf were some books, and in the corner a trunk, by no
means of a mysterious character, which had to be opened for
the inventory. This trunk was of drab leather, ornamented
with brass nails and little stars of white metal, and it con-
tained a bride's outfit, new and complete, of beautiful Dun-
kirk linen, — chemises and petticoats, and some silk dresses,
— with a paper on which was written, in the handwriting of
the deceased, —

" For your wife: when you marry."

This death was a terrible blow to the young man. He had
always been unsociable ; he now became sullen. The solitude

TOILERS OF THE SEA 11

around him was complete. Hitherto it had been mere isola-
tion ; now it was a blank. So long as we have one companion,
life is endurable ; left entirely alone, it seems as if it is im-
possible to drag on, and we refuse to try, which is the first
sign of despair. As time rolls on, however, we discover that
duty is a series of compromises; we contemplate life, we con-
template death, and submit ; but it is a submission which makes
the heart bleed.

Gilliatt was young, and his wound healed. At that age the
tissues of the heart reunite. His sadness, disappearing by
slow degrees, seemed to mingle itself with Nature, and to be-
come a sort of charm,- attracting him to inanimate things
and away from man, and amalgamating his soul more and
more to solitude.

CHAPTER IV

UNPOPULARITY

GILLIATT, as we have said, was not popular in the parish.
Nothing could be more natural than this antipathy.
The reasons for it were abundant. To begin with, as we have
already explained, there was the house he lived in ; then there
was his origin. Who could that woman have been? and why
this child .f^ Country people do not like mysteries about
strangers. Then his clothes were the clothes of a working-
man, while he had, although certainly not rich, sufficient to
live upon without labour; then there was his garden, which
he succeeded in cultivating, and from which he produced fine
potatoes, in spite of the equinox ; and then there were the big
books which he kept on a shelf, and used to read.

There were yet other reasons : Why did he lead that solitary
life? The Bu de la Rue was a kind of lazaretto, in which
Gilliatt was kept in strict quarantine. Hence it was quite
natural that people should be astonished at his isolation, and

12 TOILERS OF THE SEA

should hold him responsible for the solitude in which he lived.

He never went to chapel. He often wandered about at
night. He held converse with sorcerers. He had been seen,
on one occasion, sitting on the grass with an astonished air.
He haunted the druidical stones of the Ancresse, and the fairy
caverns which are scattered about in the country here and
there. It was rumoured that he had been seen politely salut-
ing the Roque qui Chante, or Crowing Rock. He bought
all the birds people brought to him, and set them at liberty.
He was civil to the worthy folks in the streets of St. Samp-
son, but willingly turned out of his way to avoid them if he
could. He often went out on fishing expeditions, and al-
ways returned with fish.

He worked his garden on Sundays. He had a bag-pipe
which he had purchased from one of the Highland soldiers
who are sometimes in Guernsey, and on which he played oc-
casionally at twilight, on the rocks by the seashore. He had
been seen to make gestures, like a sower. What could a
country become with a man like that.''

As regards the books which had been left him by the de-
ceased woman, and which he was in the habit of reading, they
were alarming. The Reverend Jaquemin Herode, rector of
St. Sampson, when he visited the house at the time of the
woman's funeral, had read on the backs of these books the
titles " Rosier's Dictionary," " Candide," by Voltaire, " Ad-
vice to the People on Health," by Tissot. A French noble,
an emigre, who had retired to St. Sampson, remarked that this
Tissot " must have been the Tissot who carried the head of the
Princess de Lamballe upon a pike."

The Reverend gentleman had also remarked upon one of
these books, the highly fantastic and threatening title, " De
Rhubarbaro."

In justice to Gilliatt, however, it must be said that this
volume being in Latin — a language which it is doubtful if he
understood — the young man had probably never read it.

But it is just those books which a man does not read, which
constitute the strongest evidence against him. The Spanish

TOILERS OF THE SEA 13

Inquisition deliberated on that point, and settled it beyond a
doubt.

The book in question, however, was no other than the
Treatise of Doctor Tilingius " on Rhubarb," published in
Germany in 1679.

It was by no means certain that Gilliatt did not prepare
philters and unholy decoctions. He undoubtedly had some
phials.

Why did he walk on the cliffs in the evening, and some-
times even at midnight? Evidently to hold converse with the
evil spirits who, envelope'd in smoke, frequented the seashore
at night.

On one occasion he had helped the witch of Torteval to
clean her chaise. This was an old woman named Moutonne
Gahy.

When a census was taken on the island, and he was ques-
tioned concerning his calling, he replied, " Fisherman ; when
there are any fish to catch." Imagine yourself in the place
of Gilliatt's neighbours, and you must admit that there is
something unpleasant about answers like this.

Poverty and wealth are comparative terms. Gilliatt had
some land and a house, his own property; compared with
those who had nothing, he was well off. One day, to try him,
and perhaps also as a step towards an acquaintance, — for
there are women who would marry the devil if he were rich, —
a young girl of the neighbourhood said to Gilliatt, " ViTien
are you going to take a wife, neighbour? " He answered,
" I'll take a wife when the Roque qui Chante takes a hus-
band."

This Roque qui Chante is a big rock, standing in a field
near the house of Mons. Lemezurier de Fry. It is a queer
sort of stone. No one knows what it is doing there. At
times you can hear an invisible cock crowing there, — an
extremely disagreeable circumstance. Then it is commonly
asserted that this stone was originally placed in the field by
the Sarregousets, who are the same as the Sins.

At night, when it thunders, if you should happen to see

14 TOILERS OF THE SEA

men flying in the lurid light of the clouds, or on the rolling
waves of the air, you may be sure they are the Sar-
regousets.

A woman who lives at the Grand Mielles knows them well.
One evening, when some Sarregousets happened to be stand-
ing at a cross-road, this woman cried out to a carter, who
did not know which route to take, " Ask them. They are
civil folks, and always ready to direct a stranger." You can
bet that this woman was a sorceress.

The learned and judicious King James I. had women of
this kind boiled alive, and then, by tasting the water of the
caldron, was able to determine from its flavour which one was
a sorceress and which one was not.

It is to be regretted that the kings of these days no longer
possess a talent which makes one realize the utility of mo-
narchical institutions.

It was not without serious grounds that Gilliatt lived
under this charge of sorcery. One midnight, during a
storm, Gilliatt being at sea alone in a bark, on the coast by
La Sommeilleuse, he was heard to ask, —

" Is there room to pass ? "

And a voice cried from the heights above, —

"Aye! Go on!"

To whom could he have been speaking, if not to those who
answered him.-^ This seems pretty convincing proof.

Another time, one stormy evening, when it was so dark
that nothing could be distinguished, Gilliatt was near the
Catiau Roque — a doubl'^ row of rocks where witches, goats,
and spectres dan'-e on F/idays — and here, it is firmly be-
lieved, that the voice of Gilliatt v/as heard mingling in the
following terrible co . rsation : —

" How is Vesin Brovard.'* " (This was a mason who had
fallen from a roof.)

" He is getting better."

" Ver dia ! he fell from a greater height than yonder
peak. It is a comfort to know that he did not break a
limb."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 15

" Our folks had fine weather for gathering sea-weed last
week."

" Ay, finer than to-day."

" I believe you. There will not be many fish in market
to-day."

" It blows too hard."

" They can't lower their nets."

" How is Catherine.'' "

" She is as charming as ever."

Catherine was evidently the name of a Sarragouset.

According to all appearances Gilliatt had work at
night : at least none doubted it.

Sometimes he was seen with a pitcher in hand, pouring
water on the ground. Now water, cast upon the ground, is
known to take a shape like that of devils.

On the road to St. Sampson, opposite the Martello
tower, stand three stones, arranged in the form of steps.
Upon the platform over these stones, once stood a cross,
or perhaps a gallows. These stones are full of evil
influences.

Staid and worthy people, and perfectly credible witnesses,
testified to having seen Gilliatt at this spot conversing with a
toad. Now there are .. > toads in Guernsey. Guernsey has
all the snakes, and Jersey har. all the toads. This toad, con-
sequently, must have ;wum across from the neighbouring is-
land in order to hold convert:: with Gilliatt. This conversa-
tion was of a very friendly kind.

These facts were clearly established; and the proof is
that the three stones are there to this day. Those who
doubt it, may go and see them ; and at a little distance, there
is also a house on which the passer-by may read this in-
scription : —

" Dealer in cattle, alive and dead, old cordage, iron,
hones, and rags, prompt payment and every attention."

A man must be sceptical indeed to contest the existence
of those stones, and of the house in question. Now both
these circumstances were injurious to Gilliatt.

16 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Only the most ignorant are unaware of the fact that the
greatest danger of tlie coasts of the Channel Islands is the
King of the Auxcriniers. No inhabitant of the seas is more
redoubtable. Whoever has seen him is certain to be wrecked
between one St. Michel and the other. He is little, being a
dwarf; and is deaf, being a king. He knows the names of
all those who have been drowned in the seas, and the places
where they lie. He knows the ocean cemetery from end to
end. A head, massive below and narrow above; a squatty
figure; a protruding stomach like a mass of jelly; a cranium,
covered with warty excrescences ; short legs, long arms, fins
for feet, claws for hands, and a broad green face,- — such is
this king. His claws have palms ; his fins, nails. Imagine a
spectral fish with the face of a human being. To get rid of
him he must be exorcised, or fished up. Meanwhile he brings
bad luck. He is horrible to look upon. Amid the rolling
waves and breakers, or in a dense fog, the sailor sometimes
discerns a beetling brow, wide nostrils, flattened ears, an
enormous mouth, gap-toothed jaws, peaked eyebrows, and
great grinning eyes. When the lightning is livid, he looks
red ; when it is purple, he looks wan. He has a stiff, square-
cut, dripping beard, overhanging a sort of cape ornamented
with fourteen shells, seven before and seven behind. These
shells are curious to those who are versed in conchology. The
King of the Auxcriniers is only seen in stormy seas. He is
the dread harbinger of the tempest. His hideous form shows
itself in the fog, in the squall, in the tempest of rain. His
breast is hideous. A scaly coat covers his body like a vest.
He rises above the waves which fly before the wind, twisting
and curling like shavings of wood beneath the carpenter's
plane. Gradually his entire form emerges out of the foam,
and if there should happen to be any vessel in distress, in
sight, his face lights up with a sinister smile, terrible to be-
hold, and he fairly dances with delight. It is an evil omen
indeed to meet him. At the time the people of St. Sampson
were so much excited on the subject of Gilliatt, the person
who had seen the King of the Auxcriniers last declared that

TOILERS OF THE SEA 17

his cape had only thirteen shells now. Thirteen ! He was
all the more dangerous on that account. But what had be-
come of the fourteenth ? Had he given it to some one ? And
to whom ? No one would say positively ; and folks confined
themselves to conjecture. But it was an undoubted fact
that a certain Mons. Lupin Mabier, of Godaines, a man of
property, paying a large amount of land tax, was ready to
testify on oath, that he .had once seen a very remarkable
shell in Gilliatt's possession.

It was not uncommon to hear dialogues like the following
among the country people : —

" I have a fine bull here, neighbour, what do you think
of him?"

" Too puffy ! neighbour."

" It is a fact, tho' 't is I who say it."

" He is better for tallow than for meat."

" Ver dia ! "

" Are you sure that Gilliatt has n't cast an eye on him.'' "

Gilliatt would stop sometimes beside a field where
some labourers were assembled, or near gardens in which
gardeners were engaged, and utter these mysterious
sayings : —

" When the mors du diable flourishes, harvest the
winter rye."

(The mors du diable is the scabwort plant.)

" The ash-tree is coming into leaf, there will be no more
frost."

" Summer solstice, thistle in flower."

" If no rain falls in June, the wheat will mildew.
Look out for smut."

" When the wild cherry fruits, beware of the full moon."

" If the weather on the sixth day of the new moon is

like that of the fourth, or like that of the fifth day, it

will be the same nine times out of twelve in the first case,

and eleven times out of twelve in the second, during the whole

month."

" Keep your eye on neighbours who go to law with you.
2

18 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Beware of evil influences. A pig that has had warm milk
given it will die. A cow that has had its teeth rubbed
with leeks will eat no more."

" In spawning time with the smelts ; beware of fevers."
" When frogs appear, sow your melons."
" When the liverwort flowers, sow your barley."
" When the limes flower, mow the meadows."
" When the elm-tree flowers, open the hot-bed frames."
" When tobacco flowers, close your greenhouses."
And, fearful to relate, following these counsels led to
success.

One night, in the month of June, when Gilliatt was play-
ing on his bagpipe, upon the sandhills on the shore of the
Demie de Fontenelle, the mackerel fishing failed.

One evening, at low water, it came to pass that a cart filled
with wrack upset on the beach, in front of Gilliatt's house.
It is probable that he was afraid of being brought before
the magistrates, for he took considerable trouble in helping
to raise the cart, and he reloaded it himself.

A little girl of the neighbourhood being troubled with
vermin, he had gone to St. Peter's Port, and had returned
with an ointment, with which he rubbed the child's head.
As Gilliatt had removed the lice, it was clear that it was
Gilliatt who had caused them.

For everybody knows that there is a charm for giving
vermin to people.

Gilliatt was suspected of looking into wells, — a dan-
gerous practice with those who have an evil eye ; and, in
fact, at Arculons, near St. Peter's Port, the water of a well
became unwholesome. The good woman to whom this well
belonged said to Gilliatt, —

" Look at this water ; " and showed him a glassful. Gil-
liatt complied.

" The water is foul," he said ; " that is true."
The good woman, who had her suspicions of him, said,
" Then make it clear again for me."

Gilliatt asked her some questions, — whether she had a

TOILERS OF THE SEA 19

stable ; whether the stable had a drain ; whether the gutter
of the drain did not pass near the well? The good woman
replied in the affirmative, Gilliatt went into the stable,
worked at the drain, turned the gutter in another direc-
tion; and the water became good again. People in the
neighbourhood might think what they pleased, but a well
does not become foul one moment and sweet the next without
good cause ; it is not natural ; and, in short, it was difficult
to escape the conclusion that Gilliatt himself had bewitched
the water.

On one occasion, when he went to Jersey, it was remarked
that he had taken a lodging at St. Clement, in the street
called the Rue des Alleurs. Now the word alleurs signifies
phantoms from the other world.

In villages it is the custom to collect all the petty details
of a man's career; and when they are put together, the
sum total constitutes his reputation.

It happened that Gilliatt was once seen with his nose
bleeding, — a grave circumstance. The master of a barque
who had sailed almost entirely round the world, affirmed that
among the Tongusians all sorcerers were subject to bleed-
ing at the nose. When you see a man bleeding at the nose,
you know the cause at once. Some persons, however, argued
that the characteristics of sorcerers among the Tongusians
might possibly not apply equally to the sorcerers of Guern-
sey.

One Michaelmas day Gilliatt had been seen to stop in a
close belonging to the Huriaux, on the highway from Vide-
clins. He whistled in the field, and a moment afterwards,
a crow alighted there ; a moment later, a magpie. The fact
was attested by a worthy man who has since been appointed
a member of the Douzaine, authorized to make a new survey
and register of the sovereign's fief.

At Hamel, in the Vingtaine of L'Epine, there lived some
old women who were positive of having heard some swallows
calhng " Gilliatt " one morning.

In addition to aU this he had a terrible temper.

20 TOILERS OF THE SEA

A man was beating an ass one day. The ass was obsti-
nate. The poor man gave him a few kicks in the belly with
his wooden slioe, and the ass fell. Gilliatt ran to raise the
ass, but he was dead ; whereupon, Gilliatt thrashed the poor
man.

Another day, Gilliatt, seeing a boy come down from a
tree with a brood of woodpeckers, newly hatched and un-
fledged, took the brood awa}' from the boy, and carried his
malevolence so far as to replace them in the tree.

Some passers-by took the boy's part; but Gilliatt made no
reply, except to point to the parent birds, who were hover-
ing and crying plaintively over the tree, as they looked for
their nest. He had a weakness for birds, — another sign
by which people distinguish a magician.

Children take great pleasure in robbing the nests of the
gulls and sea-mews along the cliffs. They bring home quan-
tities of yellow, blue, and green eggs, with which they make
chains for mantelpiece ornaments. As the cliffs are perpen-
dicular, they sometimes slip, fall, and are killed. There
seemed to be no end to Gilliatt's mischievous ingenuity.
At the risk of his life he climbed the almost inaccessible cliffs
and hung up bundles of hay, old hats, and all kinds of scare-
crows, to deter the birds from building, and, as a conse-
quence, to prevent the children from going there.

These were some of the reasons why Gilliatt was so gener-
ally disliked throughout the country. Perhaps nothing less
could have been expected.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 21

CHAPTER V

MORE SUSPICIOUS FACTS ABOUT GILLIATT

PUBLIC opinion was not quite decided yet with regard
to Gilliatt.

He was generally regarded as a Marcou: some even went
so far as to call him a Camhion. A cambion is a child be-
gotten by a devil.

When a woman bears her husband seven male children
consecutively, the seventh is a marcou. But the series must
not be broken by the birth of a girl.

The marcou has a natural fteur-de-lis imprinted upon some
part of his body ; for which reason he has the power of
curing scrofula, exactly like the King of France. Mar-
cous are found in all parts of France, particularly in the
Orleanais. Every village of the Gatinais has its marcou.
It suffices for the cure of the sick that the marcou should
breathe upon their wounds, or let them touch his fleur-de-lis.
The night of Good Friday is particularly favourable for
these ceremonies. Ten years ago the marcou of Ormes in
Gatinais, nicknamed the Beau Marcou, and consulted by
all the people of Beaucc, was a cooper, named Foulon, who
kept a horse and carriage. It was found necessary to call
in the gendarmes to put a stop to his miracles. His fleur-
de-lis was on the left breast ; other marcous have it on differ-
ent parts of the body.

There are also marcous in Jersey, Aurigny, and Guern-
sey. This fact is doubtless in some way connected with the
rights France possessed over the duchy of Normandy: or
why the fleur-de-lis?

There are also people afflicted with scrofula in the Chan-
nel Islands, which, of course, makes marcous a necessity.

Some people, who happened to be present one day when
Gilliatt was bathing in the sea, fancied that they could

22 TOILERS OF THE SEA

discern a fleur-de-lis upon him. When interrogated on the
subject he made no reply, but merely burst out laughing,
for he laughed like other men sometimes. From that time
on, however, no one ever saw him bathe: he bathed hence-
forth only in solitary places, probably by moonlight, — a
thing in itself somewhat suspicious.

Those who persisted in regarding him as a cambion, or son
of the devil, were evidently in error. They ought to have
known that cambions scarcely exist out of Germany. But
The Vale and St. Sampson were places remarkable for ig-
norance fifty years ago.

To fancy that any one in Guernsey could be the son of
the devil was evidently absurd.

The very suspicion with which Gilliatt was regarded led
people to consult him. The peasants came in fear to con-
sult him about their ailments. This very fear showed faith;
for in the country, the more the doctor is suspected, the more
certain is the cure. Gilliatt had sundry simple recipes of
his own, which he had inherited from the deceased woman.
He gave them to all who had need of them, and would never
accept pay for them. He cured whitlows with applications
of herbs. A liquor in one of his phials allayed fever. The
chemist of St. Sampson, or pharmacien, as they would call
him in France, thought that this was probably an extract of
chincona. The more generous of his critics admitted that
Gilliatt was a good enough fellow in his dealings with the
sick, so far as ordinary remedies were concerned. But as
a marcou, he would do nothing. If persons afflicted with
scrofula came to him and asked to touch the fleur-de-lis on
his skin, the only answer he gave them was to shut the door
in their faces. He obstinately refused to perform any mir-
acles,— a ridiculous stand for a sorcerer to take. No one
is compelled to be a sorcerer; but when a man is one, he
ought to do his duty.

One or two exceptions might be found to this almost
universal animosity. Sieur Landoys, of Clos-Landes, was
clerk and registrar of St. Peter's Port, custodian of docu-

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 23

ments, and keeper of the register of births, marriages, and
deaths. This Landoys boasted of his descent from Peter
Landoys, treasurer of the province of Brittany, who was
hanged in 1485. One day, when Sieur Landoys was bath-
ing in the sea, he ventured out too far, and was on the point
of drowning; GilHatt plunged into the water, narrowly es-
caping drowning himself, and succeeded in saving him.
From that time Landoys never spoke an evil word of Gilliatt.
To those who expressed surprise at this change of feeling,
he replied, " Why should I detest a man who never did me
any harm, and who has rendered me a great service ? " The
parish clerk and registrar even came at last to feel a sort of
friendship for Gilliatt. This public functionary was a man
without prejudices. He did not believe in sorcerers. He
laughed at people who were afraid of ghosts. As for him-
self, he had a boat in which he amused himself by fishing
in his leisure hours; but he had never seen anything extra-
ordinary, except on one occasion, — when he saw a woman
clothed in white rise up out of the waters in the moonlight,
— and he was not quite sure even of this circumstance.
Mountonne Gahy, the old witch of Torteval, had given him
a little bag to wear under his cravat, as a protection against
evil spirits; he ridiculed the bag, and had no idea what it
contained, though, to be sure, he kept it about him, feeling
rather more safe with the thing around his neck.

Some courageous persons, emboldened by Landoy's exam-
ple, ventured to cite, in Gilliatt's favour, certain extenu-
ating circumstances and such signs of good qualities as his
sobriety, his abstinence from gin and tobacco; and some-
times they even went so far as to utter this elegant eulogium
upon him : " He neither smokes, drinks, chews, nor snuffs."

Sobriety, however, can count as a virtue only when there
are other virtues to support it.

Public opinion was against Gilliatt.

Still, as a marcou, Gilliatt could be of great service. So
one Good Friday, at midnight, a day and an hour propi-
tious to this kind of cure, all the scrofulous people of the is-

24 TOILERS OF THE SEA

land, either by inspiration or by concerted action, presented
themselves in a crowd at the Bu de la Rue, and with pitiable
sores and imploring gestures, called on Gilliatt to make them
clean. But he refused; and herein the people recognized
his malevolence.

CHAPTER VI

THE DUTCH SLOOP

SUCH was the character of Gilliatt.
The young women considered him ugly.
But he was not ugly. He was, perhaps, even handsome.
There was something of the ancient barbarian in his pro-
file. In repose it bore some resemblance to that of the Da-
cian on Trajan's column. His ears were small, delicate,
without lobes, and of a form admirably adapted for hear-
ing. Between his eyes he had that proud vertical line,
which indicates boldness and perseverance in a man. The
corners of his mouth were depressed, giving a slight ex-
pression of bitterness. His forehead had a calm and noble
fullness. The clear pupils of his eyes possessed a steadfast
look, although troubled a little with that winking which
fishermen contract from the glitter of the waves. His laugh
was boyish and pleasing. No ivory could be a finer white than
his teeth; but exposure to the sun had made him swarthy
as a Moor. The ocean, the tempest, and the darkness can-
not be braved with impunity. At thirty he looked like a
man of forty-five. He wore the sombre mask of the wind
and sea.

The people had nicknamed him " the wicked Gilliatt."

An Indian fable relates that one day Brahma inquired of

Strength. "What Is stronger than thou?" and the spirit

replied, " Ingenuity." A Chinese proverb says, " What

couldn't the lion do, if he were a monkey, too ? " Gilliatt

TOILERS OF THE SEA 25

•was neither a lion nor a monkey ; but his achievements proved
the truth of the Chinese proverb, and of the Hindoo fable.
Although only of ordinary height and strength, he was
able, so inventive and powerful was his dexterity, to lift the
burdens of a giant, and to accomplisli the feats of an ath-
lete.

He was gifted, too, with considerable skill as a gymnast,
and could use his left hand and his right equally well.

He never carried a gun ; but was often seen with a net.
He spared the birds, but not the fish. Woe to the dumb!
He was an excellent swimmer.

Solitude makes either men of talent, or idiots. Gilliatt
presented himself under both aspects. At times, when his
features wore that air of strange surprise already mentioned,
he might have been taken for a blockhead. At other mo-
ments he had a strangely wise look. Ancient Chaldea pos-
sessed some men of this stamp. At times the dullness of the
shepherd became transparent, and revealed the magin.

After all, he was only a poor plain man; who could read
and write a little. It is probable that he was on the bound-
ary line which separates the dreamer from the thinker.
The thinker wills, the dreamer submits. Solitude has a great
effect upon pure natures and modifies them to a certain ex-
tent. They become, unconsciously, penetrated with a kind
■lof sacred awe. The shadow in which the mind of Gilliatt
dwelt was composed of two elements, both obscure, but very
different. Within himself all was ignorance and weakness;
without, infinity and mystery.

By rambling over the rocks, scaling the rugged cliffs,
going to and fro among the islands in all weathers, navigat-
ing any sort of craft that came to hand, and venturing in
difficult channels, night and day, he had also become an un-
usually skilful seaman.

He was a born pilot. The born pilot is a man who nav-
igates the bed of the ocean rather than its surface. The
surface of the sea is continually modified by the submarine
configuration of the places where the vessel is sailing. To

26 TOILERS OF THE SEA

see Gilliatt guiding his craft through the reefs and shoals
of the Norman Archipelago, one would have supposed that
he caried a chart of the bottom of the sea in his head.

He was better acquainted with the buoys in the channels
than the cormorants who make them their resting places.
The almost imperceptible differences which distinguished the
four upright buoys of the Creux, Alligande, the Tremies,
and the Sardrette were perfectly apparent to him even in
a fog. He hesitated neither at the oval, apple-headed buoy
of Anfre, nor at the triple iron point of the Rousse, nor
at the white ball of the Corbette, nor at the black ball of
Longue Pierre; and there was no fear of his confounding
the cross of Goubeau with the sword planted in the earth at
La Platte, nor the hammer-shaped buoy of the Barbees, with
the curled-tail buoy of the Moulinet.

His rare skill in seamanship showed itself in a striking
manner one day at Guernsey, on the occasion of one of those
sea tournaments which are called regattas. The feat to be
performed v,as to sail a sloop, unaided, from St. Sampson
to the Isle of Herm, a distance of one league, and then
bring the boat back from Herm to St. Sampson. To man-
age, without assistance, a boat with four sails, is a feat which
almost any fisherman is equal to, and the difficulty seemed
trifling; but there was a condition which rendered the task
far from easy. The boat, to begin with, was one of those
big heavy old-fashioned sloops which the sailors of the last
century knew by the name of " Dutch Smacks." This an-
cient style of flat, pot-bellied craft, carrying on the larboard
and starboard sides, to compensate for the lack of a keel,
two wings, which are lowered in turn according to the wind,
may still be met with occasionally at sea. In the second
place, there was the return from Herm, a journey which was
rendered more difficult by a heavy cargo of stone. The con-
ditions were to go empty, but to return loaded. The sloop
was to be the prize. It was promised to the winner. This
" Dutch Smack " had been used as a pilot boat. The pilot
who had rigged it and sailed it for twenty years was one of

TOILERS OF THE SEA 27

the most robust sailors on the chajincl. When he died, no
one had been found capable of managing the sloop ; and
it was consequently determined to make it the prize at the
regatta. The sloop, though not decked, had some excellent
sea-going qualities, and was a tempting prize for a skilful
sailor. Her mast was set rather far forward, which in-
creased the motive power of her sails, besides having the
advantage of not being in her skipper's way. It was a
strong-built vessel, heavy, but roomy, and taking the open
sea well, — in fact, a good, serviceable craft. Many were
eager for the prize ; the task was a hard one, but the reward
was worth winning. Seven or eight of the most stalwart
fishermen on the island presented themselves. One by one
they tried their skill, but not one could succeed in reaching
Herm. The last one who made the attempt was famed for
having crossed the dangerous channel between Sark and
Brecq-Hou, in a row-boat. Overcome by his exertions, he
brought the sloop back, and said, " It is impossible." Gil-
liatt then entered the bark, seized first of all the oar, then
the mainsheet, and pushed out to sea. Then, without either
making the sheet fast to the cleats, which would have been
imprudent, but leaving it free to move with the wind without
drifting, he grasped the tiller with his left hand. In three
quarters of an hour he was at Herm.

Three hours later, although a strong breeze had sprung
up and made the sea very rough, the sloop, guided by Gil-
liatt, returned to St. Sampson with its load of stone. He
had, out of bravado, even added to the cargo a little brass
cannon from Herm, which the people were in the habit of
firing on the 5th of November, when they celebrated the
death of Guy Fawkes.

Guy Fawkes, by the way, had been dead one hundred and
sixty years, — a remarkably long period of rejoicing.

Gilliatt, thus burdened and encumbered, although he had
the Guy Fawkes'-day cannon in the boat and the wind against
him, steered, or rather rowed, the heavy craft back to St.
Sampson.

28 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Seeing which, Mess Lethierry exclaimed, " There's a good
sailor for you ! "

And he held out his hand to Gilliatt.

We shall have occasion to speak of Mess Lethierry again
presently.

The sloop was awarded to Gilliatt.

This adventure detracted nothing from his evil reputation,
however.

Several persons declared that the feat was not at all as-
tonishing, as Gilliatt had concealed a branch of wild medlar
in the boat. But this could not be proved.

From that day on, Gilliatt used no boat but the old sloop.
He always went fishing in it, and kept it moored in the ex-
cellent little anchorage which he had all to himself, under the
very wall of his house. At nightfall, he threw his nets over
his shoulder, crossed his Httle garden, climbed over the stone
parapet, stepped lightly from rock to rock, and jumping
into the sloop, pushed out to sea.

He brought liome heavy hauls of fish ; but people said that
a medlar branch was always hanging up in the boat. No
one had ever seen this branch, but every one believed in its
existence.

When he had more fish than he wanted, he did not sell
them but gave them away.

The poor people accepted his gifts, but were not at all
grateful, on account of that medlar branch. Such frauds
cannot be permitted. No tricks should be played on the sea.

He was a fisherman ; but he was something more. He
had, by instinct, or for amusement, acquired some knowledge
of three or four trades. He was a fair carpenter, black-
smith, wheelwright, calker, and engineer. No one could
mend a broken wheel better than he. He manufactured, in
a fashion of his own, all the articles which fishermen use.
In one corner of the Bu de la Rue he had a small forge and
an anvil ; and the sloop having but one anchor, he had suc-
ceeded, without help, in making another. The new anchor
was excellent. The ring had the necessary strength ; and

TOILERS OF THE SEA 29

Gilliatt, though entirely unacquainted with this branch of
the blacksmith's art, had ascertained the exact dimensions for
preventing any overbalancing of the fluke ends.

He had patiently replaced all the nails in his sloop with
trunnels, thus rendering rust impossible.

In this way he had greatly improved the sea-going quali-
ties of his craft, and sometimes used it to go and spend a
month or two on some lonely island, like Chousey or the Cas-
kets. People said, " Ah, yes, Gilliatt is away ! " but this was
a fact that nobody regretted in the least.

CHAPTER VII

A FIT TENANT FOR A HAUNTED HOUSE

GILLIATT was a dreamer, hence his daring, hence, too,
his timidity. He had ideas of his own.
There was a little of the visionary and the transcendental-
ist in his character, perhaps. Hallucinations may haunt a
poor peasant like Martin, as well as a king like Henry IV.
There are times when the Unknown makes its power felt.
A sudden rent in the darkness reveals the unseen, and then
closes again. Such visions occasionally effect a complete
transformation. They convert a camel-driver into a Ma-
homet ; a peasant girl tending her goats into a Joan of Arc.
Solitude generates a certain amount of sublime exaltation
It is like the smoke arising from the burning bush. A mys-
terious mental excitement results, which converts the student
into a seer, and the poet into a prophet: hence result Horeb,
Kedron, Ombos ; the poetic inspiration of Castalian waters,
the revelations of Busion. Hence, too, result Peleia at Do-
dona, Phemonoe at Delphi, Trophonius in Lebadea, Ezekiel
on the banks of the Chebar, and Jerome in Thebias. More
frequently these visions overwhelm and stupefy a man.

30 TOILERS OF THE SEA

There is such a thhig as divine besottedness. The Hindoo
fakir is burdened by his visions as the Cretin is by his
goitre.

Luther holding converse with devils in his garret at
Wittenburg; Pascal shutting out the view of the infernal
regions with the screen in his cabinet ; the African Obi con
versing with the white-faced god Bossum ; are each and all
the same phenomenon, diversely interpreted by the minds to
which they manifest themselves, according to their capacity
and power. Luther and Pascal were grand, and are grand
still; the Obi is simply half-witted.

Gilliatt was neither so exalted nor so low. He was a
dreamer: nothing more.

Nature presented itself to him under a rather peculiar
aspect.

Having often found in the limpid waters of ocean strange
creatures of the Medusa type, of varied form and consider-
able size, which resemble soft crystal out of the water, but
which become invisible when restored to that element, by
reason of their being identical with it in texture and colour,
so he imagined that other transparent creatures similar to
those in the sea might inhabit the air. The birds are not
inhabitants of the air, but amphibious. Gilliatt could not
believe the air a mere desert. He used to say. As the water
is filled with life, why not the atmosphere? Creatures of
the same colour as the air would escape our observation.
What proof have we that there are no such creatures? Anal-
ogy indicates that the air must have its swimming habit-
ants, even as the waters have their. These aerial fish would
be diaphanous; a provision of their wise Creator for our
sakes as well as their own. Allowing the light to pass
through their forms, casting no shadow, having no definite
outlines, they would necessarily remain unknown to us, and
beyond our grasp. Gilliatt cherished the wild fancy that if
it were possible to exhaust the atmosphere of the earth or if
we could fish in the air as we fish in a pond, we should dis-
cover the existence of a multitude of strange animals.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 31

" And then, some day, many things would be made clear,"
he would add in his reverie.

Reverie, which is thought in a nebulous state, borders
closely upon sleep, by which it is bounded as by a natural
frontier. An atmosphere filled with transparent creatures
would be the beginning of a knowledge of the unknown.
Beyond, opens up the illimitable domain of the possible,
teeming with other beings, and other facts. All this would
be nothing supernatural, but merely the occult continuation
of infinite nature. In the midst of that laborious idleness,
which was the chief feature in his existence, Gilliatt was
oddly observant. He even carried his observations into the
domain of sleep. Sleep is closely connected with the possi-
ble, which we also call the improbable. The nocturnal world
has an existence of its own. Night, regarded as night, is a
universe in itself. The material nature of man, upon
which the philosophers tell us a column of air forty-five
miles in height continually presses, is tired out at night,
sinks into lassitude, lies down, and seeks rest. The eyes of
the flesh are closed ; but in that drooping head, far more ac-
tive than is supposed, ether eyes are opened. The unknown
appears. The shadowy existences of the invisible world
draw near to man. Either because there is a real communi-
cation, or because things far off in the abyss have a visionary
enlargement, the impalpable creatures inhabiting space seem
to come then to contemplate our natures, eager to compre-
hend the denizens of earth. Shadowy creatures ascend or
descend to walk beside us in the dim twilight: some beins al-
together different from ourselves, composed partly of our-
selves, partly of something or somebody else, quits his fel-
lows to whom he returns again, after presenting himself for
a moment to our inward sight; and the sleeper, not wholly
slumbering, nor yet entirely conscious, beholds around him
weird types of existence, strange vegetations, — pale spec-
tres, smiling or ten-ible, dismal phantoms, uncouth masks,
unknown faces, hydra-headed monsters, undefined shapes,
reflections of moonlight where there is no moon, vague frag-

32 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ments of monstrous forms, things wliich conic and go In the
troubled atmosphere of sleep, all those mysteries to which
men give the name of dreams, and which are, in fact, only
the presence of invisible realities. Dreams are the aquarium
of night.

At least, that was Gilliatt's opinion.

CHAPTER VIII

THE GILD-HOLM-'UR

THE curious visitor, in these days, would search Houmet
Bay in vain for the house where Gilliatt lived, or for
his garden, or the creek in which he moored his Dutch sloop.
The Bu de la Rue no longer exists. Even the little penin-
sula on which the house stood has vanished, levelled by the
pickaxe of the quarrj'man, and carried away cart-load by
cart-load, by dealers in rock and granite. It must be sought
now in the churches, palaces, and quays of the capital.
That entire ledge of rock was conveyed to London long
since.

These long lines of irregular cliffs projecting into the
sea are, in reality, miniature chains of mountains. They
give one the impression that a giant might be supposed to
have in contemplating the Cordilleras. In the language of
the country they are called " Banques." These banques
vary considerable in form. Some resemble a long spine where
each rock forms one of the vertebrae ; others are like the back-
bone of a fish ; while some bear an odd resemblance to a croc-
odile in the act of drinking.

At the extremity of the ridge on which the Bu de la Rue
stood was a large rock, which the fishing people of Houmet
called the " Beast's Horn." This rock, a sort of pyramid,
resembled, though it did not equal in height, the " Pinnacle "

TOILERS OF THE SEA 33

in Jersey. At high water the sea separated it from the
ridge, and the Horn stood alone ; at low water it was ap-
proached by an isthmus of rocks. The remarkable feature
of this " Beast's Horn " was a sort of natural seat hollowed
out by the water, and worn smooth by the rain on the side
next the sea. The seat, however, was a treacherous one.
The stranger was insensibly attracted to it by " the beauty
of the prospect," as the Guernsey folks said. Something
detained him there in spite of himself, for there is a wonder-
ful charm in an extended view. The scat seemed made for
his convenience ; it formed a sort of niche in the sheer wall
of the rock. To climb up to it was an easy matter ; for the sea,
which had fashioned it out of the rock, had also constructed
beneath it, at convenient distances, a kind of natural stair-
case composed of flat stones. The sea is full of these little
attentions ; beware of its courtesies. The seat was tempting :
the stranger climbed up to it, and sat down. There he
found himself quite at his ease ; for his seat he had the granite
rounded and hollowed out by the foam ; for arms two
rocky elbows which seemed made expressly for him ; against
his back the high vertical wall of rock which he gazed up at
and admired, without thinking of the impossibility of scal-
ing it. Nothing could be more natural than to sink into a
reverie in that capacious arm-chair. All around stretched
the wide sea ; far off the ships could be seen passing to and
fro. One could follow' a sail with the eye, till it sank below
the horizon beyond the Caskets. The stranger was en-
tranced; he gazed around him, enjoying the beauty of tlic
scene, and the soft murmur of the wind and wave. Tlicrt
is a vampire found in Cayenne, which has the power of fan-
ning people to sleep in the shade with a gentle beating of
its dusky wings. The wind is like this invisible bat, al-
ternately ravaging and lulling into security. So the
stranger contemplates the sea, listens to the wind, and yields
himself up to dreamy indolence. When the eyes are sati-
ated with light and beauty, it is a luxury to close them for a
while. Suddenly the loiterer wakes ; but it is too late. The
3

34 TOILERS OF THE SEA

sea has stolen up inch by inch; the rock is sun'ounded with
water.

The stranger is lost.

The tide rises at first imperceptibly, then violently. When
it reaches the rock a sudden fury seems to seize it, and it
foams wildly. Swimming is difficult in the breakers: ex-
cellent swimmers have been lost near the Horn of the Bu de
la Rue.

In certain places and at certain periods, to look at the sea is
fatal ; as it is at times to look at a woman.

Old inhabitants of Guernsey used to call this niche, fash-
ioned in the rock by the waves, " Gild-Holm-'Ur " seat, or
Kidormur; a Celtic word, some authorities say, which those
who understand Celtic cannot interpret, however, but which
all who understand French can — " Qui-dort-meurt : " ^ such
is the country folks' translation.

The reader may choose between the translation, Qui-dort-
meurt, and that given in 1819, I believe, in " The Armori-
can," by M. Athenas. According to this learned Celtic
scholar, Gild-Holm-'Ur signifies " The resting-place of
birds."

There is at Aurigny another seat of this kind called the
Monk's Chair, so well sculptured by the waves, and with steps
of rock so conveniently placed, that it might be said that the
sea had set a footstool for those who wished to rest there.

At high water, the Gild-Holm-'Ur is not visible ; the water
covers it entirely.

Gild-Holm-'Ur was a near neighbor of the Bu de la Rue.
Gilhatt knew it well, and often seated himself there. Was
it his meditating place? No. We have already said that
he was a dreamer. The sea, however, never surprised him.

1 Who sleeps dies.

BOOK II

MESS LETHIERRY

CHAPTER I

A TROUBLED LIFE, BUT A QUIET CONSCIENCE

MESS LETHIERRY, a prominent citizen of St. Samp-
son, was a famous sailor. He had voyaged a great
deal. He had been a cabin-boy, seaman, topmastman, quar-
ter-master, second mate, mate, pilot, and captain. He was
now a shipowner. There was not a man to compare with
him in knowledge of the sea. He was brave in putting off
to ships in distress. In foul weather he would walk the
beach, scanning the horizon. "" What is that yonder? " he
would say. " Some craft in distress." Whether it was a
Weymouth lugger, a cutter from Aurigny, a bisquine from
Courseulle, or the yacht of some nobleman, English, French
— poor or rich, or of the ver}' devil himself, it mattered
little. He jumped into a boat, called two or three strong
fellows, or did without them, as the case might be, cast off.
took the oars, pushed out to sea, rose and sank, and rose
again on rolling waves, plunged into the storm, and braved I
the danger face to face. Then afar off amid the rain and
lightning, and drenched with water, he w-as sometimes seen
upright in his boat like a lion with a mane of foam. Often
he would pass whole days in struggling with waves, the hail
and the wind, boarding foundering vessels, rescuing men and
merchandise, and wresting its prey from the storm. At

35

36 TOILERS OF THE SEA

night, after feats like these, he would go home and knit
stockings.

For fifty years he led this kind of life, — from ten years
of age to sixty, — for up to that time he considered himself
a young man. At sixty he began to discover that he could
no longer lift the great anvil of the forge at Varclin with
one hand. This anvil weighed three hundred pounds.
Then, rheumatic pains suddenly made him a prisoner; he
was forced to give up the sea, to pass from the heroic into
the patriarchal stage, to become merely a harmless worthy
old fellow.

Happily, his rheumatism did not come until he had se-
cured a competency. These two consequences of labour are
natural companions. When men acquire wealth, then comes
paralysis, — the end of life !

Old men say, " Now we can enjoy life." What a mock-
ery!

The population of islands like Guernsey Is composed either
of men who have spent their lives in tilling the fields or
sailing round the world. These are the two classes of la-
bouring people, — the labourers on land, and the toilers of
the sea. Mess Lethierry belonged to the latter class ; still
he knew the land: he had had plenty of hard work. He
had been on the continent; had worked for some time as a
ship carpenter at Rochefort, and afterwards at Cette. We
have just spoken of sailing round the world; he had also
made the tour of France, working as a journeyman carpen-
ter, and had been employed at the great salt works of
Franche-Comte. Though an honest man, he had led a life
of adventure. In France, he had learned to read and
think, and have a will of his own. He had done everything,
and in all he had done had maintained a reputation for prob-
ity. At heart, however, he was only a sailor. The water
was his element ; he used to say, " My home is with the fish."
In short, his whole existence, except two or three years, had
been devoted to the ocean, " spent in the water " as he said.
He had navigated both the Atlantic and the Pacific, but he

TOILERS OF THE SEA 37

preferred the Channel. He used to exclaim enthusiastically.
" There's a rough sea for you ! " He was born at sea, and
would have preferred to end his da^^s at sea. After sailing
several times around the world, and seeing almost every coun-
try, he had returned to Guernsey to remain permanently.
Henceforth his only voyages were to Granville and St. Malo.

Mess Lethicrry was a Guernsey man, — that is to say,
Norman ; that is to say English ; that is to say, French.
He was of this quadruple extraction, merged and almost
lost in that more extensive country, — the ocean. Thi'ough-
out his life and wheresoever lie went, he had preserved the
habits of a Norman fisherman.

All this, however, did not prevent him from dipping into
some old book now and then, from knowing the names of the
philosophers and poets, and from jabbering a little in all
languages.

CHAPTER II

ONE OF HIS WHIMS

GILLIATT was a savage. Mess Lethierry was another.
Lethierry, however, was not without refinement.
He was very fastidious on the subject of women's hands.
In his early years, while still a lad, passing from the stage
of cabin-boy to that of sailor, he had heard the Bailiff of
SufFren say, " There goes a pretty girl ; but what devilish,
big red hands she has ! " An observation from an admiral
on any subject is a command, a password, an authority far
above an oracle. The exclamation of the Bailiff of Suffren
had rendered Lethierry extremely exacting in the matter of
small, white hands. His own big, thick fist, the colour of
mahogany, a sledge-hammer in lightness, a pair of pincers
in softness, tightly closed, would break a paving-stone.

38 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He had never married; he either had no indination for
matrimony, or had never found a suitable mate. This was
due perhaps to his being a stickler for hands like those of
a duchess. Such hands are somewhat rare among the fisher-
men's daughters of Portbail.

It was said, however, that at Rochefort, on the Charente,
he had, once upon a time, found a certain grisette who
realized his ideal. She was a pretty girl with pretty hands ;
but she cursed and scratched. Woe betide any one who
attacked her ; yet her nails, capable at a pinch of serving
as claws, though exquisitely kept, were without fear and
without reproach. It was these bewitching nails which had
first enchanted and then marred the peace of Lethierry,
who, fearing that he might not always remain the master
of his mistress, decided not to conduct the young lady to
the marriage altar.

Another time he met at Aurigny a country girl who
pleased him. He was contemplating marriage, when one
of the inhabitants of the place said to him, " I congratu-
late you; you will have a good fuel maker for a wife."
Lethierry inquired his meaning. It seemed that the coun-
try people at Aurigny had a custom of collecting manure
from their cow-houses and throwing it against a wall.
There is considerable art in throwing it, and when it is dry,
it falls to the ground. Cakes of dried manure of this kind
are used for fuel, and are called coipiaux. A country girl
of Aurigny has no chance of getting a husband if she is
not a good fuel maker; but this talent put Lethierry to
flight. Besides, he always showed a plain countryman's
common-sense, and a sailor's prudence in his love affairs.
Always smitten but never enslaved, he boasted of having
been in his youth easily conquered by a cotiUon, — for what
is now called a crinoline, was in his time called a cotillon;
a tern? which signifies both something more and something
less than a woman.

These rude seafaring men of the Norman Archipelago
have a vast amount of shrewdness. Almost all of them can

TOILERS OF THE SEA 39

read and write. On Sundays, little cabin-boys may be seen
seated upon a coil of ropes, book in hand. From all time
these Norman sailors have had a peculiar satirical vein, and
have been famous for clever sayings. It was one of these
men, the bold pilot Queripel, who said to Montgomery, when
he sought refuge in Jersey after giving Henry II. that un-
fortunate blow with his lance, " Dull head has cracked empty
head." Another, Touzeau, a sea-captain of Saint Brelade,
was the author of that philosophical pun, erroneously at-
tributed to Bishop Camus, " Apres la mort, Ics papes devien-
nent papillons, et les sires deviennent cirons."

CHAPTER III

THE OLD SEA DIALECT

THE mariners of the Channel are true descendants of
the ancient Gauls. The islands, which are rapidly
becoming more and more English now, preserved for many
ages their autochthonous character. The peasant of Sark
speaks the language of Louis XIV. Forty years ago, the
old classical marine language was to be found in the mouths
of the sailors of Jersey and Aurigny. It was possible to
imagine one's self carried back to the sea life of the seven-
teenth century. A philologist might have learned the an-
cient technicalities of manoeuvring and giving orders at sea,
from the very words which were roared out to his sailors
by Jean Bart from that speaking-trumpet which terrified
Admiral Hidde. The old French maritime vocabulary is now
almost entirely changed, but was still in use in Jersey in
1820.

A ship which " held her wind " was called bon boulinier,
one that " came up into the wind " in spite of her foresails
and rudder, was un vaisseau ardent. To " go ahead " was

40 TOILERS OF THE SEA

prendre Vaire, to " lay to " was capeyer, to " make fast
running rigging " was faire dormant, to have the wind aft
was faire chapelle, to " ride easy to her cable, was faire teste,
to be " all a-wash " was etre en partenne, to have the sails
filled was porter plain. No such terms are heard to-day.
To-day it is louvoyer (to beat to windward), then it was
leauvoyer; we say naviguer, they said naviger; we say virer
rent devant (to make boards to windward), they said donner
•vent devant; we say alter de Vavant, they said tailler de
Vavant; we say tirer d* accord (pull together), they said
halez d^ accord; we say derapez (drag your anchor), they
said deplantez; we say embraquez (hoist away), they said
abraquez; we say taquets (cleats), they said bittons; we say
burins (rollers), they said tappes; we say balancines (lifts),
they said valancines; we say tribord (starboard), they said
stjTibord; we say les hommes de quart a babord (the port
watch), they said les basbourdis. Tourville wrote to Hoc-
quin court nous avons single. In place of la rafale (the
squall), le raffal; for bossoir (cathead), boussoir; for drosse
(truss), drousse; for loffer (to luff), faire une olofee; for
elonger (to lay alongside), alonger; for a " good breeze,"
survent; for jonail (stock of an anchor), jas; for soute
(hold), fosse. Such at the beginning of this century was
the language on the coast of the Channel Islands. Ango
would have been deeply moved by hearing a Jersey pilot talk.
Everywhere else sails faseyaient (shivered), in the Channel
Islands they barbeyaient. A puff of wind was a folle vente.
They had only the two old Gothic modes of setting up rig-
ging, la valture and la portugaise ; they only heard the old
orders, Tour-et-choque and Bosse et bitte. A sailor of Gi*an-
ville then used to say le clan, and a sailor of St. Aubon or
St. Sampson called it le canal de pouliot. What was a bout
d^alonge at St. Malo was oreille d'arc at St. Helier. Mess
Lethierry, exactly like the Duke of Divonne, called the con-
cave curvature of the deck (the sheer) la tonture, and a
calkcr's chisel la patarasse.

It was with this uncouth sea dialect in his mouth that

TOILERS OF THE SEA 41

Duquesne beat De Ruyter, that Duguay-Trouin defeated
Wasnaer and that Tourville, in 1681, poured a broadside
into the first galley that bombarded Algiers. It is now a
dead language. The slang, or argot, of the sea is altogether
different now. Duperre would not be able to understand
Suffren.

The language of signals is no less changed. There is a
wide difference between the four red, white, yellow, and blue
pennants, of Labourdonnais, and the eighteen flags of the
present day, which, hoisted two and two, three and three,
or four and four, furnish sixty-six thousand combinations,
for distant communication, are never deficient, and, so to
speak, foresee the unforeseen.

CHAPTER IV

THE VULNERABLE PART IS WHERE WE LOVE

MESS LETHIERRY carried his heart in his hand, —
a big heart and a big hand. His failing was that
admirable one, confidence. He had a certain fashion of his
own of undertaking to do a thing. It was a solemn fashion.
He said, " I give my word of honour to God above." That
said, he persevered to the end. He put his trust in God, —
that was all. The little that he went to church was merely out
of politeness. At sea, he was superstitious.

Nevertheless, the storm had never yet arisen that could
daunt him. One reason of this was his dislike of opposition.
He would tolerate it neither from the ocean nor anything else.
He meant to have his own way : so much the worse for the sea
if it thwarted him. It might try, if it would, but Mess
Lethierry would not give in. An angry wave could no more
stop him than an angry neighbour. What he wished to say
he said ; what he planned to do was done. He bowed neither

42 TOILERS OF THE SEA

before an objection nor before the tempest. The word *' no "
had no existence for him, whether it was in the mouth of a
man or in the angry muttering of the thunder-cloud. In
spite of everything he went his way. He would take no re-
fusal. Hence his success in life, and upon the ocean.

He seasoned his simple meal of fish soup for himself, know-
ing the quantity of pepper, salt, and herbs which it required,
and enjoyed preparing it as much as he enjoyed eating it.
A being whom a pea-jacket transfigured and a great-coat de-
graded ; who, with his hair floating in the wind, resembled
Jean Bart, but who, in a round hat, looked like Jocrisse ;
awkward in cities, wild and redoubtable at sea ; shoulders fit
for a porter; no oaths, rarely angry, a soft voice, which be-
came thunder in a speaking-trumpet ; a peasant who had read
the Encyclopjedia ; a Guernsey man who had seen the Revolu-
tion ; a learned ignoramus, free from bigotry, but a believer
in visions, with more faith in the White Lady than in the
Holy Virgin ; possessing the figure of Polyphemus, the logic
of a weathercock, the perseverance of Columbus, with a little
of the bull-dog in his nature, and a little of the child ; flat
nose, strong cheeks, a set of still perfect teeth, a face filled
with wrinkles, and which seemed to have been buffeted by the
waves and reddened by the winds for forty years ; deeply
furrowed brow, on which traces of many a tempest were
plainly written, — the very personification of a rock in the
open sea ; add to this, a good-natured smile, and you have
Mess Lethierry,

Mess Lethierry had two objects of affection, — Durande
and Deruchette.

BOOK III
THE DURANDE AND DERUCHETTE

CHAPTER I

PRATTLE AND SMOKE

THE human body may well be regarded as a mere sham ;
it hides our real nature ; it darkens our light and ovir
shadow. The soul is the realit3^ Strictly speaking, the
human face is a mask. The real man is that which is con-
cealed beneath the man. If the being which thus exists
sheltered and secreted behind that illusion which we call the
flesh, could be approached, more than one strange revelation
would result. The common error is to mistake the outward
for the real being. Yonder maiden, for example, if we could
see her as she really is, might figure as a bird.

A bird in the shape of a young maiden, what could be
more exquisite,'^ Picture it in your own home, and call it
Deruchette. Charming creature ! One might almost be
tempted to say " Good-morning, Mademoiselle Goldfinch."
The wings are invisible, but the soft chirping can be heard.
Sometimes, too, she sings. In her prattle she is inferior, but
in her song how superior to man ! There is mystery in her
song; a virgin is an angel in disguise. When womanhood
dawns, the angel flies away ; but returns later, bringing a
little one to a mother. Meanwhile, she who will one day be a
mother remains for a long while a child; the child lingers in
a maiden, and makes her remind us of a lark. As we note

43

44 TOILERS OF THE SEA

her nioveincnts we feel as if it were very good of her not
to fly away. Our dear household companion moves about
at her own sweet will ; flits from branch to branch, or rather
from room to room; goes to and fro; approaches and re-
tires; plumes her wings, or combs her hair, and makes all
kinds of gentle sounds, — sounds of unspeakable delight in
your ears. She asks a question, and is answered; is asked a
question in turn, and chirps a reply. We chat with her. To
chat with her is a relief after talking ; for this creature carries
wath her something of the sky. She gladdens your heart ; you
feel grateful to her for being so light, so volatile, so elusive,
and for her kindness in not making herself invisible, when it
would be such an easy matter. In this world the beautiful is
necessary.

There is no duty more important than that of being
charming. The forest-glade would be incomplete without
the humming-bird. To shed joy around, to radiate hap-
piness, to illumine dark days, to be the golden thread of our
destiny, and the very spirit of grace and harmony, is not this
to render a service? Beauty confers an inestimable boon
upon us, merclj^ by being beautiful. Here and there we
meet with one who possesses that fairy-like power of enchant-
ing all about her; sometimes she herself is ignorant of this
magical influence, which is, however, for that very reason,
only the more powerful. Her presence brightens; her ap-
proach w^arms ; she passes by, and we are content ; she lingers
awhile, and we are happy. To behold her is to live; she is
Aurora with a human face. She has no need to do more
than simply exist ; she makes the house an Eden ; and she im-
parts this happiness to all, without taking any greater trouble
than to exist beside them. To have a smile which, for some
inexplicable reason has the power to lighten the weight of
that enormous chain which all the living drag after them, is
it not, — what shall I call it? — divine? Deruchette pos-
sessed this smile: we may even say that Deruchette was this
smile. There is something that resembles us more strongly
than our face, and that is our expression ; but there is another

TOILERS OF THE SEA 45

thing that resembles us still more, and that is our smile.
Deruchette smiling was Deruchette.

There is something peculiarly attractive in the Jersey and
Guernsey race. The women, particulai'ly the young women,
are remarkable for a flower-like and exquisite beauty. They
possess the Saxon fairness, with the Norman freshness, — rosy
cheeks and blue eyes ; but the eyes lack brilliancy. The
English training dulls them. Their liquid glances will be
irresistible whenever the secret is found of giving them that
depth which is the chief charm of the Parisienne. Deruchette
was not a Parisian ; 3'et she v/as certainly not a Guernsiaise.
Lethierry had brought her up to be neat and delicate and
pretty ; and so she was.

Deruchette had, at times, an air of coquetry, and a gleam
of mischief in the eye, which were altogether involuntary.
She scarcely knew, perhaps, the meaning of the word love,
and yet was not unwilling to ensnare those around her in its
toils. But all this was mere caprice. She had never once
thought of marrying. The old emigre nobleman who had
taken root at St. Sampson said, " That little girl is a born
flirt ! "

Deruchette had the prettiest little hands in the world, and
feet to match them : quatrc pattes de mouche. Mess Lethierry
called them. Sweetness and goodness reigned in her heart ;
her only relative and means of support was her uncle Mess
Lethierry ; her only occupation was to live her daily life ; her
only accomplishments were a few songs ; her intellectual gifts
her beauty ; her greatest charm her simple innocence and in-
genuous heart. She had the graceful repose of the Creole,
mingled at times not only with giddiness and vivacity, but
with the teasing playfulness of a child, though not without a
dash of melancholy. Her dress was somewhat insular,
and like that peculiar to her country, — elegant, but in-
correct ; for she wore flowers on her bonnet all the year round.
Add to all this an open brow, a neck supple and graceful,
chestnut hair, a fair skin slightly freckled by exposure to
the sun, a rather large but wholesome mouth wreathed from

46 TOILERS OF THE SEA

time to time by an adorable but dangerous smile. That was
Deruchette.

Sometimes in the evening, a little after sunset, when the
dusk of the sky mingles with the dusk of the sea, and twi-
light invests the waves with a mysterious awe, the people be-
held, entering the harbour of St. Sampson, a strange, weird
thing, — a huge monster that puffed and blew ; a horrible
thing that roared like a wild beast, and smoked like a volcano ;
a species of hydra foaming among the breakers, and leaving a
dense cloud behind it as it rushed on towards the town with
a frightful beating of its fins, and a throat belching forth
flame. This was the Durande.

CHAPTER II

THE OLD STORY OF UTOPIA

A STEAMBOAT was a prodigious novelty in the waters
of the Channel in 182-. The whole coast of Nor-
mandy was wildly excited by it. Nowadays, ten or a dozen
steamers, crossing and re-crossing within the limits of the
horizon, scarcely receive a glance from loiterers on the shore,
though occasionally some person pecuniarily interested in
such matters may try to discover by the colour of the smoke
whether they burn Welsh or Newcastle coal. They pass, and
that is all. " Welcome," if coming home ; " a pleasant pas-
sage," if outward bound.

People were much excited on the subject of these wonder-
ful inventions in the first quarter of the present century ;
and the new and strange machines, with their long lines of
smoke, were regarded with special animosity by the Channel
Islanders. In that Puritanical Archipelago, where the Queen
of England was strongly censured for violating the Scrip-
tures ^ by using chloroform during her accouchements, the

1 Genesis, chap. ill. v. 16.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 47

first steam-vessel which made its appearance received the name
of the " Devil Boat." In the eyes of these worthy fishermen,
once Catholics, now Caivinists, but always bigots, it seemed
to be a part of the infernal regions which had been in some
wa}' set afloat. A local preacher selected for his discourse
the question of " Whether man has a right to make fire and
water work together when God has separated them." ^ This
beast, composed of fire and iron, did it not resemble the
Leviathan? Was it not an attempt to bring chaos again into
the universe.'' This is not the only occasion on which the
progress of civilization has been stigmatized as a return to
chaos.

" A mad notion — a gross delusion — an absurdity I "
Such was the verdict of the Academy of Sciences when con-
sulted by Napoleon on the subject of steamboats, early in
the present century. The poor fishermen of St. Sampson are
certainly excusable for not being wiser than the savants of
Paris in scientific matters ; and in religious matters a little
island like Guernsey is not expected to be more enlightened
than a great continent like America. In the year 1807, when
Fulton's first steamboat, built at the expense of Livingston,
furnished with one of Watt's engines, sent from England,
and managed by two Frenchmen, Andre Michaux and another
man, in addition to her ordinary crew, made her first trip
from New York to Albany, it happened that she set sail on
the 17th of August. The Methodists noted this important
fact, and in numerous chapels preachers were heard calling
down the wrath of Heaven on the invention, and declaring
that this number 17 was no other than the sum total of the
ten horns and seven heads of the beast of the Apocalypse. In
America they likened the steamboat to the beast in the book
of Revelation ; in Europe, to the serpent in the book of
Genesis. That was the only difl^erence.

The savants had rejected steamboats as impossible; the
priests had anathematized them as impious. Science had

1 Genesis, chap. i. v. 4.

48 TOILERS OF THE SEA

condemned them, and religion consigned them to perdition.
Pulton was a new incarnation of Lucifer. The simple people
on the coasts and in the villages were confirmed in their
prejudice by the terror that they felt at the strange sight.
The religious objections to steamboats may be summed up as
follows : " Water and fire were divorced at the creation.
This divorce was enjoined by God himself. Man had no
right to put asunder what God has joined, or to join what he
has put asunder." The peasant's objection was simply, " I
don't like the look of the thing."

No one but Mess Lethierry, perhaps, could have been found
in those days daring enough to dream of such an enterprise
as the establishment of a steamboat line between Guernsey
and St. Malo. He, alone, as an independent thinker, was
capable of conceiving such an idea, or, as a hardy mariner,
of carrying it out. The French part of his nature, probably,
conceived the idea ; the English part supplied the energy to
carry it into execution.

How and when this was done we will now inform the
reader.

CHAPTER III

BANTAINE

ABOUT forty years prior to the events related in this
narrative, there stood in the suburbs of Paris, near
the city wall, between the Fosse-aux-Loups and the Tombe-
Issoire, a house of doubtful reputation. It was a lonely,
dilapidated building, a place well adapted for evil deeds.
Here lived, with his wife and child, a sort of city bandit, — a
man who once had been clerk to an attorney practising at the
Chatelet, but who had subsequently turned thief and later
figured unpleasantly in the Court of Assizes. The name of
this family was Rantaine. On a chest of mahogany drawers

TOILERS OF THE SEA 49

in the old house were two china cups, ornamented with flowers,
on one of which appeared, in gilt letters, the words, " A token
of friendship," on the other, " A token of esteem," The
child grew up in an atmosphere of vice in this wretched home.
The father and mother having belonged to the lower middle
class, the boy had learned to read. The mother, pale and al-
most in rags, gave " instruction " as she called it, me-
chanically, to the little one, heard him spell a few words,
pausing in the lesson to accompany her husband on some
thieving expedition, or to earn the wages of prostitution.
Meanwhile the book, " The Cross of Jesus," remained
open on the table as she had left it, and the boy sat beside
it, dreaming.

The father and mother, taken flagrante delicto in one of
their criminal enterprises, disappeared into the night of penal
servitude. The child, too, disappeared.

Lethierry, in his wanderings about the world, stumbled one
day on an adventurer like himself, helped him out of some
scrape, took a fancy to him, and brought him to Guernsey,
where, finding him apt in learning the duties of a sailor
aboard a coasting vessel, he made hiKL a, companion. This
stranger was the little Rantaine, now grown to manhood.

Rantaine, like Lethierry, had a bull-like neck, a wonderful

breadth of shoulder, and loins like those of the Farnese

Hercules. Lethierry and he had the same gait and the same

build ; but Rantaine was the taller of the two. People who

saw only their backs as they walked side by side along the

wharf, exclaimed, " There go two brothers." On looking

them in the face the effect was very different : all that was

open in the countenance of Lethierry v/as closed in that of

Rantaine. Rantaine was cautious. Rantaine was an expert

swordsman, played on the harmonica, could snuff a candle at

twenty paces with a pistol-ball, could strike a tremendous

blow with his fist, recite verses from Voltaire's "Henriade,"

and inter2:)rct dreams ; he knew by heart " Les Tombeaux de

Saint Denis," by Treneuil. He talked sometimes of having

had relations with the Sultan of Calicut, " whom the Por-
4

50 TOILERS OF THE SEA

tuguese call the Zamorin." If any one had seen the little
memorandum-book which he carried about with him, he would
have found notes and jottings of this kind: " In Lyons, in
a crack in the wall of one of the cells in the prison of St.
Joseph, a file is hidden." He always spoke with great de-
liberation, and called himself the son of a Chevalier de Saint
Louis. His linen was miscellaneous in character, and marked
with many different initials. No one was ever more sensitive
than he on any point of honour; he had fought a duel and
killed his man.

Strength used to conceal cunning; that was Rantaine.

It was the strength of his fist, used one day at a fair,
upon a Turk's head, which had first won Lethierry's
heart.

No one in Guernsey knew anything about his adventures.
They had been of a checkered kind. If the great theatre of
destiny had a special wardrobe, Rantaine ought to have taken
the dress of harlequin. He had seen the world, and knew life
thoroughly ; he had sailed around the world. He had run
the gamut of all possible trades and avocations, had been a
cook in Madagascar, trainer of birds in Sumatra, a religious
journahst in the Galapagos Islands, a general in Honolulu, a
poet in Oomrawuttee, a freemason in Hayti. In the latter
character he delivered a funeral oration at Grand Goave, of
which the local journals have preserved this fragment: —

" Farewell, then, noble spirit. In the azure vault of heaven, through
which thou art now winging thy flight, thou wilt, no doubt, meet the good
Abbe Leander Crameau, of Little Goave. Tell him that, thanks to ten
years of glorious efforts, thou hast completed the church of the Ansa-a-
Veau. Adieu ! transcendent genius, model mas ... ! "

His freemason's mask did not prevent him, as we see, from
donning a little of the Roman Catholic. The first won over
to his side the men of progress, and the last, the men of
order. He declared himself a white of pure caste, and hated
the negroes ; though, for all that, he must certainly have been
an admirer of the Emperor Soulouque. In 1815, at Bor-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 51

deaux, he was a Bourbonist, — the intensity of his royalist
enthusiasm displaying itself in the shape of a huge white
feather in his cap. His life had been a series of sudden
eclipses, — of appearances, disappearances, and reappear-
ances. He was a sort of revolving light upon the coast of
scampdom. He knew a little Turkish : instead of " guil-
lotined," he always said nehoisse. He had been a slave in
Tripoli, in the house of a Thaleb, and had learned Turkish
by dint of blows with a stick. His principal employment had
been to stand of evenings at the door of the mosque, to read
aloud to the faithful the Koran inscribed upon slips of wood,
or the shoulder-blades of a camel. It was probable that he
was a convert to Mahometanism.

He was capable of everything, and even worse.

He had a trick of laughing loud and knitting his brows at
the same time. He used to say, " In politics, I esteem only
men inaccessible to influences ; " or, " I am in favour of de-
cency and morality." His manner was rather cheerful and
cordial than otherwise ; but the expression of his mouth contra-
dicted the words that issued from it. His nostrils had an odd
habit of distending themselves. In the corners of his eyes he
had a little net-work of wrinkles, in which all sorts of dark
thoughts seemed to lurk. It was there alone that the secret
of his physiognomy could be thoroughly studied. His flat
foot was a vulture's claw. His skull was flat on top and
broad at the temples. His ill-shapen ear, bristling with hair,
seemed to say, " Beware of accosting the animal in this
cave."

One fine day, in Guernsey, Rantaine was suddenly missing.

Lethierry's partner had flown leaving the treasury
empty.

In the treasury there was some money of Rantaine's,
no doubt, but there were also fifty thousand francs be-
longing to Lethierry.

By forty years of industry and probity as a coaster and
ship-builder, Lethierry had saved one hundred thousand
francs. Rantaine had robbed him of half that sura.

52 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Though nearly ruined, Lcthicrry did not lose heart, but
began at once to think how to repair his shattered fortunes.
A stout heart may be ruined in fortune, but not in spirit.
It was just about that time that people began to talk of
steamboats. Lethierry conceived the idea of trying Fulton's
invention, and connecting the Channel Islands with the French
coast by one of these boats. He staked his all upon this
project; he devoted the rest of his savings to it.

So six months after Rantaine's flight, the astonished people
of St. Sampson beheld, issuing from the port, a vessel dis-
charging huge volumes of smoke, and looking like a ship on
fire at sea. This was the first steamboat seen in the Channel.

This vessel, to which the people in their dislike of and con-
tempt for innovations immediately gave the nickname of
" Lethierry's Galley," was announced as intended to maintain
a constant communication between Guernsey and St. Malo.

CHAPTER IV

CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OP UTOPIA

IT is needless to say that the new enterprise did not prosper
much at first. The owners of cutters plying between
the Island of Guernsey and the French coast were loud in their
outcries, and bitterly denounced this attack upon the Holy
Scriptures and their monopoly. The chapels began to ful-
minate against it. One reverend gentleman, named Elihu,
stigmatized the new steamboat as an " atheistical construc-
tion ; " and the sailing-vessel was declared the only orthodox
craft. The people saw the horns of the devil among the cat-
tle which the fire-ship carried to and fro. This storm of
protest continued a considerable time. At last, however, peo-
ple began to discover that these animals arrived less tired and
sold better, their meat being superior; that the sea risk was

TOILERS OF THE SEA 53

less also for passengers ; that this mode of travelling was less
expensive, quicker, and more sure ; that they started at a fixed
time, and arrived at a fixed time ; that consignments of fish
travelling faster arrived fresher, and that it was now possible
to find a sale in the French markets for the surplus of great
hauls of fish so common in Guernsey. The butter, too, from
the far-famed Guernsey cows, made the passage quicker in
the " Devil Boat " than in the old sailing-vessels, and lost
none of its good qualities, insomuch that Dinan, in Brittany,
began to become a customer for it, as well as St. Bricuc and
Hcnnes. In short, thanks to what they called " Lethierry's
Galley," the people enjoyed safe travelling, regular com-
munication, prompt and easy trips to and fro, an increase of
business, an extension of markets and of commerce, and,
finally, they began to find it necessary to patronize this " Devil
Boat," which flew in the face of the Holy Scriptures, and
brought wealth to the island. Some daring spirits even went
so far as to express a positive satisfaction at it. Sieur
Landoys, the registrar, bestowed his approval upon the vessel,
an undoubted piece of impartiality on his part, as he did
not like Lethierry, — first of all, because Lethierry was en-
titled to the dignity of " Mess," while Landoys was merely
" Sieur Landoys ; " then, although registrar of St. Peter's
Port, Landoys was a parishioner of St. Sampson, and as there
was no one in the entire parish devoid of prejudices except
these two, the least they could do was to detest each other.
Two of a kind, says the proverb, rarely agree.

Sieur Landoys, however, had the honesty to speak a good
word for the steamboat. Others followed Landoys' example.
Little by little, these facts multiplied. The growth of opinion
is like the rising tide. Time and the continued and increasing
success of the venture, with the evidence of real service ren-
dered, and the improvement in the general welfare, gradually
converted the people; and the day at length arrived when,
with the exception of a few wiseacres, every one admired
" Lethierry's Galley."

It would probably win less admiration nowadays. This

54 TOILERS OF THE SEA

steamboat of forty years ago would doubtless provoke a smile
among our modern boat-builders ; for this marvel was ill-
shaped, this prodigy was clumsy and infirm.

The difference between our grand Atlantic steam-vessels
of the present day, and the boats with wheel-paddles which
Denis Papin floated on the Fulda in 1707, is not more marked
than that between a three-decker, like the Montebello, 200
feet long, 50 broad, having a mainyard of 115 feet, carrying
a weight of 3000 tons, 1100 men, 120 guns, 10,000 cannon-
balls, and 160 packages of canister, belching forth at every
broadside, when in action, 3300 pounds of iron, and spreading
to the wind, when it moves, 5600 square metres of canvas, and
the old Danish dromond of the second century, discovered,
full of stone hatchets, and bows and clubs, in the mud on the
seashore, at Wester-Satrup, and preserved at the Town Hall
at Flensburg.

Exactly one hundred years — from 1707 to 1807 —
separate the first paddle-boat of Papin from the first steam-
boat of Fulton. " Lethierry's Galley " was assuredly a great
improvement upon those two rough attempts. For all that,
it was a masterpiece in its way. Every scientific discovery in
embryo presents that double aspect, hideous as a foetus, mar-
vellous as a germ.

CHAPTER V

THE DEVIL BOAT

LETHIERRY'S GALLEY was not masted with a view
to sailing well, — a fact which was not a defect ; it
is, indeed, one of the laws of naval construction. Besides,
her motive power being steam, her sails were only accessory.
A paddle steamboat, moreover, is almost insensible to sails.
The new steam-vessel was too short, round, and thick-set. She
had too much bow, and too much quarter. The daring of

TOILERS OF THE SEA 55

inventors had not yet reached the point of making a steam-
vessel Hght ; Lethierry's Galley had some of the defects of
Gilliatt's Dutch sloop. She pitched very little, but she rolled
a good deal. Her paddle-boxes were too high. She had
too much beam for her length. The massive machinery en-
cumbered her; and to make her capable of carrying a heavy
cargo, her constructors had raised her bulwarks to an unusual
height, giving to the vessel the defects of old seventy-fours,
— a model which would have to be cut down to render them
really seaworthy, or fit to go into action. Being short, she
ought to have been able to come about quickly, the time em-
ployed in a manoeuvre of that kind being in proportion to the
length of the vessel ; but her weight deprived her of the ad-
vantage of her shortness. Her midship-frame was too broad,
a fact which retarded her, — the resistance of the sea. being
proportioned to the section below the water-line, and to the
square of the speed. Her stern was vertical, which would not
be regarded as a fault at the present day, but at that period
it was invariably sloped at an angle of forty-five degrees. All
the curves of the hull were well designed, but not long enough
to give a good entrance, or to be parallel to the prism of
water displaced, which ought always to be thrown off laterally.
In bad weather she drew too much water, either fore or aft,
which indicated a mistake as to the centre of gravity. The
cargo not being where it ought to be, owing to the weight of
the engine, the centre of gravity was sometimes aft of the
mainmast, and then she had to rel}' on steam and furl her
mainsail, for in this case the sail made her fall off. When she
was lying close to the wind, they had to let go the spanker,
leaving the jib and forestaysail, while the mainsail was useless.
This manoeuvre was difficult. The rudder was of the old-
fashioned kind, not the wheeled one of the present time, but
with a tiller, fastened by stays to the sternpost, and moved by
a horizontal spar beneath the tiller. Two skiffs, a species of
canoe, were suspended to the davits. The vessel had four
anchors, — the sheet anchor, the second or working anchor,
and two bower anchors, These four anchors, slung by chains,

56 TOILERS OF THE SEA

were moved, according to the occasion, by the great capstan of
the poop, or by the small capstan at the prow. At that
period the pump windlass had nob superseded the intermittent
efforts of the old handspike. Having only two bower anchors,
one on the starboard and the other on the larboard side, the
vessel could not move head and stern, a disadvantage in cer-
tain cases, though she could aid herself at such times with the
second anchor. The buoys were normal, and constructed to
carry the buoy ropes of the anchors without dipping. The
long boat was of serviceable size, able to raise the main anchor.
A novelty about her was the firmness of the standing rigging
and the use of chains which left the mobility of the running
rigging unimpaired. The masting, though secondary, was
good, and the tops well proportioned. The ribs were solid
but coarse, steam not requiring the same delicacy as sail-
propulsion. Her speed was six knots an hour. When lying-
to she rode well. Take her as she was, " Lethierry's Galley "
was a good sea boat; but people felt that, in moments of
danger from reefs or water-spouts she would be hardly man-
ageable. She creaked like an ill-made thing, and as she rolled
in the waves made a noise like a new shoe.

She was, above all, a merchandise boat, and, like all ships
built more for commerce than for fighting, was constructed
exclusively with a view to stowage. She carried very few pas-
sengers. The transportation of cattle rendered the stowage
difficult and very peculiar. Vessels carried bullocks at that
time in the hold, which was a complication of the difficulty.
At the present day they are stowed on the fore-deck. The
paddle-boxes of Lethierry's " Devil Boat " were painted
white, the hull, down to the water-line, red, and all the rest
of the vessel black, according to the rather ugly fashion of
that time. When empty she drew seven feet of water, and
when laden, fourteen.

As regards the engine, it was a powerful one, — that is,
one-horse power to every three tons burden, which is almost
equal to that of a tugboat, Tlic paddles were well placed, a
little ill advance of the centre of gravity of the vessel. The

TOILERS OF THE SEA 57

maximum pressure of the engine was equal to two atmos-
pheres. It consumed a great deal of coal, although it was
constructed on the condensation and expansion principles. It
had no governor on account of the instability of the point
of support ; but this was to some extent remedied by two cranks
at the extremity of the revolving shaft, so fixed that the one
was at right angles when the other was at the dead point.
The whole rested upon a single cast-iron plate, so that even in
a case of severe damage it would not lose its equilibrium, and
an injury to the hull would not be an injury to the machinery.
The boiler was in sections, and provided with a pump. The
wheels were very large, which diminished the loss of power;
and the smokestack very high, which increased the draught
of the fire. But the size of the wheels exposed them to the
violence of the waves, and the height of the smokestack ex-
posed it to the wind. Wooden floats, iron clamps, copper
journals, — such were the wheels, which, strange as it may
seem, could be dismounted. Three floats were always in the
water at once. The speed of the centre of the floats was only
one sixth more than the speed of the vessel, — a great defect.
Besides, the cranks of the valves were too long, and the slid-
ing-valve did not admit the steam equably. The main con-
necting-rod was near the cylinder, thus transferring the centre
of oscillation of the walking-beam from the middle. Since
that time the discovery of oscillating cylinders has superseded
connecting-rods. For that period the engine seemed, and
really was, admirable. It had been constructed in France, at
the works of Bercy. Mess Lethierry had made a rough
sketch of it ; the engineer who had constructed it in accordance
with this plan was dead, so that the engine was unique, and
probably could not have been replaced. The designer still
lived, but the builder was no more.

The engine had cost forty thousand francs.

Lethierry had himself constructed the " Devil Boat " upon
the great covered stocks by the side of the first tower between
St. Peter's Port and St. Sampson. He went to Bremen to
buj the wood. All his skill as a shipwright was exhausted

58 TOILEBS OF THE SEA

in its construction ; his ingenuity might be seen in the planks,
the scams of which were straight and even, and covered with
sarangousti, — an Indian mastic, better than resin. The
sheathing was well beaten. To remedy the roundness of the
hull, Lcthierry had fitted a boom on the bowsprit, which en-
abled him to add another staysail to the regular one. On
the day of the launch, he cried aloud, " I am afloat at last."
The vessel proved a success, in fact, as the reader has already
learned.

Either by chance or design she had been launched on the
14th of July, the anniversary of the taking of the Bastille.
On that day, mounted on the bridge between the two paddle-
boxes, Lethierry gazed down upon the sea, and exclaimed,
" It is your turn now ! The Parisians took the Bastille, now
science takes the sea."

Lethierry's boat made the trip from Guernsey to St. Male
once a week. She started on Tuesday morning and returned
on Friday evening, in time for the Saturday market. She
was a ,>tror>gcr craft than any of the large coasting sloops in
the Archipelago, and her capacity being in proportion to her
dimensions, one of her voyages was equal to four voyages of
an ordinary boat in the same trade ; hence they were very
profitable. The reputation of a vessel depends on its stow-
age, and Lethierry was an admirable stower of cargo. When
he was no longer able to M'ork himself, he trained up a sailor
to undertake this duty. At the end of two years, the steam-
boat yielded a clear profit of seven hundred and fifty pounds
sterling a year, or eighteen thousand francs. The pound
sterling of Guernsey is worth twenty-four francs only, that
of England twenty-five, and that of Jersey twenty-six. These
differences are more important than they seem: the banks, at
all events, know how to turn them to account.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 59

CHAPTER VI

liETHIERRY IN HIS GLORY

THE " Devil Boat " prospered. Mess Lethierry began
to look forward to the time when he should be called
" Monsieur." At Guernsey, a man does not become " mon-
sieur " at a single bound. Between the plain man and the
gentleman, there is quite a scale to climb. To begin with, we
have the simple name, plain " Peter," let us suppose ; the
second step ia " Neighbour Peter ; " the third, " Father
Peter; " the fourth, " Sieur Peter; " the fifth, " Mess Peter; "
and then we reach the summit in " Monsieur Peter."

This scale ascending is carried to still greater heights. All
the upper classes of England join on and continue it. Here
are the various steps, becoming more and more glorious.
Above the Monsieur, or " Mr.," there is the " Esquire ; "
above the squire the knight ; above the knight, still ascending,
we have the baronet, the Scotch laird, the baron, the viscount,
the earl (called count in France, and jarl in Norway), the
marquis, the duke, the prince of the blood royal, and the king :
so, by degrees, we ascend from the people to the middle class,
from the middle class to the baronetage, from the baronetage
to the peerage, from the peerage to royalty.

Thanks to his successful ingenuity, thanks to steam and
his engines and the " Devil Boat," Mess Lethierry was fast
becoming an important personage. While building his ves-
sel he had been compelled to borrow money. He had gone
in debt at Bremen, he had gone in debt at St. Malo; but
every year he diminished his obligations.

He had, moreover, purchased on credit, at the very en-
trance to the port of St. Sampson, a pretty stone house, en-
tirely new, situated between the sea and a garden. On the
corner of this house was inscribed the name of " Les Bravees."
The front formed a part of the wall of the port itself, and it

60 TOILERS OF THE SEA

was remarkable for a double row of windows, — on the north,
overlooking a little enclosure filled with flowers, and on the
south commanding a view of the ocean. So the house had
two facades, one open to the tempest and the sea, the other
looking into a garden filled with roses.

These two frontages seemed made for the two inmates of
the house, — Mess Lethierry and Deruchette.

The " Bravees " was popular at St. Sampson ; for Mess
Lethierry had at length become a popular man. This pop-
ularity was due partly to his good-nature, perseverance, and
courage ; partly to the number of lives he had saved ; and in
a great measure to his success, and to the fact that he had
awarded to St. Sampson the honour of being the port of de-
parture and arrival of the new steamboat. Having made the
discovery that the " Devil Boat " was decidedly a success, St.
Peter's, the capital, desired to secure it for that port; but
Lethierry held fast to St. Sampson. It was his native town.
" It was there that I was first pitched into the water," he used
to sa}'^, — hence his great local popularity. His position as
a small landed proprietor paying land-tax, made him, what
they call in Guernsey, an unhabitant. He was chosen
douzenier. The poor sailor had mounted five out of the six
steps of the Guernsey social scale ; he had attained the dignity
of " Mess ; " he was rapidly approaching the Monsieur ; and
who could predict whether he might not even rise liigher than
that? who could say that they might not some day find in the
almanac of Guernsey, under the heading of " Nobility and
Gentry," the startling inscription, — "Lethierry, Esq.? "

But Mess Lethierry had no vanity in his nature, or if he
had he despised it ; to knoAV that he was useful was his chief
delight ; to be popular pleased him less than being necessary ;
he had, as we have already said, only two objects of affection
and consequently only two ambitions, — the Durande and
Deruchette.

However this may have been, he had embarked in the lottery
of the sea, and had gained the chief prize.

This chief prize was the Durande steaming away in all her
pride.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 61

CHAPTER VII

THE SAME GODFATHER AND THE SAME PATRON SAINT

"AVING built his steamboat, Lethlerry had christened
it: he had called it " Durande "— " La Durande."
We will speak of her henceforth by no other name; we will
claim the liberty, also, in spite of typographical usage, of not
italicizing this name Durande, conforming in this to the
notion of Mess Lethierry, in whose eyes the Durande was al-
most a living creature.

Durande and Deruchette are really the same name.
Deruchette is the diminutive.

This diminutive is very common in the west of France,

In the country the names of saints are endowed with all
their diminutives as well as all their augmentatives. One
might suppose there were several persons when there is, in
fact, only one. This system of patrons and patronesses un-
der different names is by no means rare. Lise, Lisette, Lisa,
Elisa, Isabclle, Lisbeth, Betsy, — all these are simply Eliza-
beth. It is probable that Mahout, Maclou, Malo, and Ma-
gloire are the same saint ; this, however, we do not vouch for.

Saint Durande is a saint of I'Angoumois, and of the
Charente ; whether she is an orthodox member of the calendar
is a question for the Bollandists: orthodox or not, she has
been made the patron saint of numerous chapels.

It was while Lethierry was a young sailor at Rochefort
that he had made the acquaintance of this saint, probably
in the person of some pretty Charantaise, perhaps in that of
the girl with the beautiful nails. The saint had made suffi-
cient impression on his mind for him to give the name to tlie
two things which he loved most, — Durande to the steamboat,
Deruchette to the girl.

He was the father of one, the uncle of the other.

Deruchette was the daughter of a brother who had died ;

62 TOILERS OF THE SEA

she was an orphan child ; he had adopted her, and had taken
her father's and mother's place.

Deruchette was not only his niece, she was his godchild ;
he had held her in his arms at the baptismal font ; it was he
who had chosen her patron saint, Durande, and her Christian
name, Deruchette.

Deruchette, as we have said, was born in St. Peter's Port.
Her name and the date of her birth were recorded on the
parish register.

As long as the niece was a child, and the uncle poor, no-
body took heed of her appellation of Deruchette ; but when the
little girl became a miss, and the sailor a gentleman, the name
of Deruchette shocked the feelings of Guernsey society. The
uncouthness of the sound astonished every one. Folks asked
Mess Lethierry, "Why Deruchette?" He answered, "It is
a very good name in its way." Several attempts were made
to induce him to change the baptismal name, but he would
not be persuaded. One day, a fine lady of the upper circle
of society in St. Sampson, the wife of a rich retired iron-
founder, said to Mess Lethierry, " I shall call your daughter
Nancy in the future."

" Why not Lons le Saulnier.? " he retorted. The fine lady
did not yield her point, and on the morrow said, " We are
determined not to have it Deruchette ; I have found a pretty
name for your daughter — Marianne." " A very pretty
name, indeed," replied Mess Lethierry, " composed of two
stupid brutes, — a husband and an ass." ^ He held fast to
Deruchette.

It would be a mistake to infer from Lethierry's pun that
he had no wish to see his niece married. He desired to see
her married, certainly, but in his own way; he intended her
to have a husband after his own heart; one who would work
hard, and whose wife would have little to do. He liked rough
hands in a man, and delicate ones in a woman. To prevent
Deruchette from spoiling her pretty hands he had always
brought her up like a lady ; he had provided her with a music-

1 A play upon the French words, mart aud due.

4

TOILERS OF THE SEA 63

master, a piano, a little library, and a few needles and silks
in a pretty work-basket. She was. Indeed, more often reading
than stitching; more often playing than reading. This was
exactly what Mess Lethierry wished. To be charming was all
he expected of her. He had reared the young girl like a
flower. Whoever has studied the character of sailors will
understand this: rude and hard in their nature, they have a
strange partiality for grace and delicacy. To realize the
idea of the uncle, the niece ought to have been rich ; so, indeed,
felt Mess Lethierry. His steamboat travelled for this pur-
pose. The Durande's mission was to provide a marriage por-
tion for Deruchette.

CHAPTER VIII

BONNIE DUNDEE

DERUCHETTE occupied the prettiest room at the
Bravees. It had two windows, was furnished with
various articles made of fine-grained mahogany, had a bed
with green and white curtains, and looked out upon the garden,
and beyond it towards the high hill, on which stands Vale
Castle. Gilliatt's house, the Bu de la Rue, was on the other
side of this hill.

Deruchette had her music and piano in this chamber; she
accompanied herself on the instrument when singing the mel-
ody which she preferred, — the melancholy Scottish air of
" Bonnie Dundee." The very spirit of night breathes in this
melody ; but her voice was full of the freshness of dawn.
The contrast was quaint and pleasing ; people said, " Miss
Deruchette is at her piano."

The passers-by at the foot of the hill stopped sometimes
before the wall of the garden of the Bravees to listen to
that sweet voice and plaintive song.

64 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Dtiruchette was the very embodiment of joy as she moved
to and fro about the house. She created a perpetual spring
around her. She was beautiful, but rather pretty than beau-
tiful, and still more graceful than pretty. She reminded
the good old pilots, friends of Mess Lethierry, of that
princess in the song which the soldiers and sailors sing, who
was so beautiful: —

" Qu'elle passait pour telle dans le regiment."

Mess Lethierry used to say, " she has a head of hair like a
ship's cable."

From her infancy she had been remarkable for beauty.
Connoisseurs in such matters had grave doubts about her nose,
but the child, having probably determined to be pretty, had
finally satisfied their requirements. She grew to girlhood
without any serious loss of beauty ; her nose became neither
too long nor too short ; and when she was grown up, her
critics admitted her to be charming.

She never addressed her uncle otherwise than as father.

Lethierry allowed her to soil her fingers a little in garden-
ing, and even in some light household duties ; she watered
her beds of hollyhocks, purple foxgloves, perennial phloxes,
and scarlet bennets. She took advantage of the climate of
Guernsey, so favourable to flowers. She had, like every-
body there, aloes in the open ground, and, what is more diffi-
cult, she succeeded in cultivating the Nepaulcse cinquefoil.
Her little kitchen-garden was admirably arranged; she was
able to produce many kinds of rare vegetables from it. She
sowed Dutch cauliflower and Brussels cabbages, which she
thinned out in July, turnips for August, endive for Sep-
tember, short parsnip for the autumn, and rampions for win-
ter. Mess Lethierry did not interfere with her in this, so
long as she did not handle the spade and rake too much,
or meddle with the coarser kinds of garden labour.

He had provided her with two servants, one named Grace,
and the other Douce, which are favourite names in Guern-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 65

sey. Grace and Douce did the hard work of the house and
garden. It was all right for them to have red hands.

With regard to Mess Lethierr}^, his room was a little re-
treat with a vieAv of the harbour, and communicating with
the principal room on the ground-floor, close by the outside
door near which the various staircases met.

His room was furnished with his hammock, his chronom-
eter, and his pipe; there was a table, too, and a chair. The
ceiling had been whitewashed, as well as the walls. A fine
marine map, bearing the inscription, " W. Faden, 5 Charing
Cross, Geographer to His Majest}^," and representing the
Channel Islands, was nailed up by the side of the door, and
on the left, stretched out and fastened with other nails, Avas
one of those large cotton handkerchiefs on which are printed,
in colours, the signals of all the countries in the world, hav-
ing at the four corners the standards of France, Russia,
Spain, and the United States, and in the centre the union-
jack of England.

Douce and Grace were two faithful creatures. Douce was
good-natured enough, and Grace was good-looking. Douce
was unmarried, and secretly had " a gallant." In the Chan-
nel Islands the word is common, as indeed is the fact itself.
The two servant girls had something of the creole in their
character, a sort of slowness in their movements, not out of
keeping with the Norman spirit which pervades the relations
of servant and master in the Channel Islands. Grace, coquet-
tish and good-looking, was always thinking anxiously of the
future.

This arose not only from the fact of her having, like
Douce, " a gallant," but also, as the scandal-loving averred,
a sailor husband, whose return she greatly dreaded. This,
however, does not concern us. In a household less aus-
tere and less innocent, Douce would have continued to be
the servant, but Grace would have become the soubrette. The
dangerous talents of Grace were lost upon a young mistress
as pure and good as Deruchctte. For the rest, the intrigues

of Douce and Grace were carefully concealed. Mess Lethi-
5

66 TOILERS OF THE SEA

erry knew nothing- of such matters, and no token of them
had ever reached Deruchette.

The main room on the ground-floor, a hall with a large
fireplace and surrounded with benches and tables, had served
in the last century as a meeting-place for a conventicle of
French Protestant refugees. The sole ornament of the bare
stone wall was a sheet of parchment, set in a frame of black
wood, on which some of the charitable deeds of Benigne Bos-
suet, Bishop of Meaux, were depicted. Some poor diocesans
of this " Eagle," persecuted by him at the time of the Rev-
ocation of the Edict of Nantes, and driven to take shelter
at Guernsey, had hung this picture on the wall to preserve
the remembrance of those facts. The spectator who had the
patience to decipher a rude writing in faded ink might have
learned the following facts, which are but little known: —

" October 29, 1685, Monsieur the Bishop of Meaux appeals to the
king to destroy the temples of Morcef and Nanteuil." — " April 2,
1686, Arrest of Cochard, father and son, for their religious opinions,
at the request of Monsieur the Bishop of Meaux, the Cochards hav-
ing recanted, are released." — " October 28, 1699, Monsieur the Bishop
of Meaux sen': to Mde. Pontchartrain a petition of remonstrance,
pointing out that it will be necessary to place the young ladies named
Chalandes and de Neuville, who are of the reformed religion, in the
House of the 'New Catholics' at Paris."— " July 7, 1703, the kings
order executed as requested by Monsieur the Bishop of Meaux, for
shutting up in an asylum Baudouin and his wife, two bad Catholics
of Fublaines."

At the end of the hall, near the door of Mess Lethierry's
room, was a little corner with a wooden partition, which
had been the Huguenot's sanctum, but which had become,
thanks to its row of rails and a small hole to pass paper
or money through, the steamboat office; that is to say,
the office of the Durande, kept by Mess Lethierry in person.
Upon the old oaken reading desk, where the Holy Bible
once rested, lay a great ledger with its alternate pages
headed Dr. and Cr.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 67

CHAPTER IX

MAN WHO DISCOVEEED RANTAINe's TRUE CHARACTER

SO long as Mess Lethlerry had been able, he had com-
manded the Durande, which had had no other pilot or
captain but himself; but a time had come, as we have said,
when he had been compelled to find a successor. He had
chosen for that purpose Sieur Clubin, of Torteval, a taci-
turn man. Sieur Clubin had an enviable reputation for strict
probity on the coast. He became the alter ego, the double
of Mess Lethierry.

Sieur Clubin, though he looked more like a notary than
a sailor, was a mariner of rare skill. He had all the talents
which are required to meet dangers of every kind. He was
a skilful stower, a safe man aloft, an able and careful
boatswain, a powerful steersman, an experienced pilot, and
a bold captain. He was prudent, and he carried his pru-
dence sometimes to the point of daring, which is a great
virtue at sea. His natural apprehensiveness of danger was
tempered by a strong instinct of what was possible in an
emergency. He was one of those mariners who take almost
any risk up to a certain point, and who generally manage
to come successfully out of every peril. Every certainty
which a man can command, dealing with so fickle an ele-
ment as the sea, he possessed. Sieur Clubin, moreover, was
a renowned swimmer ; he was one of those men who are accus-
tomed from childhood to buffet with the waves, and who can
remain as long as they please in the water; who can start
from the Havre-des-Pas at Jersey, double the Colettes, swim
round the Hermitage and Castle Elizabeth, and return in two
hours to the point from which they started. He came from
Torteval, where he was said to have often swum across the
much dreaded passage, from the Hanway rocks to Pleinmont
Point.

68 TOILERS OF THE SEA

One circumstance which had recommended Sieur Clubin
to Mess Lethierry more than any other, was the correct es-
timate he had formed of Rantaine's character. He had
pointed the dishonesty of the man out to Lethierry, and had
said, " Rantaine will rob you." His prediction was verified.
iMore than once — in matters of but trivial importance, it is
true — Mess Lethierry had put his ever-scrupulous honesty to
the proof; and he always talked with him freely on business
matters. Mess Lethierry used to say, " Entire confidence de-
mands like confidence in return."

CHAPTER X

LrONG YARNS

MESS LETHIERRY, for the sake of his own ease always
wore his seafaring clothes, and generally preferred his
sailor jacket to his pilot jacket. Deruchette felt a little vexed
at this peculiarity. Nothing is prettier than a pouting
beauty. She laughed and scolded. " My dear father," she
would say, " what a smell of pitch ! " and she would give him
a gentle tap on his broad shoulders.

This good old seaman had picked up many wonderful
stories during his voyages. He had seen in JNIadagascar
birds' feathers, three of which sufficed to make a roof of a
house. He had seen in India field sorrel, with stalks nine
inclies high. In New Holland, he had seen troops of turkeys
and geese led about and guarded by a bird, like a flock by a
sheperd's dog; this bird was called the Agami. He had vis-
ited elephants' cemeteries. In Africa, he had encountered
gorillas, a formidable species of man-tiger, seven feet high.
He knew the ways of all the ape tribe, from the wild dog-
faced monkey, which he called the Macaco-hravo, to the howl-
ing monkey or Macaco-harhado. In Chili, he had seen a

TOILERS OF THE SEA 69

gucnon excite the compassion of the huntsman by showing
its httle one. He had seen in Cahfornia the hollow trunk of
a prostrate tree, so huge that a man on horseback could ride
one hundred and fift}^ yards inside. In Morocco, he had
seen the Mozabites and the Bisskris fighting with matraks and
bars of iron, — the Bisskris, because they had been called
kelbs, which means dogs; and the Mozabites, because they
had been treated as khamsi, which means people of the fifth
sect. He had seen in China the pirate Chanh-thong-quan-
larh-Quoi cut to pieces for having assassinated the Ap of a
village. At Thu-dan-raot, he had seen a lion carry off an
old woman in the open market-place. He was present at the
arrival of the Great Serpent brought from Canton to Saigon
to celebrate the fete of Quan-nam, the goddess of navigators
in the pagoda of Cho-len. He had beheld the great Quan-
Su among the Moi. In Rio de Janeiro, he had seen Brazilian
ladies in the evening put little gauze bags in their hair, each
containing a beautiful kind of firefly, the whole forming a
head-dress of twinkling stars. He had fought in Uruguay
with swarms of enormous ants, and in Paraguay with spiders,
big and downy as an infant's head, that can encompass a di-
ameter of a third of a yard with their long legs, and attack
men by pricking them Avith their bristles, which penetrate the
skin like arrows, and raise painful blisters. On the river
Arinos, a tributary of the Tocantins, in the virgin forests to
the north of Diamantina, he had determined the existence of
the horrible bat people, the Murcilagos, or men who are born
with white hair and red eyes, who live in the shady solitudes
of the woods, sleep by day, and fish and hunt in the dark,
seeing better then than by the light of the moon. He told
how, near Beyrout, once in the encampment of an expedition
of which he formed a part, a rain-gauge belonging to one
of the party happened to be stolen from a tent. A wizard,
wearing two or three strips of leather only, and looking like
a man having nothing on but his braces, thereupon rang a
bell at the end of a horn so violently that a hyjena finally an-

70 TOILERS OF THE SEA

swered the summons by bringing back the missing instru-
ment. The hyasna was, in fact, the thief.

These pretended true stories bore a strong resemblance to
fictions ; but they amused Deruchette.

The poupee or " doll " of the Durande was the connecting
link between the vessel and Lethierry's niece. Poupee is
what the people of the Channel Islands call the figure-head
of a ship. Hence, for " to be aboard," they say " to be be-
tween the poop and the poupee."

The poupee of the Durande was particularly dear to Mess
Letliierry.

He had instructed the carver to make it resemble Deruchette.
It looked like a rude attempt to cut out a face with a hatchet,
or like a clumsy log trying hard to look like a girl.

This unshapely block had a great effect upon Mess Lethi-
erry's imagination, however. He regarded it with almost su-
perstitious admiration. His faith in it was complete. He was
able to trace in it an excellent resemblance to Deruchette,
for thus the dogma resembles the truth and the idol the
deity.

Mess Lethierry had two grand fete days in every week, —
one Tuesday, the other Friday. His first enjoyment con-
sisted in seeing the Durande sail ; his second in seeing her
come back, tie leaned upon his elbows at the window con-
templating his work, and was happy. To quote Genesis,
Et vidit quod esset honum.

On Fridays, the appearance of Mess Lethierry at his win-
dow was a signal. When people passing the Bravees saw
him lighting his pipe, they said, " Ah, the steamboat is in
sight." One kind of smoke was the herald of the other.

The Durande, when she entered the port, made her cable
fast to a huge iron ring fixed in the basement of the house,
under Mess Lethierry's window. On those nights, Lethierry
slept soundly in his hammock, with a soothing consciousness
of the presence of Deruchette asleep in her room near him,
and of the Durande moored near him.

The moorings of the Durande were close to the great bell

TOILERS OF THE SEA 71

of the port. A little strip of quay extended from it to the
door of the Bravees.

The quay, the Bravees and its house, the garden, the walks
bordered with hedges, and even the surrounding houses, no
longer exist. The demand for Guernsey granite has invaded
these also. The whole of this part of the town is now occu-
pied by stone-cutters' yards.

CHAPTER XI

A GLANCE AT FUTURE HUSBANDS

DERUCHETTE was approaching womanhood, and was
still unmarried.

Mess Lethierry in bringing her up to have white hands
had also made her rather fastidious. A training of that kind
has its disadvantages.

Besides Lethierry himself was still more fastidious. The
husband he desired for Deruchette was also to be a sort of a
husband for Durande. He would have liked to provide at the
same time for both his daughters ; to find in the guide and
companion of the one, a commander for the other. What is a
husband but the pilot on the voyage of matrimony? Then
why not have the same captain for the vessel and for the
girl.'' The affairs of a household have their tides, their ebbs
and flows, and he who knows how to steer a bark, ought to
know how to guide a woman's destiny, subject as both are
to the influences of the moon and the wind. Sieur Clubin,
being only fifteen years younger than Lethierry, would neces-
sarily be only a provisional master for the Durande. It would
be necessary to find a young captain, a permanent master,
a true successor of the founder, inventor, and builder. A
permanent captain for the Durande would have been almost
a son-in-law in Lethierry's eyes. Why not make him a son-

72 TOILERS OF THE SEA

in-law in a double sense? The idea pleased him. The hus-
band of Deruchcttc haunted his dreams. His ideal was a
powerful seaman, tanned and browned by exposure to the
weather, — a sea athlete. This, however, was not exactly
Deruchettc's ideal. Her dreams were more romantic.

The uncle and the niece agreed in not being in haste. When
Deruchette began to be regarded as a probable heiress, a
crowd of suitors presented themselves. Attentions under such
circumstances are generally not worth much. Mess Lethierry
felt this. He would grumble out the old French proverb,
" A maiden of gold, a suitor of brass," as he politely showed
the fortune-hunters to the door. He was content to wait, and
so was Deruchette.

Strange to say, he had very little admiration for the local
aristocracy. In this respect Mess Lethierry showed himself
no Englishman. It will hardly be believed that he even re-
fused a Ganduel of Jersey, and a Bugnet-Nicolin of Sark for
Derucliette. People were bold enough to affirm, although we
doubt if this were possible, that he had even declined the
proposals of a member of the family of Edou, which is evi-
dently descended from " Edou-ard " the Confessor.

CHAPTER XII

AN ANOMALY IN THE CHARACTER OF LETHIERRY

MESS LETHIERRY had a failing, and a very serious
one. He detested a priest; not as an individual, but
as an institution. Reading one day — for he used to read — •
in a work of Voltaire — for he used to read Voltaire — the
remark that priests " have something cat-light in their na-
ture," he laid down the book and was heard to mutter, " Then,
I suppose, I have something dog-like in mine."

It must be remembered that the priests — Lutheran and

TOILERS OF THE SEA 73

Calvinist, as well as Catholic — had vigorously combated the
new " Devil Boat," and persecuted its inventor. To be a sort
of revolutionist in the art of navigation, to introduce a spirit
of progress in the Norman Archipelago, to disturb the peace
of the poor little island of Guernsey with a new invention,
was in their opinion a rash and abominable act. Nor had
they neglected to condemn it pretty loudly. It must not be
forgotten that we are now speaking of the Guernsey clergy
of a bygone age, very different from those of the present
time, who display a laudable sympathy with progress in al-
most all the local places of worship. They had embarrassed
Lethierry in a hundred ways ; every sort of opposing force
which can be found in sermons and discourses having been em-
ployed against him. Detested by the churchmen, he natu-
rally came to detest them in his turn. Their hatred was the
extenuating circumstance to be taken into account in judging
of his.

But it must be confessed that his dislike of priests was, in
some degree, a part of his very nature. It was hardly neces-
sary for them to hate him in order to inspire him with similar
aversion. As he said, he moved around among them like a
dog among cats. He had an antipathy to them, not only
in idea, but in what is more difficult to analyze, his instincts.
He felt their claws, and showed his teeth ; sometimes, it must
be confessed, a little at random and out of season. It is a
mistake to make no distinctions ; a dislike to a class is a prej u-
dice. Even the good Savoyard cure had found no favour in
his eyes. It is by no means certain that there was such a
thing as a worthy priest in Lethierry's opinion. His philos-
ophy was carried so far that his good sense sometimes aban-
doned him. There is such a thing as intolerance on the part
of tolerants, as well as violence of moderates. But Lethierry
was too good-hearted to be a thorough hater. He avoided
rather than attacked them. He kept the church people at a
distance. He suffered injury at their hands; but he confined
himself to not wishing them any good. The shade of differ-
ence, in fact, between his aversion and theirs, lay in the fact

74 TOILERS OF THE SEA

that they felt animosity, while he had only a strong anti-
pathy. Small as the island of Guernsey is, there is plenty of
room for diiferences of religion, unfortunately. The Catho-
lic faith and the Protestant faith both flourish there. It
does not put the two religions in the same church, and every
form of worship has its temple or chapel. In Germany, at
Heidelberg, for example, people are not so particular; they
divide a church in two parts, one half for St. Peter, the other
half for Calvin, and between the two is a partition to prevent
religious variances from terminating in a fight. The divi-
sions are equal; the Catholics have three altars, the Hugue-
nots, three altars. As the services are at the same hours, one
bell summons both denominations ; it rings, both for God and
for Satan. Nothing can be more simple.

The phlegmatic character of the Germans favours this pe-
culiar arrangement, I suppose ; but in Guernsey every religion
has its own domicil; there is the orthodox parish and the
heretic parish ; the individual may choose. " Neither one nor
the other," was the choice of Mess Lethierry.

This sailor, workman, philosopher, and trader, though a
simple man in appearance, was by no means simple in reality.
He had his opinions and his prejudices. On the subject of
the priests, he was immovable ; he would have entered the lists
with Montlosier.

Occasionally he indulged in very disrespectful jokes. He
had certain odd expressions peculiar to himself, but significant
enough. Going to confession he called " combing one's con-
science." The little learning that he had picked up here
and there between the squalls at sea, did not prevent liim from
making blunders in spelling. He also made many mistakes
in pronunciation, some of which, however, gave a double mean-
ing to his words, that might have been intentional.

Though he was a strong anti-papist, that fact by no means
conciliated the Anglicans. He was no more popular with the
Protestant rectors than with the Catholic cures. The enunci-
ation of the greatest dogmas did not prevent his anti-theo-
logical temper from bursting forth. Accident, for example,

TOILERS OF THE SEA 75

having once compelled him to hear a sermon on eternal punish-
ment, by the Reverend Jaquemin Herode, — a magnificent dis-
course, filled from beginning to end with scriptural texts,
proving the everlasting pains, the tortures, the torments, the
perditions, the inexorable chastisements, the burnings without
end, the inextinguishable maledictions, the wrath of the Al-
mighty, the celestial fury, the divine vengeance, and other
incontestable realities, — he was heard to say as he was going
out in the midst of the faithful flock, " You see, I have a very
peculiar opinion about such matters ; I imagine God is good."

This leaven of atheism was doubtless due to his sojourn in
France.

Although a Guernsey man of pure extraction, he was known
on the island as " the Frenchman ; " but chiefly on account
of his " improper " manner of speaking. He made no at-
tempt to conceal the truth from himself. He was impregnated
with ideas subversive of established institutions. His obsti-
nacy in constructing the " Devil Boat " had proved that. He
used to say, " I have an '89 head " — a doubtful sort of
avowal.

These were not his only indiscretions. In France " to pre-
serve appearances," in England " to be respectable," is es-
sential to a quiet life. To be respectable implies a multitude
of little observances, from the strict keeping of Sunday
down to the careful tying of a cravat. " To act so that no-
body may point a finger at you ; " this is the terrible social
law. To be pointed at with the finger is almost the same
thing as an anathematization. Little towns, always hotbeds
of gossip, are remarkable for that isolating malignancy, which
is like the tremendous malediction of the Church seen through
the wrong end of the telescope. The bravest are afraid
of this ordeal. They are ready to confront the storm, the
fire of cannon, but they shrink from the glance of " Mrs.
Grundy." Mess Lethierry was more obstinate than logical;
but under pressure even his obstinacy would bend. He
put — to use another of his phrases, eminently suggestive of
latent compromises, not always pleasant to avow — " a little

76 TOILERS OF THE SEA

water in liis wine." He kept aloof from the clergy, but
he (lid not absolutely close his door against them. On official
occasions, and at the customary epochs of pastoral visits, he
received with sufficiently good grace both the Lutheran rec-
tor and the Papist chaplain. He had even, though at dis-
tant intervals, accompanied Deruchette to the Anglican par-
ish church to which Deruchette herself, as we have said, only
went on the four great festivals of the year.

On the whole, these little concessions, which always cost him
a pang, irritated him ; and far from inclining him towards the
Church people, only increased his inward disinclination to
them. He compensated himself by more raillery. His na-
ture, in general so devoid of bitterness, had no uncharitable
side except this. To alter him, however, was impossible.

In fact, this was in his very temperament, and was beyond
his own power to control.

Every sort of priest or clergymen was distasteful to him.
He had a little of the old revolutionary want of reverence.
He did not distinguish between one form of worship and an-
other. He did not do justice to that great step in the prog-
ress of ideas, the denial of the real presence. His short-
sightedness in these matters even prevented his perceiving any
essential difference between a minister and abbe. A reverend
doctor and a reverend father were pretty nearly the same to
him. He used to say, " Wesley is no more to my taste
than Loyola." When he saw a reverend pastor walking with
his wife, he would turn to look at them, and mutter, " a mar-
ried priest," in a tone which denoted all the absurdity which
those words had in the ears of Frenchmen at that time. He
used to relate how, on his last voyage to England, he had seen
the " Bishop<?ss " of London. His dislike for marriages of
that sort amounted almost to disgust. " Gown and gown do
not mate well," he would say. The sacerdotal function was
to him in the nature of a distinct sex. It would have been
natural to him to have said, " Neither a man nor a woman,
but a priest ; " and he had the bad taste to apply the same
disdainful epithets to the Anglican and the Roman Catholic

TOILEHS OF THE SEA 77

clergy. He confounded the two cassocks in the same phrase-
ology. He did not take the trouble to modify the figures of
speech common among military men of that period in favour
of either Catholics or Lutherans, or whatever they might be.
He often said to Deruchette, " Marry whom you please, pro-
vided you do not marry a parson."

CHAPTER XIII

THOUGHTLESSNESS ADDS ANOTHEB, CHAEM

A WORD once said, Mess Lethierry remembered it:
word once said, Deruchette soon forgot it. Here was
the difference between the uncle and the niece.

Brought up in the peculiar way already described, Deru-
chette was little accustomed to responsibility. The latent
danger of such an education cannot be too deeply impressed
upon parents. It is perhaps unwise to endeavour to make a
child too happy.

So long as she was happy, Deruchette thought all was well.
She knew, too, that it was alwa3's a pleasure to her uncle to
see her pleased. The religious sentiment in her nature was
satisfied with going to the parish church four times in the
year. We have seen her in her Christmas-day toilet.

She was entirely ignorant of life. She had a disposition
which might lead her to love passionately some day, in the
mean time she was contented.

She sang by fits and starts, chatted by fits and starts, en-
joyed each hour as it passed, said a word and flew away, ful-
filled some little duty, and was gone again, and was delight-
ful in all. Add to all this the English liberty which she en-
joyed. In England the very infants go about alone, girls arc
their own mistresses, and adolescence is wholly unrestrained.
Such are the differences in manners. Later, these free maid-

78 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ens become wives and slaves. I use the words in their best
sense ; I mean they are free in the development of their nature,
but slaves to duty.

Deruchette awoke every morning with little thought of her
actions of the day before. It would have troubled her a good
deal to be obliged to give an acount of how she had spent her
time the previous week. All this, however, did not prevent
her from having some hours of strange disquietude ; times
when some dark cloud seemed to dim the brightness of her
joy. These azure depths are subject to such shadows! But
clouds like these soon passed away. She quickly shook off such
moods with a cheerful laugh, knowing neither why she had
been sad, nor Avhy she had regained her serenity. She was al-
ways at play. She took delight in teasing the passers-by.
She played practical jokes upon the boys. If the Evil One
himself had passed that way, she would have had no pity, nor
spared him some ingenious trick. She was pretty and inno-
cent ; and she abused the immunity accorded to such qualities.
She was as ready with her claws as a cat, smiling gaily all
the while. So much the worse for the victim of her scratches.
She thought no more of them. Yesterday had no existence for
her. She lived in the fulness of to-day.

Such it is to have too much happiness fall to one's lot !
With Deruchette impressions vanished like the melted snow.

BOOK IV
THE BAGPIPE

CHAPTER I

GLEAMS OF DAWN OR OF A CONFLAGRATION

GILLIATT had never spoken to Deruchette ; he knew her
from having seen her at a distance, as men know the
morning star.

At the time Deruchette met GilHatt on the road leading
from St. Peter's Port to Vale, and surprised him by tracing
his name in the snow, she was just sixteen years of age.
Only the evening before Mess Lethierry had said to her,
" Come, no more childish tricks ; you are a big girl, now."

That word " Gilliatt," written by the young maiden, had
sunk to an unfathomcd depth.

What were women to Gilliatt.'* He could not have an-
swered that question himself. When he met one he generally
inspired her with some of the timidity he felt himself. He
never spoke to a woman except from urgent necessity. He
had never played the part of a " gallant " to any of the
country girls. When he found himself alone on the road, and
saw a woman coming towards him, he usually climbed a fence
or buried himself in some copse ; he even avoided old women.
Once in his life he had seen a Parisian lady. A Parisienne
on the wing was a strange event in Guernsey at that remote
epoch ; and Gilliatt had heard this gentle lady relate her
little troubles in these words : " I am very much annoyed ; I

79

80 TOILERS OF THE SEA

have got some spots of rain upon my bonnet. Pale buff Is
a shocking colour for rain." Having found some time after-
wards between the leaves of a fashion-book an old engraving
representing " a lady of the Chaussee d'Antin " in full dress,
he had nailed it on the wall at home as a souvenir of this re-
markable apparition.

On that Christmas morning after he had met Deruchettc,
and after she had written his name and disappeared laughing,
he returned home, scarcely conscious why he had gone out.
That night he slept little ; he was dreaming of a thousand
things : that it would be well to cultivate black radishes in
• the garden ; that he had not seen the boat from Sark pass
by. Could anything have happened to it.^* Then he re-
membered that he had seen the white stonecrop in floAver, a
rare thing at that season. He had never known exactly who
the woman was who had reared him, but he made up his mind
that she must have been his mother, and thought of her with
re-doubled tenderness. He called to mind the lady's clothing
in the old leathern trunk. He thought that the Reverend
Jaqucmin Herode would probably one day or other be ap-
pointed dean of St. Peter's Port and surrogate of the bishop,
and that the rectory of St. Sampson would become vacant.
Next, he remembered that the morrow would be the twenty-
seventh day of the moon, and that consequently high water
would be at twenty-one minutes past three, the half-ebb at a
quarter past seven, low water at tlrirty-three minutes
past nine, and half-flood at thirty-nine minutes past twelve.
He recalled, to the most trifling details, the costume of the
Highlander who had sold him the bagpipe ; his bonnet with the
thistle ornament, his claymore, his close-fitting short jacket,
his philabeg with the sporran, and snuff'-horn, his pin set with
a Scottish stone, his two girdles, the sash and belt, his sword,
dirk, and skcne-dhu, a black-sheathed knife, with its black
handle ornamented with two cairngorms, and the bare knees
of the soldier ; ' socks, checked gaiters, and buckled shoes.
This highly equipped figure became an imaginary spectre,
which pursued him with a sense of feverishness as he sunk into

TOILERS OF THE SEA 81

oblivion. Wlien he woke it was bright dayhght, and his first
thought was of Deruchette.

The next night he slept more soundly, but he dreamed of
the Scottish soldier again. In the midst of his sleep he re-
membered that the after-Christmas sittings of the Chief Law
Court would commence on the 221st of January. He dreamed
also about the Reverend Jaquemin Herode,

He thought of Deruchette, and seemed to be terribly angry
with her. He wished he had been a child again to throw
stones at her windows.

Then he recollected that if he were a child again he would
have his mother by his side, and he began to sob.

Gilliatt formed a plan of going to spend three months at
Chousey, or at the Minquiers ; but he did not go.

He walked no more along the road to St. Peter's Port.

He had an odd fancy that the name of " Gilliatt " remained
there traced upon the ground, and that passers-by stopped
to read it.

CHAPTER II

THE UNKNOWN UNFOLDS ITSELF BY DEGREES

ON the other hand, Gilliatt had the satisfaction of seeing
the Bravecs every day. By some accident he was con-
tinually passing that way. His business seemed always to
take him along the path which passed the wall of Deruchette's
garden.

One morning, as he was walking along this path, he heard
a market-woman who was returning from the Bravees, say to
another, " Miss Lethierry is fond of sea-kale."

He dug in his garden of the Bu de la Rue a trench for
sea-kale. The sea-kale is a vegetable which has a flavour like
asparagus.

The garden- wall of the Bravees was very low; it would
.6

82 TOILERS OF THE SEA

have been easy to scale it ; but the idea of scahng it would
have appeared terrible to him. But there was nothing to
hinder his hearing, like any one else, the voices of persons
talking in the rooms or in the garden as he passed. He did
not listen, but he heard them. Once he could distinguish the
voices of the two servants, Grace and Douce, disputing. It
was a sound connected with the house, and their quarrel lin-
gered in his ears like the memory of delightful music.

On another occasion, he distinguished a different voice,
which seemed to him to be the voice of Deruchette. He quick-
ened his pace, and was soon out of hearing.

The words uttered by that voice, however, remained fixed
in his memory. He repeated them again and again. They
were, " Will you please give me the little broom? "

By degrees he became bolder. He had the daring to loiter
awhile. One day it happened that Deruchette was singing at
her piano, invisible from without, although her window was
open. The air was that of " Bonnie Dundee." He grew
pale, b'^t he screwed his courage to the point of listening.

Springtide came. One day Gilliatt enjoyed a beatific vis-
ion. The heavens were opened, and there, before his eyes, ap-
peared Deruchette, watering lettuces in her little garden.

Soon afterwards lie began to do more than merely listen
there. He watched her habits, observed her liours, and waited
to catcli a glimpse of her.

Ill all this he was very careful not to be £^en.

The year advanced ; the time came when the trellises were
heavy with roses, and haunted by butterflies. Little by little,
he had come to conceal himself for hours behind her wall,
motionless and silent, seen by j.o one, and holding his breath
as Deruchette passed in and out of her garden. Men become
accustomed to poison by degrees.

From his hiding-place he could often hear Deruchette con-
versing with Mess Lethierry under a thick arch of leaves, in
a spot where there was a garden-seat. The words reached
his ears distinctly.

What a change had come over him! He had even stooped

TOILERS OF THE SEA 83

to watch and listen. Alas ! there is something of the spy in
every human heart.

There was another garden-seat, visible to him, and nearer.
Deruchette sat there sometimes.

From the flowers he had seen her gathering he could guess
her taste in the matter of perfumes. The scent of the bind-
weed was her favourite ; then the pink ; then the honeysuckle ;
then the jasmine. The rose stood only fifth in the scale.
She looked at the lilies but did not smell them.

Gilliatt pictured her character from this choice of odours.
He associated some perfection with each perfume.

The very idea of speaking to Deruchette would have made
his hair stand on end.

A poor old rag-picker, whose wanderings brought her, from
time to time, into the little road leading under the enclosure
of the Bravees, noticed Gilliatt's assiduous visits to the wall,
and his devotion to this retired spot. Did she connect the
presence of a man before this wall with the possibility of a
woman behind it.^* Did she perceive that vague, invisible
thread.'' Was she, in her decrepit mendicancy, still young
enough to remember :^omethinfy of the old happier days.^*
Could she in this dark night and winter of her wretched life
still recognize the dawn? We know not; but it seems that,
on one occasion, passing Gilliatt at his post, she gave him
something as near like c. smile as she was still capable of, and
muttered between her teeth, '^' It is getting warmer."

"It is getting warmer .^ '■ he muttered, with an inward
note of interrogation. What did the old woman mean.?

He repeated the phrase mechanically all day, but he could
not guess its meaning.

One evening while he was at his window, five or six girls
from Ancresse came to bathe in the bay. They sported in the
waves a hundred feet from him. He shut his window vio-
lently. He could not bear the sight of a woman undressed.

84 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER III

THE AIR " BONNIE DUNDEE " FINDS AN ECHO ON

THE HILIi

IT was in a spot behind the garden of the Bravees, at an
angle in the wall, half concealed with holly and ivy, and
covered with nettles, wild mallow and big white mullen grow-
ing between the blocks of stone, that he passed tlic greater
part of that summer. He watched there, lost in thought.
The lizards became accustomed to his presence, and basked
in the sun upon the same stones. The summer was bright and
full of dreamy indolence: overhead the light clouds came and
went. Gilliatt sat upon the grass. The air was full of the
songs of birds. Sometimes he pressed his hands to his fore-
head and tried to collect his thoughts : " Why should she write
my name in the snow.? " he asked himself. The sea breeze
came up gently from a distance; at intervals the horn of the
quarrymen sounded abruptly, warning the passers-by to take
shelter, as a blast was about to explode. The Port of St.
Sampson was not visible from this place, but he could see the
tips of the masts above the trees. The sea-gulls circled
around. Gilliatt had heard his mother say that women migiit
fall in love with men ; that such things happened sometimes.
He remembered it, and said to himself, " Deruchette is in love
with me ! " Then a feeling of sadness would come over him ;
he would say, " She, too, thinks of me in her tvu'n. It is
Avell." He remembered that Deruchette was rich, and that he
was poor: and then the new boat seemed to him an execrable
invention. He could never remember what day of the month
it was now. He would sit and stare listlessly at the great bees,
with their yellow bodies and short wings, as they entered the
holes in the wall with a buzzing noise.

One evening as Deruchette was about to retire she ap-
proached the window to close it. The night was dark. Sud-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 85

denly, something caught her ear, and she hstened. From
somewhere in the darkness came a sound of music. It was
someone, perhaps, on the hillside, or at the foot of the towers
of Vale Castle, or, perhaps, still further off, playing an air
upon some instrument. Deruchette recognized her favourite
melody, " Bonnie Dundee," pla3'ed upon the bagpipe. She
thought very little about it, however.

From that night on the music could be heard again from
time to time at the same hours, particularly when the nights
were very dark.

Deruchette was not much pleased with all this.

CHAPTER IV

FOUR YEARS LATER

To uncles and guardians, quiet old boys.

Serenades are but sleep-breaking nonsense and noise.

Unpublished Comedy.

FOUR years passed away.
Deruchette was approaching her twenty-first year, and
was still unmarried.

Some writer has said that a fixed idea is a sort of gimlet ;
every year gives it another turn. To pull it out the first
3'^ear is like plucking out the hair by the roots ; in the second
year, like tearing the skin ; in the third, like breaking the
bones ; and in the fourth, like removing the very brain it-
self.

Gilliatt had arrived at this fourth stage.

He had never yet spoken a word to Deruchette. He lived
and dreamed near that delightful vision. That was all.

It happened one day that, finding himself by chance at St.
Sampson, he saw Deruchette talking with Mess Lethierry at
the door of the Bravees which opens upon the roadway of

86 TOILEIIS OF THE SEA

the port. Gilliatt ventured to approach very close. He fan-
cied that at the very moment of his passing she had smiled.
There was nothing impossible in that.

Deruchette still heard the sound of the bagpipe from time
to time.

Mess Lethierry had also heard this bagpipe. By degrees
he too had come to notice this persevering musician under
Deruchette's window. A tender strain, too, — all the more
suspicious. A nocturnal wooing was a thing not to his taste.
He desired to marry Deruchette off in his own time, when she
was willing and he was willing, without any romance or music.
Irritated at this discovery, he at last began to keep watch,
and soon fancied that he had detected Gilliatt. He passed
his fingers through his whiskers — a sign of anger — and
grumbled out, " What has that fellow got to pipe about .f* He
is in love with Deruchette, that is clear. You are wasting
your time, young man. Any one who wants Deruchette must
come to me, and not hang about playing the flute."

A long foreseen event of importance occurred soon after-
wards. It was announced that the Reverend Jaquemin He-
rode had been appointed surrogate of the Bishop of Winches-
ter, dean of the island, and rector of St Peter's Port, and
that he would leave St. Sampson for St. Peter immediately
after the installation of his successor.

It could not be long before the arrival of the new rector.
He was a gentleman of Norman extraction, Monsieur Joe
Ebenezer Caudray, Anglicized as Cawdry.

Some facts were known about the new rector, which the
benevolent and malevolent interpreted in a very different way.
He was known to be young and poor, but his youth was tem-
pered with much learning, and his poverty by good expecta-
tions. In the dialect specially invented for the subject of
riches and inheritances, death goes by the name of " expecta-
tions." He was the nephew and heir of the aged and opulent
dean of St. Asaph. At the death of this old gentleman he
would become a rich man. M. Caudray had very distinguished
connections. He was almost entitled to the title of " Honour-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 87

able." As regarded his doctrine, people judged differently.
He was an Anglican, but an extremest in his views. He re-
pudiated all Pharisaism. He was a friend rather of the Pres-
bytery than the Episcopacy. He dreamed of the Primitive
Church of the days when Adam had the right to choose his
Eve, and when Frumentanus, Bishop of Hierapolis, carried
off a young maiden to make her his wife, and said to her
parents, " It is my will and her will. You are no longer
her mother, and you are no longer her father. I am the angel
of Hierapolis, and this is my wife. Her father is God."
If the common belief could be trusted, M. Caudray subordi-
nated the text, " Honour thy father and thy mother," to an-
other text, of much higher significance in his eyes, " The
woman is the flesh of the man. She shall leave her father
and mother to follow her husband." This tendency, however,
to circumscribe the parental authority and to favour reli-
giously every mode of forming the conjugal tie, is peculiar to
all Protestantism, particularly in England, and singularly so
in America.

CHAPTER V

A DESEEVED SUCCESS HAS ALWAYS ITS DETRACTOES

AT this time the affairs of Mess Lethierry were in this
position : The Durande had more than f ulfiled all his
expectations. He had paid his debts, discharged his obliga-
tions at Bremen, met his notes at St. Malo, paid off the mort-
gage upon his house at the Bravees, and bought up all the
local rent-charges upon the property. He was also the pro-
prietor of a highly productive capital. This was the Dur-
ande herself. The net revenue from the boat was about a
thousand pounds sterling per annum, and the traffic was con-
stantly increasing. Strictly speaking, the Durande consti-
tuted his entire fortune. She was also the fortune of the is-

88 TOILERS OF THE SEA

land. The transportation of cattle being one of the most
profitable portions of her trade, he had been obliged, in order
to facilitate the stowage, and the embarking and disembarking
of animals, to do away with the luggage-room and the two
life-boats. This was rather imprudent perhaps, for it left
Durande with but one boat, — namely, her long-boat ; but this
was an excellent one.

Ten years had elapsed since Rantaine's robbery.

The prosperity of the Durand had one weak point. It
inspired no confidence. People regarded it as a great risk.
Lethierry's good fortune was looked upon as exceptional.
He was considered to have gained by a lucky rashness. Some
one at Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, who had imitated him,
had not succeeded. The enterprise had ruined the share-
holders. The engines were badly constructed, Lethierry
said. But people shook their heads. Innovations alwaj'^s have
to contend with this difficulty ; very few people wish them
well. The least false step compromises them.

One of the commercial oracles of the Channel Islands, a cer-
tain banker from Paris, named Jaugc, being consulted in re-
gard to a steamboat speculation, was reported to have turned
his back contemptuously with the remark, " You call this an
investment that you propose to me? Exactly; an investment
in smoke."

On the other hand, sailing-vessels had no difficulty in finding
capitalists to take shares in a venture. Capital, in fact, was
obstinately in favour of sails, and as obstinately set against
boilers and paddle-wheels. In Guernsey, the Durande was
indeed a fact, but steam was not an established principle as
yet. Such is the fanatical spirit of conservatism in opposi-
tion to progress. They said of Lethierry, " It is all very
well; but he could not do it a second time." Far from en-
couraging, his example inspired timidity. Nobody would
have dared to risk another Durande.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 89

CHAPTER VI

THE SLOOP CASHMERE SAVES A SHIPWRECKED CREW

THE equinoctial gales begin early in the Channel. The
sea there is narrow, and angers and vexes the winds.
The westerly gales begin in the month of February, and the
waves are beaten about from every quarter. Navigation be-
comes a dangerous matter, and the people on the coasts begin
to watch for vessels in distress. The sea is like a cut-throat
in ambush for its victim. An invisible trumpet sounds the
tocsin of war with the elements, furious gales spring up from
the horizon, and a terrible wind soon begins to whistle and
howl.

The wind is one danger ; the fogs are another.

Foss have been the terror of mariners from all time. In
certain fogs microscopic prisms of ice are found in suspension,
to which Mariotte attributes halos, mock suns, and paraselenes.
Storm-fogs are of a composite character ; various gases of un-
equal specific gravity combine with watery vapour, and ar-
range themselves, layer above layer, in an order which divides
the dense mist into zones. Below ranges the iodine; above
the iodine is the sulphur ; above the sulphur the brome ; above
the brome the phosphorus. This, and making allowance for
electric and magnetic tension, explains several phenomena, — •
such as the St. Elmo's Fire of Columbus and Magellan, the
flying stars moving about the ships, of which Seneca speaks ;
the two flames, Castor and Pollux, mentioned by Plutarch ; the
Roman legion, whose spears seemed to Cassar to take fire ; the
peak of the Chateau of Duino in Friuli, which sparkled when
the sentinel touched it with his lance ; and perhaps even those
fulgurations from the earth which the ancients called Saturn's
terrestrial lightnings. At the equator, an immense mist seems
to encircle the globe. It is known as the Cloud-ring. The
function of the Cloud-ring is to temper the heat of the tropics,

90 TOILERS OF THE SEA

as that of the Gulf-stream is to mitigate the coldness of the
Pole. Under the Cloud-ring fogs are fatal. These are what
are called " horse latitudes." It was here that navigators
of former ages were accustomed to cast their horses into the
sea to lighten the ship in stormy weather, and to economize
fresh water when becalmed. Columbus said, " Nube abaxo ex
muerte," — death lurks in the low cloud. The Etruscans,
who were as profoundly versed in meteorology as the Chaldeans
were in astronomy, had two high priests, — the high priest
of the thunder, and the high priest of the clouds. The " ful-
gurators " observed the lightning, and the " aquileges "
watched the mists. The college of Priest-Augurs was con-
sulted by the Tyrians, the Phoenicians, the Pelasgi, and
all the primitive navigators of the ancient " Mare In-
ternum."

The origin of tempests was, from that time on, partially un-
derstood. It is intimately connected with the generation of
fogs, and is, properly speaking, the same phenomenon. There
exist, upon the ocean three regions of fogs, one equatorial and
two polar. The mariners give them but one name, the " pitch-
pot."

In all latitudes, and particularly in the Channel, the equi-
noctial fogs are specially dangerous. They envelope the sea
in sudden darkness. One of the chief perils of fogs, even
when they are not very dense, is due to their preventing the
mariners from perceiving changes in the bed of the ocean by
the variations in the colour of the water. The result is a con-
cealment of the approach of sands and breakers. The ves-
sel steers towards the shoals without receiving any warning.
Frequently, the fogs leave a ship no resource except to lie-to,
or to cast anchor. There are as many shipwrecks from the
fogs as from gales.

After a very violent squall succeeding one of these foggy
days, the mail-boat " Cashmere " arrived safely from England.
It entered St. Peter's Port as the first gleam of day appeared
upon the sea, and at the very moment when the cannon of
Cornet Castle announced the sunrise. The sloop " Cashmere "

TOILERS OF THE SEA 91

had been anxiously expected, as she was to bring the new rec-
tor of St. Sampson.

Shortly after the arrival of the sloop, a rumour ran through
the town that she had been hailed during the night at sea by
a long-boat containing a shipwrecked crew.

CHAPTER VII

HOW AN IDLER HAD THE GOOD FORTUNE TO BE SEEN

BY A FISHERMAN

ON that very night, when the wind abated, Gilliatt had
gone out with his nets, without, however, taking his
Dutch boat too far from the coast.

As he was returning with the rising tide, about two o'clock
in the afternoon, the sun was shining brightly. As he
passed the Beast's Horn to reach the little bay of the Bu de
la Rue, he fancied that he saw, in the projection of the
" Gild-Holm-'Ur " seat, a shadow, which was not that of the
rock.

He steered his vessel nearer, and perceived a man sitting
in the " Gild-Holm-'Ur." The sea was already very high,
so the rock was encircled by the waves, and escape entirely
cut oflp, Gilliatt made signs to the man, but the stranger re-
mained motionless. Gilliatt drew nearer.

The man was asleep.

He was attired in black. " He looks like a priest," thought
Gilliatt.

He approached still nearer, and could distinguish the face
of a young man.

The features were unknown to him.

The rock, fortunately, was abrupt; there was a good
depth of water, and Gilliatt succeeded in skirting the rocky
wall. The tide raised the bark so high that Gilliatt, by

92 TOILERS OF THE SEA

standing upon the gunwhale of the sloop, could touch the
man's feet. He raised himself upon the rail, and stretched
out his hands.

If he had fallen at that moment, he would not have risen
to the surface of the water again ; for the waves were rolling
in between the boat and the rock, and destruction would have
been inevitable.

He pulled the foot of the sleeping man.

" Hello there ! What are you doing in this place ? "

The man awoke, and muttered : —

" I was looking about."

He was now completely awake, and continued : —

" I have just arrived in this part of the country. I came
this way on a pleasure trip. I spent the night on the sea ;
the view from here seemed beautiful. I was tired, and fell
asleep."

" Ten minutes more, and you would have been drowned."

"Ha!"

" Jump into my boat."

Gilliatt held the boat fast with his foot, clutched the rock
with one hand, and stretched out the other to the stranger
in black, who sprang quickly into the boat. He was a fine-
looking young man.

Gilliatt seized the tiller, and in two minutes his boat entered
the bay of the Bu de la Rue.

The young man wore a round hat and a white cravat ; and
liis long black frock-coat was buttoned up to the throat. He
had fair hair, which he wore en couronne. He had a rather
effeminate type of features, a clear eye, and a grave manner.

Meanwhile, the boat had reached the shore. Gilliatt passed
the cable through the mooring-ring, then turned and per-
ceived the young man holding out a sovereign in a very white
hand.

Gilliatt pushed the hand gently away.

There was a pause.

The young man was the first to break the silence.

'* You have saved me from death."

"Gilliatt, by standing upon the gunwale of the sloop, could touch the
man's feet."

Toilers of the Sea. Vol. I, Page 92.

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 93

"Perhaps," replied Gilliatt.

The moorings were made fast, and they stepped ashore.

" I owe you my hfe, sir," the stranger continued.

" No matter,"

This reply from Gilliatt was again followed by a
pause.

" Do 3'ou belong to this parish? "

" No," replied Gilliatt.

" To what parish, then? "

Gilliatt lifted up his right hand, pointed to the sky and
answered : —

" To that above."

The young man bowed, and left him.

After walking a few paces, the stranger stopped, felt in
his pocket, drew out a book, and returning to Gilliatt, offered
it to him.

" Permit me to make you a present of this."

Gilliatt took the volume.

It was a Bible.

An instant after, Gilliatt stood leaning on the parapet
watching the young man as he turned the corner of the path
leading to St. Sampson.

Little by little he lowered his gaze, and soon forgot all
about the stranger.

There was one subject that engrossed his every thought,
— this was Deruchette.

A voice aroused him from this dream.

" Ho there, Gilliatt ! "

He recognized the voice and looked up.

" What is the matter, Sieur Landoys ? "

It was, in fact, Sieur Landoys, who was passing along
the road about one hundred paces from the Bu de la Rue
in his phaeton, drawn by one little horse. He had stopped
to hail Gilliatt, but he seemed hurried.

" There is strange news, Gilliatt."

"Where?"

" At the Bravees."

94 TOILERS OF THE SEA

"What is it?"

" I am too far off to tell you the story."

Gilliatt shuddered.

" Is Miss Deruchette going to be married? "

" No ; but she had better be looking out for a husband.

" What do you mean ? "

" Go up to the house and you will soon hear."

And Sieur Landoys whipped up his horse.

1

BOOK V

THE REVOLVER

CHAPTER I

CONVERSATIONS AT THE JEAN TAVERN

SIEUR CLUB IN was a man who bided his time. He was
short in stature and his complexion was sallow. He
had the strength of a bull. His seafaring life had not tanned
his skin ; his flesh had a yellow tint. It was the colour of a wax
candle ; his eyes too, had something of the same steady light.
His memory was peculiarly retentive. With him, to have seen
a man once, was to have him like a note in a note-book. His
quiet glance took possession of you. The pupil of his eye re-
ceived the impression of a face, and retained it like a portrait.
The face might grow old, but Sieur Clubin never forgot it ; it
was impossible to cheat that tenacious memory. Sieur Clubin
was curt in speech, grave in manner, bold in action.

He never indulged in gestures. His air of candour won
everybody at first; many people thought him artless. He
had a wrinkle in the corner of his eye, astonishingly ex-
pressive of simplicity. As we have said, no abler mariner
existed ; no one could excel him in reefing a sail, or in keeping
a vessel's head to the wind, or the sails well set. Never did
a reputation for religion and integrity stand higher than his.
To have suspected him would have been to make yourself an
object of suspicion. He was on intimate terms with Monsieur

95

96 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Rebuchet, a money-changer at St. Malo, who lived in the Rue
St. Vincent, next door to the gunsmith ; and Monsieur Re-
buchet was wont to say, " I would leave my shop in Clubin's
hands without a moment's hesitation."

Sieur Clubin was a widower; his wife, like himself, had
enjoyed a high reputation for probity. She had died with
a fame for incorruptible virtue. If the bailiff had whispered
gallant things in her ear, she would have accused him before
the king. If a saint had made love to her, she would have
told it to the priest. This couple, Sieur and Dame Clubin,
realized in Torteval the ideal of the English epithet " re-
spectable." Dame Clubin's reputation was as the snowy
whiteness of the swan ; Sieur Clubin's like that of ermine itself
— a spot would have been fatal to him. He would hardly
have picked up a pin without making inquiries for the owner.
He would have sent the town-crier around about a box of
matches. One day he went into a wine-shop at St. Servan,
and said to the man who kept it, " Three years ago I break-
fasted here ; you made a mistake in the bill ; " and he returned
thirteen sous to the man. He was the very personification of
probity, with a certain compression of the lips indicative of
watchfulness.

He seemed, indeed, always on the watch — for what? For
rogues, probably.

Every Tuesday he commanded the Durande on her passage
from Guernsey to St. Malo. He arrived at St. Malo on
Tuesday evening, stayed two days there to discharge and
take in a new cargo, and started again for Guernsey on Fri-
day morning.

There was at that time in St. Malo a little tavern near the
harbour, which was called the " Auberge Jean."

The construction of the modern quays necessitated the
destruction of this house. At that time, the sea came up
as far as the St. Vincent and Dinan gates. At low water
St. Malo and St. Servan communicated with each other by
covered carts and other vehicles, which passed to and fro
among the vessels lying high and dry, avoiding the buoys,

TOILERS OF THE SEA 97

the anchors, and cables, and running the risk now and then
of smashing their leathern hoods against the lowered yards,
or the end of a jibboom. Between the tides, the drivers drove
their horses over the sands, where six hours afterwards the
waves would be rolling. The four-and-twenty carrying dogs
of St. Malo, who tore a naval officer to pieces in 1770, were
accustomed to prowl about this beach. This excess of zeal
on their part led to the destruction of the pack. Nocturnal
barkings are no longer heard between the little and the great
Talard.

Sieur Clubin was accustomed to stay at the Auberge Jean.
The French office of the Durande was there.

The custom-house officers and the coast-guardmen took
their meals at the Auberge Jean, where they had separate
tables. The custom-house officers of Binic found it con-
venient for the service to meet there with their brother officers
of St. Malo,

Captains of vessels also patronized the inn ; but they
ate at another table.

Sieur Clubin sat sometimes at one, sometimes at the other
table, but preferred the table of the custom-house officers to
that of the sea-captains. He was always welcome at either.

The tables were well served. There were fine concoctions
in the way of local drinks specially provided for foreign
sailors. A dandy sailor from Bilboa could have been supplied
with a helada there. People drank stout there, too, as at
Greenwich, or brown gueuse, as at Antwerp.

Masters of vessels who had just arrived from long voy-
ages and shipowners sometimes appeared at the captains'
table, where they exchanged news. " How are sugars? That
commission is only for small lots. — The brown kinds, how-
ever, are going off. Three thousand bags of East India, and
five hundred hogsheads of Sagua. — Take my word, the op-
position will end by defeating Villele. — What about indigo?
Only seven serons of Guatemala changed hands. — The
' Nanine-Julia ' is in the roads ; a pretty three-master from
Brittany. — The two cities of La Plata are at loggerheads

98 TOILERS OF THE SEA

again. — When Monte Video gets fat, Buenos x\yres grows
lean. — It has been found necessary to transfer the cargo of
the ' Regina-Coeli' which was condemned at Callao. — Cocoas
go off briskly. — Caraque bags are quoted at one hundred
and thirty-four and Trinidad's at seventy-three. — It ap-
pears that at the review on the Champ de Mars the people
cried, ' Down with the ministers ! ' — The raw salt Saladeros
hides are selling, — ox-hides at sixty francs, and cows' at
forty-eight. — Have they passed the Balkans.'' — What is
Diebitsch about.'' — Aniseed is in demand at San Francisco.
Plagniol olive-oil is quiet. — Gruyere cheese, in bulk, is
thirty-two francs the quintal. — Well, is Leo II. dead at
last.?" etc.

All these things were talked about and commented on
aloud. At the table of the custom-house and coast-guard
officers they spoke in a lower key.

Revenue matters on the coast and in the ports require,
in fact, a little more privacy, and a little less clearness in
the conversation.

The sea-captains' table was presided over by the old captain
of a large vessel, M. Gertrais-Gaboureau. M. Gertrais-
Gaboureau was not a man, — he was a barometer. His long
life at sea had given him a surprising ability in prognosti-
cating the state of the weather. He seemed to issue a decree
for the morrow's weather. He sounded the winds, and felt the
pulse of the tides, as it were. He bade the clouds show their
tongue — that is to say, their forked lightnings. He was
the physician of the wave, the breeze, and the squall. The
ocean was his patient. He had travelled round the world as a
doctor goes the rounds of a hospital-ward, examining every
kind of climate in its best and worst condition. He was pro-
foundly versed in the pathology of the seasons. Sometimes
he could be heard delivering himself in this fashion, " The
barometer descended in 1796 to three degrees below tempest
point." He was a sailor from real love of the sea. He hated
England as much as he liked the ocean. He had carefully
studied English ship-building, and believed he had discovered

, TOILERS OF THE SEA 99

Its weak point. He could explain how the " Sovereign " of
1637 differed from the " Royal William " of 1670, and from
the " Victory " of 1775. He compared their build as ^.o
their forecastles and quarter-decks. He looked back with
regret on the deck-towers and funnel-shaped tops of the
" Great Harry " of 1514, probably regarding them as ad-
mirable lodging-places for French cannon-balls. In his eyes,
nations only existed in their naval institutions. He indulged
in some odd figures of speech on this subject. He usually
called England, " The Trinity House." In like manner, the
" Northern Commissioners " were synonymous in his mind
with Scotland ; the " Ballast Board," with Ireland. He was
full of nautical information. He was, in himself, a marine
alphabet and almanac, a tariff and low-water mark, all com-
bined. He knew by heart all the lighthouse dues — par-
ticularly those of the English coast — one penny per ton for
passing before this, one farthing before that. He would tell
you that the Small Rock Light which once used to burn
two hundred gallons of oil now consumes fifteen hundred.
Once, aboard ship, he was attacked by a dangerous disease,
and was believed to be dying. The crew assembled round
his hammock, and in the midst of his groans and agony, he
said to the chief carpenter, " You had better make a mortise
in each side of the main caps, and put in a bit of iron to
help pass the top ropes through." His habit of command
had given his countenance an expression of authority.

The subjects of conversation at the captains' table and at
that of the custom-house officers were not often the same.
This, however, did happen to be the case early in that month
of February, to which the course of this story has now brought
us. The three-master " Tamaulipas," Captain Zucla, just ar-
rived from Chili, and bound thither again, was the theme of
discussion at both tables.

At the captains' table they were talking of her cargo ; and
at the table of the custom-house officers, of certain circum-
stances connected with her recent voyage.

Captain Zuela, of Copiapo, was partly a Chilian and

100 TOILEKS OF THE SEA

partly a Colombian. He had taken a truly independent
part in the war of Independence, adhering sometimes to
Bolivar, sometimes to Morillo, according as his interest
prompted. He had enriched himself by serving both causes.
No man in the world could have been more Bourbonist, more
Bonapartist, more absolutist, more liberal, more atheistical, or
more devoutly Catholic. He belonged to that great and re-
nowned party, which may be called the party of Lucre. He
made voyages to France from time to time ; and if report
spoke truly, he willingly gave a passage to fugitives of any
kind, — bankrupts or political refugees, it was all the same to
him, provided they could pay. His mode of taking them
aboard was simple. The fugitive waited upon a lonely part
of the coast, and at the moment of setting sail, Zuela would
send off a small boat to fetch him. On his last voyage he
had assisted in this way an outlaw and fugitive from justice,
named Berton ; and on this occasion he was suspected of being
about to aid the flight of the men implicated in the Bidassoa
affair. The police were informed, and had their eye upon
him.

This was an epoch of mysterious flights and escapes. The
Restoration in France was a reactionary movement. Revolu-
tions are fruitful of voluntary exile, and restorations of whole-
sale banishments. During the first seven or eight years which
followed the return of the Bourbons, panic was universal ; in
finance, in industry, in commerce, men felt the ground tremble
beneath them. Bankruptcies were numerous in the commercial
world ; in the political, there was a general rush to escape.
Lavalctte had taken flight, Lefebvre Desnouettes had taken
flight, Delon had taken flight. Special tribunals were again
in fashion. People instinctivel}^ shunned the Pont de Saumur,
the esplanade de la Reole, the wall of the Observatoire in
Paris, the tower of Taurias at Avignon, — dismal landmarks
in history where the period of reaction has left its traces, —
on which the marks of tliat blood-stained hand are still
visible. In London, the Thistlewood affair, with its ramifica-
tions in France ; in Paris, the TrogoiF trial, with its ramifica-

' TOILERS OF THE SEA 101

tions in Belgium, Switzerland, and Italy, had increased the
causes for anxiety and flight, and given an impetus to that
mysterious rout which left so many gaps in the social world of
the day. To find a place of safety, this was the one desire.
To be implicated was to be ruined. The spirit of the military
tribunals had survived the institution. Sentences w^re mat-
ters of favour. People fled to Texas, to the Rocky Moun-
tains, to Peru, to Mexico. The men of the Loire, traitors
then, but now regarded as patriots, had founded the Champ
d' Asile. Beranger in one of his songs says, —

" Barbarians ! we are Frenchmen born ;
Pity us, glorious, yet forlorn."

Self-banishment was the only resource left. Nothing,
perhaps, seems simpler than flight, but that monosyllable has
a terrible significance. The man who desires to slip away
finds innumerable obstacles in his path. Flight necessitates
disguise. Persons of importance, even illustrious characters,
were reduced to expedients only fit for malefactors. Their
independent habits rendered it difficult for them to escape
through the meshes of authority. A rogue who violates the
conditions of his ticket-of-leave deports himself before the
police as innocently as a saint ; but imagine innocence con-
strained to act a part; virtue disguising its voice; a glorious
reputation hiding under a mask. Yonder passer-by is a man
of well deserved celebrity ; he is in quest of a false passport.
The equivocal proceedings of one wlio is trying to escape from
ilie clutches of the law is no proof that he is not a hero.
Ephemeral, but characteristic features of the time of which
our so-called regular history takes no note, but which the true
painter of the age will bring out in bold relief! Under
cover of these flights and concealments on the part of honest
men, genuine rogues, less watched and suspected, often man-
age to get off clear. A scoundrel, who found it necessary
to disappear, would take advantage of the general confusion
to tack himself on to the 2>olitical refugees, and, thanks to

102

TOILERS OF THE SEA

his greater skill in the art, would contrive to appear far more
honest than his honest neighbours. Nothing could act more
awkard and confused sometimes than honesty unjustly con-
demned. It is out of its element, and is almost sure to commit
itself.

It is a curious fact, that this voluntary expatriation,
particularly with rascals, seemed to lead to many strange
turns of fortune. The modicum of civilization which a scamp
brought with him from London or Paris became, perhaps, a
valuable stock in trade in some primitive country, ingratiated
him with the people, and enabled him to strike out into new
paths. It was quite possible for a fugitive from justice to
reappear elsewhere as a dignitary among the priesthood.
There is something phantasmagorial in these sudden disap-
pearances ; and more than one such flight has led to marvellous
events. An escapade of this kind, indeed, seemed sure to be
end in something wild and wonderful, as when some bankrupt
suddenly decamps to turn up again twenty years later as
Grand Vizier to the Mogul, or as a king in Tasmania.

Rendering assistance to these fugitives was an established
trade, and, by reason of the abundance of business of this
kind, was a highly profitable one. It was generally carried
on as a supplementary branch of certain recognized kinds of
commerce.

A person, for instance, who desired to escape to England,
applied to smugglers ; one who desired to get to America, had
recourse to sea-captains like Zuela.

CHAPTER II

CLUBIN SEES SOME ONE

ZUELA came sometimes to take refreshment at the Jean
Auberge. Clubin knew him by sight.
For that matter Clubin was not proud. He did not even
disdain to know scamps by sight. He even went so far some-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 103

times as to cultivate a closer acquaintance with them, giving
them his hand in the open street, or saying good-day to them.
He talked English with the smugglers, and jabbered Spanish
with the contrebandistas. He excused himself after this man-
ner, " Good," he declared, " may be gotten even out of the
bad. The gamekeeper may derive profit from an acquaintance
with a poacher. The good pilot may sound the depths of a
pirate, who is only a sort of hidden rock. I test the quality
of a scoundrel as a doctor tests a poison." There was no
answering a volley of proverbs like this. Everybody gave
Clubin credit for great shrewdness. People praised him for
not indulging in a ridiculous delicacy. Who, then, would
dare to think evil of him on this account.'* Everything he
did was evidently " for the good of the cause." With him,
all was straightforward. Nothing could tarnish his good
name. Crystal might more easily become sullied. This gen-
eral confidence in him was the natural reward of a lona: life of
integrity, the crowning advantage of a settled reputation.
Whatever Clubin might do, or appear to do, was sure to be
interpreted favourably. He had attained almost to a state of
impeccability. Over and above all this, " he is very weary,"
people said: and from a situation which in others would have
given rise to suspicion, his integrity would extricate itself,
with a still greater reputation for ability. This reputation
for ability mingled harmoniously with his fame for perfect
simplicity of character. Great simplicity and great talents
in conjunction are not uncommon. The compound constitutes
one of the varieties of the virtuous man, and one of the most
valuable. Sieur Clubin was one of those men who mieht be
found in intimate conversation with a sharper or a thief, with-
out suffering any diminution of respect in the minds of his
neighbours.

The " Tamaulipas " had completed her lading. She was
ready for sea, and expected to sail very shortly.

One Tuesday evening the Durande arrived at St. Malo
while it was still broad daylight. Sieur Clubin, standing
upon the bridge of the steamer, and superintending the

104 TOILERS OF THE SEA

manceuvres necessary for getting her into port, perceived upon
the sandy beach, near the Petit Bey, two men conversing in a
sohtar}^ spot between the rocks. He examined them through
his marine-glass, and recognized one of the men. It was
Captain Zuela. He seemed to recognize the other also.

This other was a person of tall stature and a little grey.
He wore the broad-brimmed hat and the sober clotliing of the
Society of Friends. He was probabl}^ a Quaker. He low-
ered his gaze with an air of extreme diffidence.

On arriving at the Jean Auberge, Sieur Clubin learned
that the " Tamaulipas " would sail in about ten days.

It has since been ascertained that he secured information
on some other points.

That night he entered the gunsmith's shop in the St. Vin-
cent Street, and said to the master : —

" Do you know Avhat a revolver is.'' "

" Yes," replied the gunsmith. " It is an American
weapon."

" It is a pistol, with which a man can carry on a con-
versation. I want one with six barrels."

" I have not one."

" What ! and you a gunmaker ! "

" I do not keep such articles yet. You see, it is a new
thing. Revolvers are only just coming into vogue. French
makers, as yet, confine themselves to the simple pistol."

" Nonsense."

" It has not become an article of commerce yet."

" Nonsense, I say."

" I have excellent pistols."

" I want a revolver."

" It is more useful, I admit. Stop, Monsieur Clubin ! "

"What.?"

" I think I know where there is one that can be purchased
at a bargain."

" A revolver.? "

" Yes."

"For sale.?"

TOILERS OF THE SEA 105

« Yes."

"Where is it?"

" I think I know ; at least, I can find out."

" When can you give me an answer ? "

" A bargain, but of good quality."

" When shall I call and see you again ? "

" If I procure you a revolver, remember, it will be a good

one."

" When will you give me an answer ? "

" After your next trip."

" Do not mention that it is for me," said Clubin.

CHAPTER HI

CLUBIN CARRIES AWAY SOMETHING AND BRINGS BACK NOTHING

SIEUR CLUBIN completed the lading of the Durande,
took aboard a number of cattle and some passengers,
and left St. Malo for Guernsey, as usual, on Friday morning.

On that same Friday, when the vessel had gained the open,
which permits the captain to absent himself a moment from
the place of command, Clubin entered his cabin, shut himself
in, took a travelling-bag which he kept there, put into one of
its compartments some biscuit, a few boxes of conserves, a few
pounds of stick chocolate, a chronometer, and a marine-glass,
and passed a small rope through the handles, so it was ready
to siing across his shoulders, if necessary. Then he descended
into the hold, went into the compartment where the cables are
kept, and came up again with one of those rope ladders which
are used by ship calkers at sea and by robbers ashore.

Having arrived at Guernsey, Clubin repaired to Torteval.
He took with him the travelling-bag and the rope ladder, but
did not bring them back again.

Let us repeat once for all, that the Guernsey which we are

106 TOILERS OF THE SEA

describing is that ancient Guernsey which no longer exists, and
of which it would be impossible to find a parallel now any-
where except in the country. There it is still flourishing, but
in the towns it has passed away. The same remarks apply to
Jersey. St. Helier's is as civihzed as Dieppe, St. Peter's Port
as L'Orient. Thanks to the progress of civilization, thanks
to the enterprising spirit of the island people, everything has
undergone a great change during the last forty years in the
Norman Archipelago. With these premises, let us proceed
with our story.

At that period, then, which is already so far removed from
us as to have become historical, smuggling was carried on
very extensively in the Channel. Smuggling vessels
abounded, particularly on the western coast of Guernsey.
People of that peculiarly clever kind who know, even to the
smallest details, what went on half a century ago, will even
tell you the names of these suspicious craft, which were almost
always Asturians or Guipuscoans. It is certain that scarcely
a week passed without one or two being seen either in Saint's
Bay or at Pleinmont. Their coming and going had almost
the character of a regular service. A cave in the cliffs at Sark
was called then, and is still called, the " Shops " (" Les Bouti-
ques "), from its being the place where these smugglers bar-
gained with the purchasers of their merchandise. This sort
of traffic had in the Channel a dialect of its own, a vocabulary
of contraband technicalities which is now forgotten, and which
was to Spanish what the " Levantine " is to Italian.

On many parts of the English coast, smuggling had a
secret but none the less cordial understanding with legitimate
and open commerce. It had access to the house of more than
one great financier, though by the back way it is true; and
its influence extended mysteriously through all the com-
mercial world, and the intricate ramifications of manufactur-
ing industry. Merchant on one side, smuggler on the other,
— that was the secret of many large fortunes. Seguin ac-
cused Bourgain, Bourgain accused Seguin. We do not vouch
for the truth of their accusations ; it is possible that they were

TOILERS OF THE SEA 107

slandering each other. However this may have been, it is
certain that the contraband trade, though hunted down by
the law, was flourishing enough in certain financial circles.
It had relations with " the very best society." Thus the
brigand Mandrin, in former days, occasionally found him-
self tete-a-tete with the Count of Charolais; for this under-
hand trade often contrived to put on a very respectable ap-
pearance, and maintained a house of its own with an irre-
proachable exterior.

All this necessitated a host of manoeuvres and conni-
vances, which required impenetrable secrecy. A contra-
bandist was intrusted with a good many secrets, and knew how
to keep them. Inviolable confidence was the condition of his
existence. The first quality, in fact, in a smuggler was strict
honour in his own circle. No discretion no smuggling.
Fraud has its secrets as well as the priest's confessional.

These secrets were, as a rule, faithfully kept. The
contrabandist swore to betray nothing, and he kept his word ;
nobody was more trustworthy than the genuine smuggler. The
Judge Alcade of Oyarzun captured a smuggler one day, and
put him to torture to compel him to disclose the name of the
capitalist who secretly supported him. The smuggler re-
fused to tell. The capitalist in question was the Judge Al-
cade himself. Of these two accomplices, the judge and the
smuggler, the one had been compelled, in order to appear in
the eyes of the world to fulfill the law, to put the other to the
torture, which the other had patiently borne for the sake of his
oath.

The two most famous smugglers who haunted Pleinmont
at that period were Blasco and Blasquito. They were
Tocayos. This was a sort of Spanish or Catholic relation-
ship which consisted in having the same patron saint in heaven,
— a thing, it must be admitted, no less worthy of consid-
eration than having the same father on earth.

When a person was initiated into the ways of the contra-
band business, nothing was more easy, or from a certain point
of view more difficult, than to secure an interview with these

108 TOILERS OF THE SEA

men. It was only necessary to have no fear of dark nights,
to repair to Pleinmont, and to consult the oracle located
there.

CHAPTER IV

PLEINMONT

^LEINMONT, near Torteval, is one of the three corners
of the island of Guernsey. At the extremity of the
cape there is a high turf -covered hill that overlooks the sea.

This hill is a lonely spot. All the more lonely from there
being one solitary house upon it.

This house adds terror to the solitude.

It is generally supposed to be haunted.

Haunted or not, its aspect is singular.

Built of granite, and only two stories high, it stands in
the midst of the grassy solitude. It is in a perfectly good
condition so far as its exterior is concerned ; the walls are thick
and the roof is sound. Not a stone is wanting in the sides,
nor a tile upon the roof. A brick chimney supports the angle
of the roof. The building stands with its back to the sea,
that side being merely a blank wall. On examining this wall
attentively, however, the visitor perceives a small window
bricked up. The two gables have three dormer windows, one
fronting the east, the other two fronting the west, but both
are bricked up in like manner. The front, which looks in-
land, alone has a door and windows. This door, too, is walled
up, as are also the two windows of the ground-floor. On
the first floor — and this is the feature that strikes you most
forcibly as you approach — there are two open windows ; but
these are even more suspicious than the blind windows. Their
open squares look dark even in broad day, for they have no
panes of glass, or even window-frames. They simply open
upon the dusk within. They impress the imagination as

TOILERS OF THE SEA 109

being the empty sockets of two torn-out eyes. Inside, all
is deserted. Through the gaping casements you can mark
the ruin within. No panellings, no woodwork ; all bare stone.
It is like a windowed sepulchre, giving the spectres an op-
portunity to gaze upon the world without. Rains sap the
foundations on the seaAvard side. A few nettles, shaken by
the breeze, flourish in the lower part of the walls. As far as
the eye can reach there is no other human habitation. The
house is a void ; the abode of silence ; but if you place your ear
against the wall and listen, you can distinguish a confused
noise now and then, like the flutter of wings. Over the door,
upon the stone which forms its architrave, are carved these
letters, " Elm-Pbilg," with the date " 1780."

The gloomy shadows of night and the mournful light of
the moon find entrance there.

The sea completely surrounds the house. Its situation is
magnificent ; and for that very reason its aspect is the more
sinister. The beauty of the spot becomes a puzzle. Why
does not a human family take up its abode here? The place
is beautiful, the house well built. Why this neglect.'' To
these questions, obvious to the reason, succeed oth-
ers, suggested by the thoughts which the place in-
spires. Why is this fertile garden uncultivated? No owner
for it ; and the doorway bricked up ? What is the matter with
the place? Why is it shunned by mankind? What business
is done here? If none, why is there no one living here? Is
it only when all the rest of the world are asleep that some one
frequents the place? Sudden squalls, wild winds, birds of
prey, strange creatures, unknown forms, present themselves to
the mind, and somehow connect themselves with this deserted
house. For what class of wayfarers can this be the hostelry?
You imagine to yourself whirlwinds of rain and hail beating
in at the open casements, and wandering through the rooms.
Tempests have left their traces on the inner walls. The
chambers, though walled and roofed in, are visited by the
hurricanes. Has the house been the scene of some great
crime? You almost fancy that this spectral dwelling, aban-

no TOILERS OF THE SEA

doned to solitude and darkness, can be heard calling aloud
for succour. Does it remain silent? Do voices ever issue
from it? The mystery of the dark hours rests securely here.
Its aspect is disquieting at noon-day ; what must it be at mid-
night? The dreamer asks himself what this house may be
between the twilight of evening and the twilight of dawn?
Has the vast supernatural world some connection with this
deserted spot which sometimes compels it to arrest its move-
ments here, and to descend and to become visible? Do the
scattered elements of the spirit v.orld whirl around it? Does
the impalpable take on form and substance here? Insoluble
enigma ! A holy awe is in the very stones ! When the sun
has gone down, the fisher-boats will return, the song of the
birds will be hushed, the goatherd behind the hills will go home
with his goats ; reptiles, taking courage in the gathering
darkness, will creep through the fissures in the rocks ; the stars
will begin to appear, night will come, but yonder two blank
casements will still be there, gaping. They open to welcome
spirits and apparitions ; for it is by the names of apparitions,
ghosts, phantom faces vaguely distinct, masks in the lurid
light, mysterious movements of souls, and shadows, that the
popular faith, at once ignorant and profound, interprets the
sombre relations of this dwelling with the world of dark-
ness.

The house is " haunted ; " the popular phrase comprises
everything.

Credulous minds are wrong, doubtless ; but that is no proof
that the incredulous, common-sense thinkers are right. They
stoutly declare, however, that there is no m^^stery connected
with the history of the house. It is only an old observatory
of the time of the wars of the Revolution and the Empire
and the days of smuggling, they say. It was built for that
purpose. The wars being ended, the house was abandoned ;
but it was not pulled down, as it might become useful again
some day. The door and windows have been walled up to
prevent people from entering, and injuring the interior. The
walls of the windows, on the three sides which face the sea,

TOILERS OF THE SEA 111

liave been bricked up against the winds of the south and
south-west. That is all.

The ignorant and the credulous are not satisfied, however,
In the first place, the house was not built at the time of the
wars of the Revolution. It bears the date " 1780," which,
was prior to the Revolution. In the next place, it was not
built for an observatory. It bear the letters, " Elm-Pbilg,"
which are the double monogram of two families, and which
indicate, according to usage, that the house was built for the
use of a newly married couple. As it has certainly been in-
habited, why should it have been abandoned? If the door
and windows were bricked up only to prevent people enter-
ing the house, why were two windows left open? Wh}'^ are
there no shutters, no window-frames, no glass? Why were
the walls closed up on one side and not on the other? The
wind is prevented from entering on the south; but why is
it allowed to enter on the north?

The credulous are wrong, no doubt; but it is evident that
the common-sense thinkers have not discovered the key to
the mystery. The problem still remains unsolved.

It is certain that the house is generally believed to have
been more useful than inconvenient to the smugglers.

The growth of superstitious terror tends to deprive facts of
their true proportions. Doubtless, many of the nocturnal
phenomena which have, little by little, given the building
the reputation of being haunted, might be explained by
obscure and furtive visits, by brief sojourns of sailors near
the spot, and sometimes by the precaution, sometimes by the
daring of men engaged in certain suspicious occupations con-
cealing themselves there for their evil purposes or allowing
themselves to be seen there in order to inspire dread.

At this period, already a remote one, many daring deeds
were possible. The police, particularly in small places, were
by no means as efficient as at the present day.

Add to this, that if the house was really the resort of
smugglers, their meetings there must have been to a certain
extent safe from interruption precisely because the house

112 TOILERS OF THE SEA

was so dreaded by the superstitious people of the country.
Its ghostly reputation prevented it from being visited for
other reasons. People do not generally apply to the police,
or officers of customs, for protection from spectres. The
superstitious rely on the sign of the cross, not on indictments.
There is always a tacit connivance, involuntary it may be, but
none the less real, between objects which inspire fear and their
victims. The terror-stricken feel almost culpable ; the^^
imagine that they have unveiled a secret; and they have an
inward fear, unknown even to themselves, of aggravating
their guilt, and exciting the anger of the apparitions. All
this makes them discreet. And over and above this reason,
the very instinct of the credulous is silence ; dread is akin to
dumbness ; the terrified say little ; horror always seems to
whisper, " Hush ! "

It must be remembered that this was a period when the
Guernsey peasants believed that the Mystery of the Holy
Manger was repeated by oxen and asses every year on a
fixed day, — a period when no one would have dared to enter
a stable at night for fear of coming upon the animals on
their knees.

If the local legends and stories of the people can be
credited, the popular superstition went so far as to fasten
on the walls of the house at Pleinmont things of which
traces are still visible, — rats without feet, bats without wings,
and bodies of other dead animals. Here, too, were seen toads
crushed between the pages of a Bible, bunches of yellow
lupins, and other strange offerings, placed there by imprudent
passers-by at night, who, having fancied that they had seen
something, hoped by these small sacrifices to secure pardon,
and to appease the wrath of were-wolves, vampires, and evil
spirits. In all times, believers of this kind have flourished, —
some even in very high places. Caesar consulted Sagana, and
Napoleon, Mademoiselle Lenormand. Tliere are some con-
sciences so tender that they must seek indulgences even from
Beelzebub. " May God do, and Satan not undo," was one
of the prayers of Charles the FiJ'th. Others are still more

TOILERS OF THE SEA 113

timorous. They persuade themselves that they may sin
even against the Evil One; and one of their chief anxieties
was, to be irreproachable even in the eyes of Satan. We find
here an explanation of the adoration sometimes paid to infer-
nal spirits. It is only one more species of fanaticism. Sins
against the devil exist in certain morbid imaginations. The
idea that they have violated the laws of the lower regions
torments certain eccentric casuists ; they g,re haunted by
scruples even about offending the demons. A belief in the
efficacy of devotions to the mysteries of the Brocken or Ar-
muyur, a notion of having committed sins against hell, vision-
ary penances for imaginary crimes, avowals of the truth to
the spirit of falsehood, and self -accusation before the origin
of all evil, — are all realities, or things at least which have
existed.

The annals of criminal procedure against witch-craft and
magic prove this on every page. Human folly unhappily
extends even thus far. When terror seizes upon a man he
does not stop ; he dreams of imaginary faults, imaginary puri-
fications, and cleans out his conscience with the ghost of the
old witches' broom.

Be this as it may, if the house at Pleinmont had its
secrets, it kept them to itself; except by some rare chance,
no one went there to see. It was left entirely alone. Few
people, indeed, like to run the risk of an encounter with the
other world.

Owing to the terror which it inspired, and which kept at
a distance all who could observe or bear testimony on the
subject, it had always been easy to obtain an entrance there
at night by means of a rope ladder, or even by the use of
the first ladder one found in the neighbouring fields. A con-
signment of goods or provisions left there, might await in
perfect safety the time and opportunity for a furtive em-
barkation. Tradition relates that forty years ago a fugitive
— for political offences as some affirm, for commercial as
otherd declare — remained for some time concealed in the
haunted house at Pleinmont, whence he finally succeeded in

114 TOILERS OF THE SEA

embarking in a fishing-boat for England. From England
a passage is easily secured to America.

Tradition also avers that provisions deposited in this house
remain there untouched, Lucifer and the smugglers having
an interest in inducing whomsoever places them there to
return.

From the summit of this house there is a view to the
south of the Hanway Rocks, about a mile from the shore.

These rocks are famous. They have been guilty of all
the evil deeds of which rocks are capable. They are among
the most ruthless destroyers of the sea. They lie in wait for
vessels in the night, and have contributed greatly to the
enlargement of the cemeteries at Torteval and Rocquaine.

A lighthouse was erected upon these rocks in 1862,

At the present day, the Hanways light the way for the
vessels which they once lured to destruction ; the destroyer
in ambush now holds a lighted torch in his hand, and mariners
seek in the horizon, as a protector and a guide, the rock which
they used to shun as a pitiless enemy. It gives confidence
by night in that vast space where it was so long a terror, —
like a robber converted into a gendarme.

There are three Hanways, — the Great Hanway, the Little
Hanway, and the Mauve. It is upon the Little Hanway that
the red light is placed.

This reef forms part of a group of peaks, some under the
sea, some rising out of it. It towers above them all; like
a fortress, it has advanced works: on the side next the open
sea, a chain of thirteen rocks ; on the north, two cliffs, —
the High Fourquies, the Needles, and a sandbank called
the Herouee ; on the south, three rocks, — the Cat Rock, tlic
Percee, and the Herpin Rock ; then two banks, — the South
Bank and the Muet; besides which, there is, on the side
opposite Pleinmont, level with the water, the Tas de Pois
d'Aval.

To swim across the channel from the Hanways to Plein-
mont is a difficult, but not impossible feat. We have already
said that this had been one of Clubin's achievements. The

TOILERS OF THE SEA 115

expert swimmer who knows this channel can find two resting-
places, — the Round Rock, and further on, a little out of
the course, to the left, the Red Rock.

CHAPTER V

THE BIRDS'-NESTERS

ON the Saturday Sieur Clubin spent at Torteval a curi-
ous incident occurred, which was not generally known
until some time afterwards. For many things, as we have
already observed, remain undivulged, simply on account of
the terror which they have excited in those who have witnessed
them.

Late Saturday night, — we mention the date, and we be-
lieve it to be correct, — three boys climbed the hill at Plein-
mont. The boys were returning to the village from the
sea-shore. They were what are called, in the corrupt French
of that region, " deniquoiseaux," or birds'-nesters. Wher-
ever there are cliffs and cleft-rocks overhanging the sea,
young birds'-nesters abound. The reader will recollect that
Gilliatt interfered in this matter for the sake of the children,
as well as for the sake of the birds.

The deniquoiseaux are sort of gamins of the ocean, and
are not very timid.

The night was very dark. Dense masses of cloud obscured
the sky. Three o'clock had sounded in the steeple of Torte-
val, which is round and pointed like a magician's hat.

Why were the boys returning so late? That is easily ex-
plained. They had been searching for sea-gulls' nests in
the Tas de Pois d'Aval. The season having been very mild,
the pairing of the birds had begun very early. The children,
watching the fluttering of the male and female about their
nests, and excited by the pursuit, had forgotten the time.

116 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The waters having crept up around them, they had no time to
regain the Httle bay in which they had moored their boat, and
were consequently compelled to wait upon one of the peaks
of the Tas de Pois for the ebb of the tide. Hence their
late return. Mothers wait on such occasions with feverish
anxiety for the coming of their children, and when they
find them safe, give vent to their joy in the shape of anger,
and relieve their fears by giving them a sound drubbing.
The boys according hastened their steps, but in fear and
trembling. Their haste was of that sort which is glad of
an excuse for stopping, and which is not inconsistent w^th a
reluctance to reach their destination ; for they had before
them the prospect of embraces mixed with a thrashing.

Only one of the boys had nothing of this kind to fear.
He was an orphan, — a French boy, without father or
mother, and perfectly content just then with his mother-
less condition ; for as nobody took any interest in him, his
back was safe from the dreaded blows. The other boys were
natives of Guernsey, and belonged to the parish of Torteval.

Having climbed the high crest of rock, the three birds'-
nesters reached the table-land on which the haunted house
was situated.

They began by being afraid, which was considered the
proper frame of mind of every passer-by, and particularly
of every child at that hour and in that place.

They felt a strong inclination to take to their heels as
fast as possible, and a strong desire, too, to stop and look.

They did stop.

They looked at the solitary building.

It was grim and terrible.

It stood in the middle of a solitary plain, — a hideous but
symmetrical excrescence; a tall, square mass with right-
angled corners, looking like an immense altar to the dark-
ness.

The first impulse of the boys was to run ; the second was
to draw nearer. They had never seen this house so close
before. There is such a thing as a desire to be frightened

I!

TOILERS OF THE SEA 117

arising from curiosity. They had a little French boy with
them, which emboldened them to approach.

It is a well-known fact that the French believe nothing.

Besides it is reassuring to have company in danger; to
be frightened in the company of two other persons is en-
couraging.

And then they were natural hunters ; they were children
not thirty years old all together, they were used to search,
to rummage, to spy out hidden things. They were in the
habit of peeping into holes ; why not into this hole .'' Hunt-
ing is exciting. Hunting for birds' nests perhaps creates
a desire for hunting for ghosts' nests, — to rummage in the
infernal regions. Why not.?

From prey to prey, says the proverb, we come to the
devil. From birds to demons is but a step. The boys were
anxious to learn the secret of those terrors of which their
parents had told them. To be on the track of hobgoblins, —
could anything be more attractive.? To have a long story
to tell like the good housewives was tempting indeed ; so they
finally mustered up courage to approach the house.

The little fellow who served them as a sort of moral sup-
port in the adventure was certainly worthy of their confi-
dence. He was a bold boy, an apprentice to a ship-calker,
— one of those children who have already become men. He
slept on a little straw in a shed in the ship-calker's yard,
earning his own living, having a loud voice ; climbing easily
up walls and trees, not hampered with prejudices concerning
the ownership of any apples within his reach ; a lad who had
already worked in the repairing dock on vessels of war, — a
child of chance, a light-hearted orphan, born in France, no
one knew exactly where; ready to give his last penny to a
beggar; a mischievous fellow, but a good one at heart. At
this time he was earning a shilling a day by calking the
fishermen's boats under repair at the Pequeries. When he
felt inchned, he gave himself a holiday, and went birds'-
nesting. Such was the httle French boy.

The soHtude of the place impressed them with a strange

118 TOILERS OF THE SEA

feeling of awe. They felt the threatening aspect of the
silent house. It was wild and savage in aspect. The naked
and deserted plateau terminated in a precipice a short dis-
tance from the dwelling. The sea below was quiet. There
was no wind. Not a blade of grass stirred.

The birds'-nesters advanced slowly, the French boy at their
head, looking anxiously at the house all the while.

One of them, relating the story afterwards, or as much
of it as had remained in his head, added, " It did not speak."

They came nearer, holding their breath, as one would in
approaching a savage animal.

They had climbed the cliff on the side of the house which
overlooked a narrow isthmus of almost inaccessible rocks.
Thus they had come pretty near to the building; but they
saw only the southern side, which was all walled up. They
did not dare to approach by the other side, where the terrible
windows were.

They grew bolder, however: the calker's apprentice
whispered, " Let's go to port. That's the best side. Let's
have a look at the black windows."

The little band accordingly " went to port," and came
round to the other side of the house.

The two windows were lighted up.

The boys took to their heels.

When they had gone some distance, the French boy turned
and looked back.

" See ! " he cried, " the lights have gone out."

The light at the windows had, indeed, disappeared, though
the outline of the building was as sharply defined as if
stamped out with a punch against the livid sky.

Their fears had not abated, but their curiosity had in-
creased so the birds'-nesters approached the house again.

Suddenly the light reappeared at both windows at the
same moment.

The two young urchins from Torteval took to their heels
and vanished. The daring French boy did not advance,
but stood his ground.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 119

He remained motionless, confronting the house and watch-
ing it.

The hght disappeared, then reappeared once again.
Nothing could be more horrible. The reflection made a faint
streak of light upon the grass, wet with the night dew. All
of a sudden the light cast two huge profiles and the shadow
of two enormous heads on the walls of the house.

The house, however, being without ceilings, and having
nothing left but its four walls and roof, one window could
not be lighted without the other.

Perceiving that the calker's apprentice stood his ground,
the other birds'-nesters returned, step by step, one after the
other, trembling and curious. The calker's apprentice whis-
pered to them, " There are ghosts in the house. I have
seen the nose of one," The two Torteval boys got behind
their companion, standing tiptoe against his shoulder ; and
thus sheltered, and taking him for their shield, felt em-
boldened by having him between them and the vision, and
watched also.

The house seemed to be watching them likewise. There
it stood, with its two glaring eyes, in the midst of that vast
darkness and silence. The light vanished, reappeared, and
vanished again, after the fashion of these unearthly illumina-
tions. These sinister intermissions have, probably, some con-
nection with the opening and shutting of the infernal re-
gions. The air-hole of a sepulchre has been seen to pro-
duce effects like those from a dark lantern.

Suddenly a dark form, like that of a human being, as-
cended to one of the windows, as if from without, and dis-
appeared in the interior of the house.

To enter by the window is customary with thieves.

The light seemed more brilliant for a moment, then went
out, and appeared no more. The house became dark. The
noises heard resembled voices. This is always the case.
When there is anything to be seen, everything is silent.
When there is nothing to be seen, noises are heard.

There is a silence peculiar to nierht-time at sea. The

120 TOILERS OF THE SEA

repose of darkness seems deeper on water than on land.
When there is neither wind nor wave on that moving ex-
panse, over which, at ordinary times, even the flight of an
eagle makes no sound, the movement of a fly can be heard.
This sepulchral quiet made the noises which issued from the
house all the more audible.

" Let us look," said the French boy.

And he made a step towards the house.

The others were so frightened that they resolved to fol-
low him. They did not even dare to run away alone.

Just as they passed a heap of fagots, which for some
mysterious reason seemed to inspire them with a little cour-
age, a white owl flew towards them from out of a bush.
The owls have a peculiar sort of flight, a sidelong skim
which is suggestive of mischief afloat. The bird passed near
the boys, fixing upon them its round eyes that gleamed
brightly in the darkness.

A shudder ran through the group behind the French boy.

He looked up at the owl and said, —

" Too late, my bird ; I'm going to look."

And he advanced.

The crackling sound his thick-nailed boots made among
the furze bushes did not prevent him from hearing the noise
in the house, which rose and fell with the continuousness of
a dialogue.

A moment afterwards the boy added, —

" Besides, it is only fools who believe in spirits,"

Assurance in the presence of danger encourages the cow-
ardly, and urges them on.

The two Torteval lads resumed their march, quickening
their steps behind the calker's apprentice.

The haunted house seemed to them to grow larger and
larger. This optical illusion of fear is founded in reality.
The house did indeed grow larger, for they were getting
nearer to it.

Meanwhile the voices in the house assumed a more and
more distinct tone. The children listened. The ear, too,

TOILERS OF THE SEA 121

has the power of exaggerating. It was different from a
murmur, more than a whispering, less than an uproar. Now
and then one or two cleariy articulated words could be heard.
These v/crds had a strange sound. The boys stopped and
listened, tiicn v.ent on again.

" It must be the ghosts talking," said tlie calker's appren-
tice, " but I don't believe in ghosts all the same."

The Torteval boys were sorely tempted to hide behind
the heap of fagots, but they had already left it far be-
hind ; and their friend the caiker contmued to advance
towards the house. They were afraid to remain with him;
but they dared not leave him.

Step by step, they followed him, greatly perplexed.
The calker's apprentice turned to them and said, —

" You know it isn't true. There are no such things."

The house grew taller and taller. The voices became more
and more distinct.

They drew nearer.

And now they could discern something like a muffled light
within the house. It was a faint glimmer, like one of those
effects produced by the dark lanterns already referred to,
and which are common at the midnight meetings of witches.

When they were close to the house, they halted.

One of the two Torteval hoys ventured an observation:

" It is n't spirits : it is w hite ladies."

"What's that hanging from the window.''" asked the
other.

" It looks like a rope.

" It's a snake."

" It's the hangman's rope," said the French boy, authori-
tatively. " That's what they use. Only I don't believe in
them."

And in three bounds, rather than steps, he found him-
self by the wall of the building.

The others followed him, and came crowding against him,
c:"'e on his right side, the other on his left. The boys
placed their ears to the wall. The sounds continued.

122 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The conversation of the phantoms was as follows: —
" Asi, entendido esta?"
" Entendido."
" Dicho? "
" Dicho."

" Aqui esperara un hombre, y podra marcharse en Ing-
laterra con Blasquito."
"Pagando.?"
" Pagando."

" Blasquito tomara al hombre en su barca.'*
"Sin buscar para conocer a su pais? "
" No nos toca."

" Ni a su nombre del hombre.'' "
" No se pide el nombre, pero se pesa la bolsa.'*
" Bien : esperara el hombre en esa casa."
" Tenga que comer."
" Tendra."
" Onde.? "

" En este saco que he Uevado."
" Muy bien."

" Puedo dcxar el saco aqui .'' "
" Los contrabandistas no son ladrones."

"So that is understood?"

" Perfectly."

"It is agreed?"

" It is agreed."

" The man who waits here can accompany Blasquito to England."

"I>y paying?"

" By paying, of course."

" Blasquito will take the man in his hark."

"Without trying to find out what country he comes from?"

" That is no business of ours."

"Without asking his name?"

" We do not ask names ; we weigh the purse."

"Good: the man will wait in this house."

" He must have provisions."

" He will be furnished with them."

"How?"

" From this bag which I have brought."

"Very good."

"Can I leave this bag here?"

" Smugglers are not robbers."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 123

" Y vosotros, cuando marchais ? "

" Manana por la mafiana. Si su hombre de usted parado,
podria venir con nosotros."
" Parado no esta."
" Hacienda suya."
" Cuantos dias esperara alii? "
" Dos, tres, quatro dias ; menos o mas."
" Es cierto que el Blasquito vendra? '*
" Cierto."

"En este Plainmont?"
" En este Plainmont."
"A qual semana.f* "
" La que viene."
" A qual dia.? "

" Viernes, o sabado, o domingo."
"No puede faltar? "
" Es mi tocayo."
" Por qualquiera tiempo viene? "

" Qualquiera. No tieme. Soy el Blasco, es el Blasquito.''
" Asi, no puede faltar de venir en Guernesey? "
Vengo a un mes, y viene al otro mes."

((

"And when do you sail?"

" To-morrow morning. If your man was ready he could come with

OS."

" He is not prepared."

" That is his affair."

" How many days will he have to wait in this house? "

" Two, three, or four days ; more or less."

"Is it certain that Blasquito will come?"

" Certain."

"Here to Pleinmont?"

" To Pleinmont."

"When?"

" Next week."

"What day?"

" Friday, Saturday, or Sunday."

"Without fail?"

" He is my tocayo."

"Will he come in any weather?"

" At any time. He has no fear. My name is Blasco, his Blasquito."

" So he will not fail to come to Guernsey ? "

" I come one month — he the other."

iU TOILERS OF THE SEA

" Entiendo."

" A cuentar del otro sabado, desde hoy en ocho, no se
pasaran cinco dias sin que venga el Blasquito."

" Pero un muy malo mar? "

" Egurraldia gaiztoa." ^

" Si."

" No vendria el Blasquito tan pronto, pero vendria."

" Donde vendra? "

" De Vilvao."

"Onde ira?"

" En Portland."

" Bien."

"O en Tor Bay."

" Mejor."

" Su hombre de usted puede estarse quieto."

" No traidor sera, el Blasquito? "

" Los cobardes son traidores. Somos valientes."

" No se entiende a lo que dicemos? "

" Escuchar a nosotros y mirar a nosotros es imposible.
La espanta hace alii el desierto."

" I understand."

" Counting from Saturday last, one week from to-day five days will
not elapse without bringing Blasquito."

" But if there is much sea? "

" Egurraldia gaiztoa."

" Yes."

" Blasquito will not come so soon, but he will come."

"Whence does he come?"

"From Bilbao."

"Where will he be going?"

"To Portland."

" Good."

" Or to Torbay."

" Better still."

" Your man can rest easy."

"Blasquito will betray nothing?"

" Only cowards are traitors. We are men of courage."

"Can no one hear what we say?"

" It is impossible for us to be seen or overheard. The people's fear
of this spot makes them shun it."

1 Basque, " Bad weather."

»

)>

TOILERS OF THE SEA 125

" Lo se."

" Quien se atravesaria a escuchar? "

" Es verdad."

" Y escucharian que no entiendrian. Hablamos a una
lengua fiera y nuestra que no se conoce. Despues que la
sabeis, eries con nosotros."

" Soy viendo para componer las haciendas con ustedes."

" Bueno."

" Y allora me voy."

" Mucho."

" Digame usted, hombre. Si el pasagero quiere que el
Blasquito le lleve en ninguna otra parte que Portland o Tor
Bay?"

" Tenga onces."

*' El Blasquito hara lo que querra el hombre?

" El Blasquito hace lo que quieren las onces."

" Es menester mucho tiempo para ir en Tor Bay?

" Como quiere el viento."

"Ocho horas?"

" Menos, o mas."

" El Blasquito obedecera al pasagero? "

" Si le obcdece el mar a el Blasquito."

"I know it." — _^^— —

"Who would dare to listen here?"
" True."

" Besides, even if they listened, no one would understand. We speak
a language of our own, which nobody knows hereabouts. As you know
it, you are one of us."

" I came only to make these arrangements with you."
" Very good."

" I must now take my leave."
"Be it so."

"Tell me; suppose the passenger should wish Blasquito to take him
somewhere else than to Portland or Torbay?"
" Let him bring some gold ounces."
"Will Blasquito consult the stranger's convenience?"
" Blasquito will do whatever the gold coins command."
"Does it take long to go to Torbay?"
" That depends upon the wind."
"Eiglit hours?"
"More or less."

"Will Blasquito obey the passenger?"
"If the sea will obey Blasquito."

126 TOILERS OF THE SEA

" Blen pagado sera."

" El oro es el oro. El viento es el viento."

" Mucho."

" El hombrc hace lo que puede con el ero. Dols con el
viento hace lo que quiere."

" Aqui sera viernes el que desea marcharse con Blasquito."

" Pucs."

"A qual momento llega Blasquito?"

" A la noche. A la noche se llega, a la noche se marcha.
Tcnemos una muger quien se llama el mar, y una her mana
quien se llama la noche. La muger puede faltar, la her-
niana no."

" Todo dicho esta. Abour, hombres."

" Buenas tardes. Un golpe de aquardiente .f* "

" Gracias."

" Es mejor que xarope."

" Tengo vuestra palabra."

" Mi nombre es Pundonor."

" Sea usted con Dios."

" Ereis gentleman, y soy caballero."

It was clear that only devils could talk in this way. The
children did not listen long. This time they took to flight

" He will be well rewarded."

" Gold is gold ; and the sea is the sea."

"That is true."

" Man does what he can with his gold. Heaven does what it will with
Its winds."

" The man who is to accompany Blasquito will be here on Friday."

" Very good."

"At what hour will Blasquito arrive?"

"In the night. We arrive by night; and sail by night. We have a
wife who is called the sea, and a sister called night. The wife betrays
sometimes; but the sister never."

" All is settled, then. Good-night, my men."

"Good-night. Wont you take a drop of brandy first?"

"Thank you."

" That is better than a syrup."

" I have your word."

" My name is Point-of-Honour."

" Adieu."

" You are a gentleman : I am a caballero."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 127

in earnest; the French boy, convinced at last, running even
quicker than the others.

On the Tuesday following, Sieur Clubin returned to St.
Malo, bringing back the Durande,

The " Tamaulipas " was still at anchor in the roads.

Sieur Clubin, between the whifFs of his pipe, said to the
landlord of the Auberge Jean:

" Well ; and when does the * Tamaulipas ' get under way ? "

" Day after to-morrow — Thursday," replied the land-
lord.

That evening, Clubin supped at the coast-guard officers'
table; and, contrary to custom, went out after supper. The
consequence of his absence was, that he was not at the
office of the Durande, and thus lost a little in the way of
freights. This fact was remarked in a man ordinarily so
punctual.

It seems that he chatted a few moments with his friend the
money-changer.

He returned two hours after Noguette sounded the Curfew
bell. The Brazilian bell sounds at ten o'clock. It was there-
fore midnight.

CHAPTER VI

THE JACRESSARDE

FORTY years ago, there was an alley known by the
name of the ' Ruelle Coutanchez " in St. Malo. This
alley no longer exists, it having stood in the way of sundry
improvements.

It was a double row of wooden houses, leaning one upon
the other, and leaving between them just room enough for
a narrow gutter which was called the street. It was possible
to walk by stretching the legs on both sides of the little
stream, touching with head or elbows, as you went, the

128 TOILERS OF THE SEA

houses on the right and left of you. These old relics of
mediaeval Normandy have almost a human interest. Tumble-
dov.n houses and sorcerers always go together. Their lean-
ing stories, their over-hanging walls, their bowed penthouses,
and their old thick-set irons, seem like lips, chin, nose, and
eyebrows. The garret window is the solitary eye. The
walls are the wrinkled and blotchy cheeks. The opposite
houses put their heads together as if they were plotting
some malicious deed. All those words of ancient villainy —
like cut-throat, " slit-weasand," and the like — are closely
connected with architecture of this kind.

One of these houses in the alley — the largest and the most
famous, or ill-famed — was known by the name of the Jac-
ressarde.

The Jacressarde was a lodging-house of the lowest kind.
In all towns, and particularly in sea-ports, there is always
beneath the lowest stratum of society, a sort of residuum:
vagabonds who are more than a match for the authorities;
penniless adventurers ; chemists of the swindling order ; people
in rags of every shape and hue ; blighted fruits of roguery ;
bankrupt existences ; consciences that have filed their schedule ;
men who have failed in the house-breaking trade (for the
great masters of burglary move in a higher sphere) ; workmen
and workwomen in the trade of vice ; rogues, male and female ;
men with no scruples and out at elbows; scoundrels reduced
to indigence ; rogues who have missed the wages of roguery ;
men who have been worsted in the social struggle ; harpies
who have no longer any prey ; petty larceners ; gueux in
the double and unhappy meaning of that word. Such are
the constituents of this living mass. Human nature is here
reduced to something bestial. It is the refuse of the social
state, heape<l up in an obscure corner, upon which from
time to time that dreaded broom which is known as the police
descends. In St. Malo, this corner was styled the Jacres-
sarde.

It is not in dens of this sort that we find the high-class
criminals, — the robbers, forgers, and other great products

TOILERS OF THE SEA 129

of ignorance and poverty. If murder is represented here,
it is generally in the person of some coarse drunkard ; in
the matter of robbery, the company rarely rise higher than
the mere sharper. It is the spittle, not the vomit, of society.
The vagrant is there; but not the highwayman. It would
not, however, be safe to trust this distinction. This last
stage of vagabondage may have its extremes of scoundrelism.
It was on casting their nest in the Epi-scie — which was to
Paris what the Jacressarde was to St. JNIalo — that the police
captured the notorious Lacenaire.

These hiding-places refuse shelter to nobody. A fall in
the social scale brings men to one level. Sometimes honesty
in tatters found itself there. Virtue and probity have been
known before now to be brought to strange passes. We
should not always judge by appearances, even in the palace
or the galleys. Public respect, as well as universal reproba-
tion, requires testing. Surprising results sometimes spring
from this principle. An angel may be discovered in the
slums ; a pearl in the dunghill. Such sad and bewildering
discoveries are not altogether unknown.

The Jacressarde was a court3^ard rather than a house ;
and more of a well than a courtyard. It had no windows
overlooking the street. The fa9ade was simply a high wall,
with a low gateway. You raised the latch, pushed open the
gate, and were in the courtyard.

In the middle of this yard was a round hole, encircled
with stones almost even with the ground. The yard was
small, the well large. A broken pavement surrounded it.

Any one entering there after nightfall, at his own risk
and peril, would have heard a strange medley of sounds,
and if there had been moonlight or starlight enough to
give shape to the obscure forms before him, this is what he
would have seen.

The courtyard: the well. Around the courtyard, in front

of the gate, a lean-to or shed, in a sort of horse-shoe form,

but with square corners ; a rotten gallery, with a roof of

joists supported by stone pillars at unequal distances. In
9

180 TOILERS OF THE SEA

the centre, the well ; around the well, upon a layer of straw,
a kind of ring, formed of the soles of boots and shoes, —
some trodden down at heel, some showing the toes of the
wearers, some the naked heels. The feet of men, women, and
children, all asleep.

Beyond these feet, the eye might have distinguished, in
the shadow of the shed, recumbent bodies, drooping heads,
forms stretched out lazily, bundles of rags of both sexes, a
strange and revolting mass of life. The accommodations of
this sleeping chamber were open to all, at the rate of two
sous a week. Their feet touched the well. On a stormy
night the rain fell upon the feet, or the whirling snow settled
on the bodies of these wretched sleepers.

Who were these people? The unknown. They came there
at night, and departed in the morning. Creatures of this
kind form part of the social fabric. Some stole in during
the darkness, and paid nothing. The greater part had eaten
little or nothing during the day. All kinds of vice and
baseness, every sort of moral infection, every species of dis-
tress were there. The same sleep of exhaustion settled down
upon all in this bed of filth. The dreams of these compan-
ions in misery went on side by side, A dismal meeting-place,
where misery and weakness, half-sobered debauchery, weari-
ness from long walking to and fro, with evil thoughts, in
quest of bread, pallor with closed eyelids, remorse, and envy,
lay mingled and festering in the same miasma, with faces
that wore the look of death, and dishevelled hair mixed with
the filth and sweepings of the streets. Such was the putrid
heap of life fermenting in this dismal spot. An unlucky
turn of the wheel of fortune, a ship arrived the day before,
a discharge from prison, a dark night, or some other chance,
had brought them here, to find a miserable shelter. Every
day brought some fresh accumulation of misery. Let him
enter who would, sleep who could, speak who dared ; for it
was a place of whispers. The new-comers made haste to
hide themselves in the crowd, or tried to seek oblivion in
sleep, as there was none in the darkness of the place. They

TOILERS OF THE SEA 131

snatched what Uttle of themselves they could from the jaws
of death.

They closed their eyes in that confusion of horrors which
every day renewed. They were the embodiment of misery,
thrown off from society like the foam from the sea.

It was not every one who could even get a share of the
straw. More than one figure was stretched out naked upon
the flags. They lay down worn out with weariness, and
awoke paralyzed. The well, without cover or curbing, and
thirty feet in depth, gaped night and day. Rain fell into
it, filth accumulated around it, and the gutters in the yard
ran down and filtered through its sides. The pail for draw-
ing water stood beside it. Those who were thirsty drank
there; some, weary of life, drowned themselves there, —
passing from their slumber in the filthy shed into that pro-
founder sleep. In the year 1819, the body of a boy fourteen
years old was taken out of this well.

To be safe in this house, it was necessary to be of the
" right sort." The uninitiated were regarded \vith suspicion.

Did these wretched creatures know each other.'' No; yet
they scented out the genuine article.

The mistress of the house was a young and rather pretty
woman, who wore a cap trimmed with ribbons. She washed
herself now and then with water from the well. She had a
wooden leg.

By daybreak the courtyard was empty. Its inmates had
dispersed.

An old cock and some hens were kept in the courtyard,
where they raked among the filth of the place all day long.
A long horizontal beam, supported by posts, traversed the
yard, — a gibbet-shaped structure not out of keeping with
the place. Sometimes after a rainy day, a silk dress, muddy
and wet, might be seen there hanging out to dry. It be-
longed to the woman with the wooden leg.

Over the shed, and likewise surrounding the yard on three
sides, was a story, and above this story a loft. A rotten,
wooden ladder, passing through a hole in the roof of the

132 TOILERS OF THE SEA

slied, led up to this story ; and up this ladder the woman
would climb, often staggering as its crazy rounds creaked
beneath her.

The transient lodgers, whether by the week or the night,
slept in the courtyard ; the regular inmates lived in the house.

Windows without a pane of glass, door-frames without
doors, fireplaces without stoves ; such were the chief features
of the interior. You could pass from room to room either
b}' a large square aperture which had once been a doorway, or
by a triangular hole between the joists and the partitions.
The floor was strewn with plastering which had fallen from
the ceiling. It was difficult to say how the old house managed
to stand; the high winds made it shake like a leaf. The
lodgers ascended as best they could by the worn and slippery
rounds of the ladder. Everything was open to the air.
The wintry atmosphere entered the house as water enters a
sponge. The multitude of spiders' webs alone seemed to
prevent the place from falling to pieces. There was no sign
of furniture. Two or three paillasses lay in a corner, their
ticking torn in pieces, and showing more dust than straw
inside. Here and there stood a water-pot or an earthen
pipkin. A close, disagreeable odour haunted the rooms.

The windows looked out upon the square yard. The scene
was like the interior of a scavenger's cart. The numerous
articles, to say nothing of the human beings that lay rust-
ing, moulding, and putrefying there, beggared description.
The fragments seemed to fraternize together. Some fell
i'rom the walls, others from the hving tenants of the place.
Tlie debris were sown with their tatters.

Besides the floating population which bivouacked nightly
in the yard, the Jacressarde had three permanent lodgers, — •
a charcoal-man, a rag-picker, and a " gold-maker." The
charcoal-man and the rag-picker occupied two of the pail-
lasses in the first story ; the " gold-maker," a chemist, lodged
in the loft, which was called, no one knew why, the garret.
Nobody knew where the woman slept. The " gold-maker "
was a poet in a small way. He had a room under the tiles, a

TOILERS OF THE SEA 133

chamber with a narrow window, and a large stone fireplace, — ■
a gulf in which the wind howled at will. The garret win-
dow having no frame, he had nailed across it a piece of iron
sheathing, part of the wreck of a ship. This sheathing left
little room for the entrance of light, and much for the en-
trance of cold. The charcoal-man paid rent from time to
time in the shape of a sack of charcoal ; the rag-picker paid
with a bowl of grain for the fowls every week ; the " gold-
maker " did not pay at all. Meanwhile the latter was burn-
ing up the very house. He had pulled down most of the
little wood-work that remained ; and every now and then he
took from the wall or the roof a lath or some scantling, to
heat his crucible. Upon the partition, above the rag-picker's
mattress, might be seen two columns of figures, marked in
chalk by the rag-picker himself from week to week, a column
of threes, and a column of fives, according as the bowl of
grain had cost him three liards or five centimes. The " gold
pot of the alchemist " was a piece of an old bomb-shell, pro-
moted to the dignity of a crucible, in which he mixed his
ingredients. The transmutation of metals engrossed his
every thought. Sometimes he talked to the beggars in the
yard who laughed at him. " These people are full of preju-
dices," he said. He was determined before he died to re-
venge himself by breaking the windows of orthodox science
with the real philosopher's stone. His furnace consumed a
great deal of wood. The hand-rail of the stairs had en-
tirely disappeared. The house was being slowly consumed.
The landlady said to him, " You will leave us nothing but
the shell." He mollified her by addressing her in verse.

Such was the Jacressarde.

A boy of twelve, or, perhaps, sixteen years of age — for
he was a dwarf, with a large wen on his neck, and a broom
always in his hand — was the one servant of the place.

The habitues entered by the gateway of the courtyard ; the
public by the shop.

What was the shop ?

In the high wall, facing the street, a little to the right of

134 TOILERS OF THE SEA

the entrance to the courtyard, was a square opening, serv-
ing at once as a door and a window. This was the shop.
The square opening had a shutter and a frame, — the only
shutter in all the house that had hinges and bolts. Behind
this square aperture, which opened on the street, was a small
room, a compartment obtained by curtailing the sleeping shed
in the courtyard. Over the door passers-by saw this in-
scription in charcoal, " Curiosities for sale here." On tho
three boards that formed the front of the shop stood several
broken China vases, an old torn Japanese umbrella that would
neither open nor shut, fragments of iron, and shapeless bitr,
of old pottery, dilapidated hats and bonnets, three or four
shells, a few packages, old bone and metal buttons, a tobacco-
box with a portrait of Marie Antoinette, and a dog-carcd
volume of " Boisbertrand's Algebra," This assortment of
articles completed the ^' curiosities." The shop communi-
cated with the yard in which the well stood by a back door.
It was furnished with a table and a stool. The woman with
a wooden leg presided at the counter.

CHAPTER VII

NOCTURNAL BUYERS AND MYSTERIOUS SELLERS

CLUBIN had been absent from the Auberge Jean all Tues-
day evening. Wednesday night he was absent again.

In the dusk that evening, two strangers entered the mazes
of the ruelle Coutanchez. They stopped in front of the
Jacressarde. One of them knocked at the window ; the door
of the shop opened, and they entered. The woman with the
wooden leg met them with the smile which she reserved for
respectable citizens. There was a candle on the table.

The strangers were, in fact, respectable citizens. The
one M'ho had knocked said, " Good-day, mistress. I have
come about that affair."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 135

The woman with the wooden leg smiled again, and went
out by the back door leading into the courtyard where the
well was. A moment afterwards the back door opened again,
and a man appeared in the doorway. He wore a cap and a
blouse. He had bits of old straw in his clothes, and looked
as if he had just been aroused from sleep.

He advanced and exchanged glances with the strangers.
He looked puzzled, but cunning.

" You are the gunsmith ? " he asked.

The one who had tapped on the window replied:

" Yes ; are you the man from Paris ? "

" Known as Redskin. Yes."

" Show me the thing."

The man took from under his blouse a weapon that was not
often seen in Europe at that time. It was a revolver.

The weapon was new and bright. The two strangers ex-
amined it. The one who seemed to know the house, and
whom the man in the blouse had called " the gunsmith,"
tried the mechanism. He passed the weapon to the other,
who appeared less at home there, and who kept his back
turned to the light.

The gunsmith continued, —

" How much.? "

The man in the blouse replied, —

" I have just brought it from America. Some people
bring monkeys, parrots, and other animals, as if the French
people were savages. I brought this. It is a useful inven-
tion."

" How much? " inquired the gunsmith again.

" It is a pistol which turns and turns."

"How much?"

" Bang ! the first fire. Bang ! the second fire. Bang ! the
third fire. What a hailstorm of bullets! It will do some
execution."

"The price?"

" There are six barrels."

*' Well, well, what do you want for it?

»

136 TOILERS OF THE SEA

C(

Six barrels ; that is six louis."

"Will you take five?"

" Impossible. A louis a ball. That is the price."

" Come, let us do business together. Be reasonable."

" I have named a fair price. Examine the weapon, Mr.
Gunsmith."

" I have examined it."

" The barrel twists and turns like Talleyrand himself.
The weapon ought to be mentioned in the ' Dictionary of
Weathercocks.' It is a gem."

" I have looked at it."

" The barrels are of Spanish make."

" I see they are."

" They are twisted. This is how this twisting is done.
They empty into a forge the basket of a collector of old
iron. They fill it full of these old scraps, with old nails,
and broken horse-shoes swept out of farriers' shops."

" And old sickle-blades."

" I was going to say so, Mr. Gunsmith. They apply to
all this rubbish a good sweating heat, and this makes a mag-
nificent material for gun-barrels."

" Yes ; but it may have cracks, flaws, or crosses."

" True ; but they remedy the crosses by little twists, and
avoid the risk of doublings by beating hard. They bring
their mass of iron under the great hammer ; give it two more
good sweating heats. If the iron has been heated too much,
they re-temper it with dull heats and lighter hammers. Then
they take out their stuff and roll it well ; and out of this iron
they make you a weapon like this."

" You are in the trade, I suppose ? "

" I'm a Jack of all trades."

" The barrels are rather light in colour."

" That's the beauty of them, Mr. Gunsmith. The tint is
obtained with antimony."

" It is settled, then, that we give you five louis.? "

" Allow me to observe that I had the honour of saying six."

The gunsmith lowered his voice.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 137

" Hark you, master. Take advantage of the opportunity.
Get rid of this thing. A weapon of this kind is of no use to
a man hke you. It will make you noticed."

" That is very true," said the Parisian. " It is rather con-
spicuous. It is better suited to a gentleman."

" Will you take five louis? "

" No, six ; one for every shot."

" Say six napoleons then."

" I want six louis."

" You are not a Bonapartist, then. You prefer a louis to
a napoleon."

The Parisian nicknamed " Redskin," smiled.

" A napoleon is greater," said he, " but a louis is worth
more."

" Six napoleons."

" Six louis. It makes a difference of four-and-twenty
francs."

" In that case the bargain is off."

" Very good, I'll keep the toy."

" Keep it."

" Beating me down ! a great idea ! It shall never be said
that I gave away a wonderful specimen of ingenuity like
that."

" Good-night, then."

" It marks a whole stage in the progress of making pistols,
which the Indians call Nortay-u-Hah."

" Five louis, ready money. Why, that is a whole handful
of gold."

" ' Nortay-u-Hah,' that signifies ' short gun.' A good
many people don't know that."

" Won't you take five louis, and just a bit of silver to
boot?"

" I said six, master."

The man who had kept his back to the candle, and who
had not yet spoken, was spending his time in turning and
testing the mechanism of the pistol. He now approached
the £^rmourer and whispered, —

138 TOILERS OF THE SEA

" Is it a good weapon ? "

" Excellent."

" I will give the six louis."

Five minutes afterwards, as the Parisian nicknamed " Red-
skin " was depositing the six louis which he had just re-
ceived, in a secret slit in the breast of his blouse, the armourer
and his companion, who liad carefully placed the revolver in
his trousers pocket, stepped out into the street.

CHAPTER VIII

A " CAROM " OFF THE RED BALL AND THE BLACK

ON the morrow, which was a Thursday, a tragical event
occurred a short distance from St. Malo, near DecoUe
Point, a place where the cliff is high and the sea deep.

A line of rocks in the form of a lance-head, and connected
with the land by a narrow isthmus, stretches out into the
water ending abruptly in a tall precipitous cliff, — a very
common form of marine architecture. In attempting to
reach the top of this cliff from the shore, it was necessary to
follow an inclined plane, the ascent of which was rather steep
here and there.

It was on this plateau that a man was standing, about four
o'clock in the afternoon, enveloped in a long military cloak,
and armed, — a fact plainly apparent from certain straight
and angular folds in his mantle. The summit on which this
man was standing was a rather extensive platform, dotted
with large masses of rock, like enormous paving-stones, leav-
ing between them narrow passages. This plateau, on which
a kind of thick, short grass grew here and there, ended on
the side next the sea in an open space, leading to a perpendic-
ular escarpment. This escarpment, rising about sixty feet
above the level of the sea, seemed to have been cut down with

TOILERS OF THE SEA 139

the aid of a plumb-line. Its left angle, however, was broken
away, and formed one of those natural staircases common to
granite cliffs worn by the sea, the steps of which are some-
V. hat inconvenient, requiring sometimes the strides of a giant
or the leaps of an acrobat. It was a break-neck place.
Nevertheless, in a case of absolute necessity, a man might suc-
ceed in embarking there, under the very wall of the cliff.

A strong breeze was sweeping the sea. The man wrapped
in his cape and standing firm, with his left hand supporting
liis right elbow, closed one eye, and placed a telescope to the
other. He seemed absorbed in anxious scrutiny. He had
approached the edge of the cliff, and stood there motionless,
his gaze intently fixed on the horizon. The tide was high;
the waves were beating against the foot of the cliffs below.

The object which the stranger was observing was a vessel
in the offing, which was manoeuvring in a strange manner.
The vessel, which had left the port of St. Malo scarcely an
hour before, had stopped behind the Banquetiers. It had
not cast anchor, perhaps because the bottom could only have
permitted it to bear to leeward on the edge of the cable, and
because the ship would have strained on her anchor under the
cutwater. Her captain had contented himself with lying-to.

The stranger, whose uniform indicated him to be one of the
coast-guard, watched all the movements of the three-master,
and seemed to make a mental note of them. The vessel was
lying-to, a little off the wind, which was apparent by the
backing of the small topsail, and the swelling of the main-
lopsail. She had squared the mizzen, and set the topmast as
close as possible, and in such a manner as to work the sails
against each other, and to make little headway either on or
off shore. Her captain evidently did not care to expose his
vessel much to the wind, for he had only braced up the small
mizzen topsail. In this way he did not drift at most more
than half a league an hour.

It was still broad daylight on the open sea, and on the
heights. On the shore below it was getting dark.

The coast-guardsman, still engaged in his duty, and

140 TOILERS OF THE SEA

carefully scanning the offing, had not thought of observing
the rocks at his side and at his feet, and had his back turned
towards the rough causeway which connected the spot with the
shore. He did not, therefore, notice that something was mov-
ing in that direction. Behind a fragment of rock, on the
steps of the causeway, something very like the form of a man
had been concealed, even before the arrival of the coast-
guardsman. From time to time a head emerged from behind
the rock, and watched the gazer. This head, surmounted by
a wide-brimmed American hat, was that of the pretended
Quaker who had been seen talking to Captain Zuela among
the rocks of Petit-Bey ten days before.

Suddenly, the curiosity of the coast-guardsman seemed
to be still more strongly excited. He polished his glass
quickly with his sleeve, and again brought it to bear upon the
three-master.

A small black spot seemed to detach itself from her
side.

This black spot, which looked like an insect upon the
water, was a boat.

The boat seemed to be making for the shore. It was
manned by several sailors, who were pulling vigorously, and
it seemed to be heading for Point-Decolle.

No movement of the boat escaped the watcher's gaze, and
in his eagerness he approached still closer to the edge of the
cliff.

At that instant a man of ponderous stature suddenly ap-
peared on one of the rocks directly beliind him. It was the
Quaker. The officer did not see him.

The man paused an instant, with his arms hanging at his
sides, but with his fists doubled ; and with the eye of a hunter,
watching for his prey, he watched the officer's every move-
ment.

Four steps only separated them. He put one foot for-
ward, then stopped ; took a second step, and stopped again.
He made no movement except the act of walking ; all the rest
of his body was as motionless as a statue. His foot fell upon

TOILERS OF THE SEA 141

the tufts of grass without noise. He made a third step, and
paused again. He was ahnost within reach of the coast-
guard, Avho still stood there motionless with his telescope.
The man behind him slowly brought his two closed fists to a
level with the collar-bone, then flung both arms out sharply,
and his two fists, as if moved by a spring, struck the coast-
STuardsman on the shoulders. The shock was decisive. The
coast-guard had not time to utter a cry. He fell head first
from the edge of the cliff into the sea. His boots shot
through the air like a flash of lightning. He dropped like
a stone into the sea, which instantly closed over him.

Two or three circles widened out upon the dark water.

Nothing remained but the telescope, which had dropped
from the man's hands, and had fallen upon the turf.

The Quaker leaned over the edge of the cliff a moment,
watching the circles on the water, waited a few minutes,
and then straightened himself up again, singing in a low
voice : —

" The captain of police is dead,
Tlirough having lost his life."

He stooped a second time. Nothing reappeared, but at
the spot where the officer had been ingulfed, he observed on
the surface of the water a sort of dark spot, which gradually
became diffused by the gentle lapping of the waves. It
seemed probable that the coast-guard had fractured his skull
against some rock under water, and that it was his blood
which caused the dark spot in the foam. The Quaker, while
considering the probable cause of this spot, began to sing
again : —

" Not very long before he died.
The man was still — "

He did not finish his song.

He heard an extremely suave voice behind him, which
said, —

" Is that you, Rantaine.'' Good-day. You have just
killed a man, I see."

142 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He turned. About fifteen paces behind him, in one of the
openings between the rocks, stood a small man holding a re-
volver in his hand.

" As you see. Good-day, Sieur Clubin," answered the
Quaker, calmly.

The little man started.

" You know me ? "

" You knew me very well," replied Rantaine.

Meanwhile they could hear a sound of oars on the sea.
It was the approach of the boat which the officer had seen.

Sieur Clubin said in a low tone, as if speaking to him-
self, —

" It was done quickly,"

" What can I do to oblige you ? " asked Rantaine.

" Oh, a trifling matter ! It is very nearly ten years smce
I saw you. You must have been doing well. How are
you?"

" Pretty well," answered Rantaine. " How are you? "

" Very well," replied Clubin.

Rantaine advanced a step towards Clubin.

A little sharp click caught his ear. Sieur Clubin was
cocking his revolver.

" Rantaine, there are about fifteen paces between us. It
is a nice distance. Remain where you are."

" Very well," said Rantaine. " What do you want with
me?"

" I ! Oh, I have come to have a chat with you."

Rantaine did not move.

" You murdered a coast-guardsman just now," Sieur
Clubin continued.

" You have already done me the honour to mention it."

*' Exactly ; but in less explicit terms, I said a man : I
now say, a coast-guard. The man wore the number 619.
He was the father of a family ; leaves a wife and five
children,"

" That is no doubt correct," said Rantaine.
There was a brief pause.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 143

" They are picked men — these coast-guards," continued
Clubin. " Old sailors, most of them."

" I have noticed," said Rantaine, " that men generally do
leave a wife and five children."

" Guess how much this revolver cost me," said Clubin.

" It is a pretty tool," said Rantaine.

" What do you think it cost.? "

" It must have cost a good deal."

" It cost me one hundred and forty-four francs."

" You have bought it," said Rantaine, " at the shop in the
ruelle Coutanchez."

" He did not cry out. The fall stopped his voice," Clubin
continued.

" Sieur Clubin, there will be a breeze to-night."

" I am the only one in the secret."

" Do you still stay at the Auberge Jean ? " asked Rantaine.

" Yes ; you are not badly served there."

" I remember getting some excellent sour-krout at that

mn."

" You must be exceedingly strong, Rantaine. What
shoulders you have! I should be sorry to get a tap from
you. I, on the other hand, when I came into the world,
looked so spare and sickly that they despaired of rearing

me."

((

They succeeded though, — which was lucky."
Yes ; I still stay at the Auberge Jean."

" Do you know, Sieur Clubin, how I recognized you? It
was from your having recognized me. I said to myself,
there is nobody like Sieur Clubin for that."

And he advanced a step.

" Go back where you were, Rantaine."

Rantaine fell back, muttering under his breath : —

" A man becomes a child before one of those weapons."

Sieur Clubin continued : —

" The state of affairs is this : we have on our right, in the
direction of St. Enogat, three hundred paces from here,
another coast-guardsman, number 618, who is still alive; and

144 TOILERS OF THE SEA

on our left, in the direction of St. Lunaire, a custom-house
station. That makes seven armed men who could get here,
if necessary, in five minutes. The cliff would be surrounded ;
the way hither guarded. Impossible to elude them. There
is a corpse at the foot of this rock."

Rantaine gave a sidelong glance at the revolver.

" It is a pretty tool, as you say, Rantaine. Perhaps it
is only loaded with powder; but what does that matter.? A
report would be enough to bring an armed force ; and I have
six barrels here."

The measured sound of oars became distinctly audible.
The boat was not far off.

The tall man scrutinized the little man curiously. Sleur
Clubin spoke in a voice more and more soft and subdued.

" Rantaine, the men in the boat that is coming, knowing
what you did here just now, would help to arrest you. You
are to pay Captain Zuela ten thousand francs for your pas-
sage. You could have made a better bargain, by the way,
with the smugglers of Pleinmont; but they would only have
taken you to England ; and beside-, you could not risk going
to Guernsey, where they have the pleasure of knowing you.
Now to revert briefly to the present state of affairs. If I
fire, you are arrested. You are to pay Zuela ten thousand
francs for your passage. You have already paid him five
thousand in advance. Zuela would keen the five thousand
and be gone.

" These are the facts of the case. Rantaine, you have
managed your masquerading very well. That hat, that queer
coat, and those gaiters make a wcnderful change In you.
You forgot the spectacles, but did riglit to let your whiskers
grow."

Rantaine Ein'led spasmodicallv. Clubin continued:

" Rantaine, ycu have on a pair of American trousers
with two fob pockets. In one you have your watch.
Keep it."

" Thank yois Sleur Club^:n."

" In the other is a little box made of wrought iron which

TOILERS OF THE SEA 145

opens and shuts with a spring. It is a sailor's tobacco-box.
Take it out of your pocket, and throw it over to me."

" Why, this is robbery."

" You are at perfect Hberty to call the coast-guard if you
choose."

And Clubin fixed his eye on Rantaine.

" Here, JNIess Clubin," said Rantaine, making a slight for-
ward movement and holding out his open hand.

The title " Mess " was a bit of delicate flattery.

" Stay where you are, Rantaine."

" Mess Clubin, let us come to terms. I offer you half."

Clubin crossed his arms, still showing the barrels of his
revolver.

" Rantaine, what do you take me for.? I am an honest
man."

Then, he added after a pause : —

" I must have the whole."

" This fellow's a hard case," Rantaine muttered between
his teeth.

The eye of Clubin lighted up, his voice became clear and
sharp as steel,

" I see that you are labouring under a mistake," he cried.
" Robbery is your name for it ; I call it restitution. Hark
you, Rantaine. Ten years ago you left Guernsey, taking
with you the cash-box of a certain partnership concern, con-
taining fifty thousand francs which belonged to you, but for-
getting to leave behind you fifty thousand francs which were
the property of another. Those fifty thousand francs, the
money of your partner, the excellent and worthy Mess
Lethierry, make now, at compound interest, calculated for
ten years, eighty thousand six hundred and sixty-six francs
sixty-six centimes. You went into a money-changer's yester-
day. I'll give you his name, — Rebuchet, in St. Vincent
Street. You counted out to him seventy-six thousand francs
in French bank-notes ; in exchange for which he gave you
three notes of the Bank of England for one thousand pounds

sterling each. You put these bank-notes in the iron tobacco-
10

14.6

TOILERS OF THE SEA

box, and the Iron tobacco-box into your double fob on the
right-hand side. I now demand this money in the name of
Mess Lethierry, I start to-morrow for Guernsey, and intend
to hand it over to him. Rantaine, the three-master lying-to
out yonder, is the ' Tamauhpas.' You have had your lug-
gage put aboard with the other things belonging to the
crew.

" You want to leave France. You have your reasons. You
are going to Arequipa. The boat is coming to fetch you.
You are awaiting it. It is at hand. You can hear it. It
depends on me whether you go or stay. No more words.
Fling me the tobacco-box."

Rantaine put his hand in his pocket, drew out a /ittle box,
and threw it to Clubin. It was the iron tobacco-box. It fell
at Clubin's feet.

Clubin knelt without once lowering his gaze, felt about for
the box with his left hand, keeping his eyes and the six bar-
rels of the revolver fixed upon Rantaine all the while.

Then he cried, —

" Turn your back, my friend."

Rantaine turned his back.

Sieur Clubin put the revolver under one arm and
touched the spring of the tobacco-box. The lid flew open.

It contained four bank-notes, — three of one thousand
pounds each, and one of ten pounds.

He folded up the three bank-notes of a thousand pounds
each, replaced them in the iron tobacco-box, shut the lid again,
and put it in his pocket.

Then he picked up a stone, wrapped the ten-pound note
around it, and said, —

" You can turn round again now."

Rantaine turned.

*' I told you I would be contented with three thousand
pounds." Sieur Clubin continued, " I here return your ten
pounds."

And he threw to Rantaine the note folded around the
stone.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 147

Raiitaino, with a movement of his foot, sent the bank-
note and the stone into the sea.

" As you please," said Clubin, " You must be rich. I
am satisfied."

The sound of oars, which had been continually drawing
nearer during the dialogue, ceased. Thc}^ knew by this that
the boat had reached the base of the cliff.

" Your vehicle waits below. You can go, Rantaine."

Rantaine walked towards the steps and rapidly disap-
peared.

Clubin moved cautiously towards the edge of the cliff, and
watched him descend.

The boat had stopped near the last ledge of rocks, at the
very spot where the coast-guard had fallen.

As he watched Rantaine springing from stone to stone,
Clubin muttered, —

" Poor No. 619. He thought himself alone. Rantaine
thought there were only two of them here. I alone knew
that there were three of us."

He saw at his feet the telescope which had dropped from
the hands of the coast-guard.

The sound of oars was heard again. Rantaine had
stepped into the boat, and the oarsmen were pulling out to
sea.

When Rantaine was safe in the boat, and the cliff was
beginning to recede from his gaze, he arose again abruptly.
His features were convulsed with rage, and he shook his fist
angrily.

A second later, as Clubin was directing the telescope upon
the boat, he heard the following words uttered in a loud
voice, rising clearly above the roar of the waves :

" Sieur Clubin, you are an honest man, so you will not
be offended if I write to Lethierry to inform him of this
matter. Besides, we have here in the boat a sailor from
Guernsey, who is one of the crew of the ' Tamaulipas ; '
his name is Ahier Tostevin, and he will return to St. Malo
on Zuela's next voyage, to bear testimony to the fact of my

148 TOILERS OF THE SEA

having returned to you, on Mess Lethierry's account, the sum
of three tliousand pounds sterhng."

It was Rantaine's voice.

Clubin rarely did things by halves. Motionless as the
coast-guardsman had been, and standing on the very same
spot, his eye still glued to the telescope, he did not lose sight
of the boat for an instant. He saw it growing smaller and
smaller amid the waves ; watched it disappear and reappear,
and finally approach the vessel, which was lying-to ; a moment
afterwards he recognized the tall figure of Rantaine on the
deck of the " Tamaulipas."

Then the boat was raised, and again slung upon the davits,
and the " Tamaulipas " was in motion once more. The land-
breeze was fresh, and the vessel's sails were all spread.
Clubin's glass remained fixed upon her until half an hour
later, v/hen the " Tamaulipas " had become a mere speck in
the distant horizon.

CHAPTER IX

USEFUL INFORMATION FOR PERSONS WHO EXPECT OR FEAR
THE ARRIVAL OF LETTERS FROM BEYOND SEA

SIEUR CLUBIN returned unusually late that evening.
One of the causes of his delay was that before going to
his inn, he had paid a visit to the Dinan gate, a place where
there were several wine-shops. In one of these wine-shops,
where he was not known, he had bought a bottle of brandy,
which he had placed in the pocket of his overcoat, as if he
were desirous of concealing it. Then, as the Durande was to
start on the following morning, he had paid her a visit to
satisfy himself that everything was in order.

When Sieur Clubin returned to the Auberge Jean
there was no one left in the lower room except the old sea-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 149

captain, M. Gertrais-Gaboureau, who was drinking a jug of
ale and smoking his pipe.

M. Gertrais-Gaboureau saluted Sieur Clubin between a
whiff of his pipe and a draught of ale.

" How d 'ye do, Captain Clubin? "

" Good-evening, Captain Gertrais."

" Well, the ' Tamaulipas ' has sailed."

" Ah ! " said Clubin, " I did not observe it."

Captain Gertrais-Gaboureau expectorated, and re-
marked : —

" Zuela has decamped."

"When was that.?"'

" This evening."

" Where is he gone ? "

" To the devil."

" No doubt ; but where is that ? "

" To Arequipa."

"Indeed? I knew nothing about it," said Clubin. "I'll
go to bed I think," he added carelessly.

He lighted his candle and walked towards the door, then
returned.

" Have you ever been at Arequipa, Captain? "

" Yes ; some years ago."

" Where do they touch on that voyage? "

" Almost everywhere ; but the ' Tamaulipas ' will touch no-
where."

M. Gertrais-Gaboureau emptied his pipe on the corner of
a plate and continued : —

" You know the lugger called the ' Trojan Horse,' and
that fine three-master, the ' Trentemouzin,' that sailed for
Cardiff? I was opposed to their sailing on account of the
weather. They have returned in a fine condition. The
lugger was laden with turpentine; she sprang a leak, and in
working the pumps they pumped all her cargo up with the
water. As for the three-master, she suffered most above
water. Her cut-water, her headrail, and the stock of her
larboard anchor are shattered. Her standing jib-boom is

150 TOILERS OF THE SEA

gone clean by the cap. As for the jib-shrouds and bobstajs,
go and see what they look like. The mizzen-mast is not in-
jured, but it has had a severe wrench. All the iron of the
bowsprit has given way ; and it is an extraordinary fact that,
though the bowsprit itself is not scratched, it is completely
stripped. The larboard bow of the vessel is stove in. This
is what comes of not taking advice."

Clubin had placed the candle on the table, and had begun
to readjust a row of pins which he kept in the collar of his
overcoat. He continued : —

" Did I understand you to say. Captain, that the ' Tamauh-
pas ' v.'ould not touch anywhere ? "

" Yes ; she goes direct to Chili."

" In that case, nothing will be heard of her while she's on
the way."

" I beg your pardon, Captain Clubin. In the first place,
she can send letters by any vessels she may meet sailing for
Europe."

" Tliat is true."

" Then there is the ocean letter-box."

" What do you mean by the ocean letter-box? "

" Don't you know what that is, Captain Clubin?

" No."

" When you pass the Straits of Magellan — '

"Well?"

" Snow all around you ; always bad weather ; ugly down-
easters, and bad seas."

"Well?"

" When you have doubled Cape Monmouth — "

"Well?"

" Then you double Cape Valentine."
• "And then?"

" Why, then you double Cape Isidore."

" And afterwards ? "

" You double Point Anne."

" Good. But what is it you call the ocean letter-box? "

"' We are coming to that. JVIountains on the right, incun-
tains on the left of you. Penguins and stormy petrels all

j>

TOILERS OF THE SEA 151

about. A terrible place. By Jove ! how the wind howls
there ! The gales need no help. That's the place for hold-
ing on to the sheer-rails and for reefing topsails. That's
where you take in sail, and fly the jibsail for the mainsail; or
take in the jibsail and try the storm-jib. Gust after gust!
And then, sometimes four, five, or six days of scudding under
bare poles. Often of a new rig of sails there is scarcely a
rag of canvas left. What a dance ! Squalls enough to
make a thi'ee-master skip around like a flea. I once saw a
boy hanging on to the jibboom of an English brig, ' The
True Blue,' knocked , jibboom and all, into ten thousand
nothings. Fellows are blown through the air there like but-
terflies. I saw the second mate of the ' Revenue,' a pretty
schooner, knocked from under the forecross-tree, and killed
dead. I have had my sheer-rails smashed, and have come out
with every sail in ribbons. Frigates of fifty guns take in
water like wicker baskets. And the damnable coast ! Noth-
ing more dangerous can be imagined. Rocks all jagged-
edged ! You come, by and by, to Port Famine. There it's
even worse ! The worst seas I ever saw in my life. The
devil's own latitude. All of a sudden you spy the words,
painted in red, ' Post Office.' "

"What do 3'ou mean. Captain Gertrais.'' "

" I mean. Captain Clubin, that immediately after doubling
Point Anne you see, on a rock, a hundred feet high, a big
post with a barrel fastened to the top. This barrel is the
letter-box. The English sailors must needs go and write
' Post Office ' up there. What had they to do with it? It is
the ocean post-office. It isn't the property of that worthy
gentleman, the King of England. The box is common to
all. It belongs to every flag. ' Post Office ; ' there's a crack-
jaw word for you. It produces very much the same eff'ect on
me as if the devil had suddenly off'ered me a cup of tea. I
will tell you now how the postal arrangements are carried out.
Every vessel that passes sends a boat with dispatches to the
post. A vessel coming from the Atlantic, for instance, sends
its letters for Europe there; and a ship coming from tlio
Pacific, its letters for America. The officer in command of

152 TOILERS OF THE SEA

the boat puts his packet into the barrel, and takes away any
packet he finds there. You take charge of these letters, and
the ship that comes after you takes charge of yours. As
ships are always going to and fro the continent whence you
come is probably that to which I am going. I carry your
letters ; you carry mine. The barrel is fastened to the post
with a chain. And it rains, snows, and hails ! A pretty
sea ! The imps of Satan fly about in every direction. The
' Tamaulipas ' will pass there. The barrel has a good lid
with a hinge, but no padlock. You see, a fellow can com-
municate with his friends this way. The letters come
safely."

" It is very curious," muttered Clubin, thoughtfully.

Captain Gertrais-Gaboureau returned to his mug of ale.

" If that vagabond Zuela should write," he continued,
" and puts his scrawl into the barrel at Magellan, I should
get his letter in about four months ! Well, Captain Clubin,
do you start to-morrow ? "

Clubin, absorbed in a sort of reverie, did not notice the
question, and Captain Gertrais repeated it.

Clubin aroused himself suddenly. " Of course, of course.
Captain Gertrais. It is my day. I start to-morrow
morning."

" If I were in your place I wouldn't. Captain Clubin. The
air of the dog's coat feels damp. For two nights past the
sea-birds have been flying wildly around the lantern of the
lighthouse. A bad sign. I have a storm-glass, too, which
gives me a warning. The moon is at the second half of her
first quarter ; it is the maximum of humidity. I noticed to-
day some pimpernels with their leaves shut, and a field of
clover with its stalks all stiff. The worms come out of the
ground to-day ; the flies sting ; the bees keep close to their
hives ; the sparrows chatter together. You can hear the
sound of bells from far off. I heard the Angelus at St.
Lunaire to-night. And then the sun set angry. There will
be a fine fog to-morrow, mark my words. I don't advise you
to put to sea. I dread the fog a good deal more than a hur-
ricane. It's a nasty neighbour, the fog."

>■

BOOK VI

THE DRUNKEN STEERSMAN AND THE SOBER

CAPTAIN.

CHAPTER I

THE DOUVRES

ABOUT five leagues out, in the open sea, to the south of
Guernsey, opposite Pleinmont Point, and between the
Channel Islands and St. Malo, there is a group of rocks called
the Douvres. It is a dangerous spot.

This term Douvres, applied to rocks and cliffs, is very
common. For example, near the Cotes du Nord, there is a
dangerous reef called the Douvre, upon which a lighthouse
is now in process of construction, but this must not be con-
Founded with the rock previously referred to.

The nearest point on the French coast to the Douvres is
Cape Brehant. The Douvres are a little farther from the
coast of France than from the nearest of the Channel Islands.
The distance from Jersey may be pretty nearly measured by
the extreme length of Jersey. If the Island of Jersey could
be turned round upon Corbiere, as upon a hinge, St. Cath-
erine's Point would almost touch the Douvres.

In these seas the wildest rocks are rarely desert places.
Smugglers are met with at Hagot, custom-house men at
Binic, Celts at Brehat, oyster-dredgers at Cancale, rabbit-
shooters at Cesambre or Csesar's Island, crab-gatherers at

153

154 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Brecqhou, trawlers at the IVIinquiers, dredgers at Ecrehou,
but no one is ever seen upon the Douvres.

The sea-birds alone are at home there.

No spot in the ocean is more dreaded. The Caskets,
where it is said the " White Ship " was lost ; the Bank of
Calvados ; the Needles on the Isle of Wight ; the Ronesse,
which makes the coast of Beaulieu so dangerous ; the sunken
reefs at Preel, which block the entrance to Merquel, and which
necessitate a red-painted beacon in water twenty fathoms
deep ; the treacherous approaches to Etables and Plouha ; the
two granite Druids to the south of Guernsey, the Old Anderlo
and the Little Anderlo, the Corbierc, the Hanways, the Isle of
Ras, associated with terror in the proverb, —

"Si jamais tu passes le Ras,
Si tu ne meurs, tu trembleras,"

the Mortes-Femmes, the passage between La Boue and La
Trouquie, the Deroute between Guernsey and Jersey, the
Hardent between the Minquiers and Chausey, the Mauvais
Cheval between Bouley Bay and Barneville, have a much
better reputation. One would prefer to encounter all these
dangers in turn rather than run the gauntlet of the Douvres
once.

In all that perilous sea of the Channel, which Is the Egean
of the West, the Douvres have no equal in their dangers,
except the Paternoster between Guernsey and Sark.

From the Paternoster, however, it is possible to give a
signal, — a ship in distress may obtain succour there. On
the north rises Dicard or DTcare Point, and on the south,
Grosnez. From the Douvres you can see nothing.

Storm, cloud, wild sea, desolate waste, uninhabited
coast, where none pass but those who have lost their way!
The blocks of granite are enormous — perpendicular walls
everywhere — the grim inhospitality of the abyss !

It is in the open sea; the water about is very deep. A
rock completely isolated like the Douvres attracts and shelters
creatures which shun the haunts of men. It is a sort of vast

TOILERS OF THE SEA 155

submarine labyrinth. There, at a depth to which divers
would find it difficult to descend, are caverns and dusky
mazes, where sea monsters multiply and destroy each other.
Huge crabs devour fish and are devoured in turn. Hideous
living things, not created to be seen by human eyes, wander
about in this obscurity. Vague forms of gaping mouths,
antennae, tentacles, fins, open jaws, scales, and claws float
about there, quivering, growing larger, or decomposing and
perishing in the ill-omened gloom, while horrible swarms of
loathsome creatures prowl about seeking their prey. It is a
hive of hj^dras.

Imagine, if you can, a swarm of holothurians.

To gaze into tlie depths of the sea is, in imagination,
like gazing into the vast unknown, and from its most terrible
point of view. The submarine gulf is analogous to the realm
of night and of dreams. There, too, unconsciousness, or at
least apparent unconsciousness reigns. There, in the awful
silence and darkness, the first crude forms of life, phantom-
like, demoniacal, pursue their horrible instincts.

Forty years ago, two peculiarly shaped rocks signalled
out the Douvres from afar to passers-by on the ocean. They
were two sharply pointed curved rocks whose summits almost
touched each other. They looked like two huge elephants'
tusks rising out of the sea. These two natural towers, rising
out of the obscure haunt of marine monsters, left only a nar-
row passage between them, through which the waves rushed
wildly. This passage, tortuous and full of angles, resembled a
straggling street between high walls. The twin rocks were
called the Douvres. There was the Great Douvre and the Lit-
tle Douvre ; one was sixty feet high, the other forty. The ebb
and flow of the tide at last wore away part of the base of the
towers, and a violent equinoctial gale on the 26th of October,
1859, overthrew one of them. The smaller one, which still
remains, is worn and fragmentary.

One of the most singular of the Douvres is a rock known
as the " Man." This still exists. Some fishermen visiting
this spot in the last century found a human body on the top

156 TOILERS OF THE SEA

of the rock. Beside it lay a number of empty sea-shells. A
sailor wrecked on the rock had found a refuge there, and after
living some time upon rock limpets, had died. Hence its
name : " The Man."

CHAPTER II

AN UNEXPECTED FLASK OF BRANDY

ON Friday morning, the day after the departure of the
" Tamaulipas " the Durande started again for
Guernsey.

She left St. Malo at nine o'clock.

The weather was fine ; no haze. Old Captain Gertrais-
Gaboureau was evidently in his dotage.

Sieur Clubin's numerous occupations had been decidedly
unfavourable to the collection of freight for the Durande.
He had only taken aboard a few packages of Parisian articles
for the fancy shops of St. Peter's Port ; three cases for the
Guernsey hospital, one containing yellow soap and long can-
dles, and the other French shoe leather for soles, and clioice
Cordovan. He brought back from his last cargo a case of
crushed sugar and three chests of tea which the French
custom-house would not admit. He had very few cattle
aboard, — a few bullocks only. These bullocks were loosely
tethered in the hold.

There were six passengers aboard ; a Guernsey man, two
inhabitants of St. Malo, dealers in cattle, a " tourist," a
phrase already in vogue at that period, a Parisian, prob-
ably travelling on business, and an American, engaged in
distributing Bibles.

Without reckoning Clubin, the crew of the Durande
numbered seven men ; a helmsman, a stoker, a ship's carpenter,
and a cook, serving as sailor in case of need, two firemen, and
a cabin-boy. One of the two firemen also acted as engineer.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 157

This man, a bold and intelligent Dutch negro, who had es-
caped from the sugar plantations of Surinam, was named Im-
brancam. The negro, Imbrancam, understood and managed
the engine admirably. In the early da3^s of the " Devil Boat,"
his black face, appearing now and then at the top of the
engine-room stairs, had contributed not a little to sustain the
diabolical reputation of the craft.

The helmsman, a native of Guernsey, but of Cotentin
origin, bore the name of Tangrouille. The Tangrouilles
had been originally a noble family.

This was strictly true. The Channel Islands are, like
England, an aristocratic country. Castes still exist there.
Aristocrats have their peculiar ideas, which are, in fact, their
protection. These notions of caste resemble each other every-
where ; in Hindustan, as in German, nobility is won by the
sword, and lost by soiling the hands with labour ; it is pre-
served by idleness. To do nothing is to live nobly ; whoever
abstains from work is honoured. A trade is fatal. In
France, in olden times, there was no exception to this rule,
except in the case of glass manufacturers. Emptying bottles
being then considered one of the chief glories of gentlemen,
making them was probably, for that reason, not considered
dishonourable. In the Channel archipelago, as in Great Brit-
ain, he who would remain noble must manage to be rich. A
working man cannot possibly be a gentleman. If he has
ever been a gentleman, he is such no longer. Yonder sailor,
though perhaps a descendant of Knights Bannerets, is now
nothing but a sailor. Thirty years ago, at Aurigny, a
real Gorges, who had an undoubted right to the Seigniory
of Gorges, confiscated by Philip Augustus, gathered sea-weed,
barefooted, in the sea. A Carteret is a wagoner in Sark.
There are in Jersey a draper, and in Guernsey a shoemaker,
named Gruchy, who claim to be Grouchys, and cousins of the
Marshal of Waterloo. The old registers of the Bishopric of
Coutances make mention of a Seigniory of Tangroville, evi-
dently a kin to Tancarville on the Lower Seine, which is iden-
tical with Montmorency. In the fifteenth century, Johan dc

158 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Heroudeville, archer and squire of the Sire de Tangroville,
bore behind him " his corselet and other harness." In May,
1371, at Pontorson, at the review of Bertrand du Gueschn,
" Monsieur de Tangroville rendered his homage as Knight
Bachelor." In the Norman islands, if a noble becomes poor,
he is soon eliminated from the order. A mere change of pro-
nunciation is enough. Tangroville becomes Tangrouille: and
tlic thing is done.

Tliis had been the fate of the helmsman of the Durande.

In St. Peter's Port, there is a dealer in old iron named In-
grouillc, who is probably an Ingroville. Under Louis XIV.,
the Ingrovilles owned three parishes in the district of Val-
ognes. A certain Abbe Trigan has written an " Ecclesias-
tical History of Normandy." This chronicler Trigan was the
cure of the Seigniory of Digoville. The Sire of Digo-
ville, if he had sunk to a lower grade, would have been called
Digouille.

Tangrouille, this probable Tancarville, and possible Mont-
morency,— one of the propensities of the former aristocrat,
but a grave failing in a steersman, — got drunk occasionally.

Nevertheless Sieur Clubin had persisted in retaining him.
He answered for his conduct to Mess Lethierry.

Tangrouille never left the vessel ; he slept aboard.

The evening before their departure, when Sieur Clubin
came at a late hour to inspect the vessel, the steersman was in
his hammock asleep.

In the night, Tangrouille awoke. It was his nightly
habit. Every drunkard who is not his own master has his
secret hiding-place. Tangrouille had his, which he called
his store-room. Tangrouille's store-room was in the hold.
Pie had located it there to throw others off the scent. Pie
felt certain that his hiding-place was known only to himself.
Captain Clubin, being a sober man himself, was very strict.
The little rum or gin which the helmsman could conceal from
the vigilant eyes of the captain, he kept in this mysterious
corner of the hold, and nearly every night he had a stolen
interview with the contents of this store-room. The survei]-

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 159

lance was rigorous, so the orgie was a poor one, and Tan-
grouille's nightly excesses were generally confined to two or
three furtive draughts. Sometimes it happened that the
store-room was empty. On that particular night Tangrouille
found a new bottle of brandy there. His joy was great; but
his astonishment was greater still. From what cloud had it
fallen? He could not remember when or how he had brought
it into the ship. He soon consumed the whole of it, however ;
partly from motives of prudence, and partly from a fear that
the brandy might be discovered and seized. He threw the
bottle overboard. In the morning, when he took the helm,
Tangrouille's body oscillated strangely.

He steered, however, about as well as usual.

As for Clubin, he had returned to the inn to sleep, as the
reader knows already.

Clubin always wore, under his shirt, a leather travelling
belt, in which he kept a reserve fund of twenty guineas ; he
took this belt off only at night. Inside the belt, was the name
" Clubin," written by himself on the rough leather, with thick
lithographer's ink, which is indelible.

On rising, just before his departure, he put into this girdle
the iron box containing seventy-five thousand francs in bank-
notes ; then, buckled the belt around his body as usual.

CHAPTER III

CONVERSATIONS INTERRUPTED

THE start of the Durande was propitious. The passen-
gers, as soon as their bags and portmanteaus were
stored away under the benches, took that survey of the
vessel which seems indispensable under the circumstances.
Two of the passengers, the tourist and the Parisian, had
never seen a steamboat before, and from tlie moment the pad-
dles began to revolve, they stood admiring the foam. Then

160 TOILERS OF THE SEA

they gazed with wonder at the smoke. Then they examined
one by one, and almost piece by piece on the upper and lower
deck, all those nautical appliances such as rings, grapnels,
hooks and bolts, which, with their nice precision and adapta-
tion, form a kind of colossal bijouterie, — a sort of iron jew-
elry, fantastically gilded with rust by the weather. They
walked round the little signal gun upon the upper deck.
" Chained up like a sporting dog," observed the tourist.
*' And covered with a waterproof coat to prevent it from tak-
ing cold," added the Parisian. As they left the land further
behind them, they indulged in the customary observations
upon the appearance of St. Malo. One passenger laid down
the axiom that the approach to a place by sea is always decep-
tive ; and that a league from the shore, for example, one could
not tell Ostend from Dunkirk. He completed his remarks on
Dunkirk by the observation that the one of its floating lights
painted red was called " Ruytingen," and the other " Mar-
dyck."

St. Malo, meanwhile, became smaller and smaller in the
distance, and finally disappeared from view entirely.

The sea was unusually calm. The furrow left in the water
by the vessel was a long double line edged with foam, and
stretching straight behind them as far as the eye could see.

A straight line drawn from St. Malo in France to Exeter
in England would touch the island of Guernsey, but a straight
line at sea is not always the route chosen. Steamers, how-
ever, have, to a certain extent, a power of following the di-
rect course, denied to sailing ships.

The wind and the sea form a powerful combination of
forces. A ship is a combination of machinery. Forces are
machines of infinite power. Machines are forces of limited
power. The struggle which we call navigation is between
these two organizations, the one inexhaustible, the other in-
telligent.

An intelligent will, directing the mechanism, counterbal-
ances the infinite. But the infinite, too, has its machinery.
The elements are conscious of where they are going, and what

TOILERS OF THE SEA 161

they arc doing. No force is wholly blind. It is the func-
tion of man to keep watch of these forces, and to discover their
laws.

While these laws remain undiscovci'ed, the struggle con-
tinues, and in this struggle navigation, by the aid of steam,
is a continual victory won by human skill every hour of the
day, and upon every part of the sea. The admirable fea-
ture of steam navigation is that it disciplines the very ship
herself. It lessens her subserviency to the winds, and in-
crease her subserviency to man.

The Durande had never behaved better at sea than on that
day. Her progress was truly marvellous.

About eleven o'clock, with a fresh breeze blowing from
the T:ior'-nor'-west, the Durande was off the Minquiers, under
little steam, keeping her head to the west, on the starboard
tack, and close up to the wind. The weather was still fine
and clear. The trawlers, however, were making for shore.

Little by little, as if each one was anxious to get into port,
the sea became clear of the boats.

It could not be said that the Durande was keeping quite
to her usual course ; but the crew gave no thought to such
matters. The confidence in the captain was absolute ; yet,
perhaps through the fault of the helmsman, there was a slight
deviation. The Durande seemed to be making rather towards
Jersey than Guernsey. A little after eleven the captain rec-
tified the vessel's course, and headed her straight for Guern-
sey. It was only a little time lost, but in short daj's loss of
time has its inconveniences. It was a February day, but the
sun shone brightly.

Tangrouille, in his half-intoxicated state, had not a very
sure arm, nor a very firm footing. The result was that the
helmsman lurched pretty often, which also retarded progress.

The wind had almost entirely subsided.

The Guernsey passenger, who had a telescope in his hand,
brought it to bear from time to time upon a little cloud of
grey mist, lightly moved by the wind, in the extreme western
horizon. It resembled fleecy wadding sprinkled with dust.

162 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Captain Clubin wore his usual austere, Puritan-like ex-
pression of countenance. He appeared to redouble his atten-
tion.

Peace and joy reigned on board the Durande. The pas-
sengers chatted gaily. It is possible to judge of the state of
the sea in a passage with closed eyes, by noting the tenor of
the conversation around you. The peace of mind of the
passengers depends upon the perfect tranquillity of the
waters.

It is impossible, for example, that a conversation like the
following could take place except on a very calm sea : —

" See that pretty green and red fly."

" It has lost itself out at sea, and is resting on the ship."

" Flies do not tire easily."

" No. They are so light ; the wind carries them on without
any exertion on their part."

" An ounce of flies was once weighed, and was afterwards
found to consist of no less than six thousand two hundred and
sixty-eight."

The Guernsey passenger with the telescope had approached
the St. Malo cattle dealers ; and their talk was something in
this vein : —

" The Aubrac ox has a round and thick buttock, short legs,
and a yellow hide. He is slow to work by reason of the
shortness of his legs."

" In that matter the Salers beats the Aubrac."

" I have seen, sir, two beautiful oxen in my like. The first
has the short legs, a thick breast, full rump, large haunches,
a good length of neck to the croup, withers of good height,
the skin loose. The second had all the signs of good fatten-
ing, a thick-set back, strong neck and shoulders, light legs,
white and brown coat, and sloping rump."

" That's the Cotentin breed."

" Yes ; with a slight cross with the Angus or Suff'olk bull."

" You may believe it or not as you please, sir, but I as-
sure you in the south they have donkey shows."

" Donkey shows ? "

TOILERS OF THE SEA 163

" Yes, upon my honour. And the ugliest are the most ad-
mired."

" Ha ! that is the same as at the mule shows. The ugly
ones are considered best."

" Exactly. Take the Poitevin breed for instance, large
belly, thick legs."

" The best mule known is a barrel upon four posts."

" Beauty in beasts is a very different thing from beauty
in men."

" Or in women."

"That is true."

" As for me, I like a woman to be pretty."

" I am more particular about her being well dressed."

" Yes ; neat, clean, and well set off."

" A pretty girl ought always to look as if she had just
been turned out by a jeweller."

" To return to my oxen ; I saw these two sold at the mar-
ket at Thouars."

" The market at Thouars ; I know it very well. The Bon-
neaus of La Rochcllc, and the Babus corn merchants at INIar-
ans, I don't know whether you have heard of them attending
that market."

The tourist and the Parisian were conversing with the Amer-
ican.

" Sir," said the tourist, " I will tell you the tonnage of the
civihzed world. France, 716,000 tons; Germany, 1,000,000;
the United States, 5,000,000; England, 5,500,000; add the
small vessels. Total, 12,904,000 tons, carried in 145,000
vessels scattered over the waters of the entire globe."

"It is the United States, sir, that has 5,500,000," the
American interrupted.

" I stand corrected," said the tourist. " Are you an Amer-
ican, sir-f^ "

" Yes, sir." .

There was a pause. The American missionary was con-
sidering whether this was a case for the offer of a Bible.

" Is it true, sir," asked the tourist, " that you have such

164 TOILERS OF THE SEA

a passion for nicknames in America that you bestow them on
all your celebrated men, and that you call your famous Mis-
souri banker, Thomas Benton, ' Old Ingot ' ? "

" Yes ; just as we call Zachary Taylor ' Old Zach.' "

"And General Harrison, 'Old Tip;' am I not right?
And General Jackson, ' Old Hickory.' "

" Because Jackson is hard as hickory wood ; and because
Harrison beat the redskins at Tippecanoe .^^

" Yours is a sort of Byzantine fashion."

" It is our custom. We call Van Buren ' The Little Wiz-
ard ; ' Seward, who introduced the small bank-notes, ' Little
Billy ; ' and Douglas, the democrat Senator from Illinois,
who is four feet high and very eloquent, ' The Little Giant.'
You may go from Texas to the State of Maine without hear-
ing the name of Mr. Cass ; they say the ' Great Michigan-
der.' Nor the name of Clay ; they say, ' The miller's boy
with the scar.' Clay is the son of a miller."

" I should prefer to say ' Clay ' or ' Cass,' " said the Pari-
sian ; " it's shorter."

" Then you would be out of the fashion. We call Corwin,
who is the Secretary of the Treasur}?^, ' The Wagoner-boy ; '
Daniel Webster, ' Black Dan.' As for Winfield Scott, as
his first thought after beating the English at Chippewa
was to sit down to dine, we call him ' Quick — a basin of
soup.' "

The cloud of mist seen in the distance had grown larger,
and now extended fully fifteen degrees above the horizon.
It was like a cloud loitering above the water for want of
wind to move it. The breeze had entirely died out. The
sea was as smooth as glass. Although it was not yet noon,
the sun was becoming pale. It lighted the earth, but seemed
to give no warmth.

" I think we are going to have a change of weather," said
the tourist.

" Probably rain," said the Parisian.

" Or fog," said the American.

" In Italy," remarked the tourist, " Molfetta is the town

TOILERS OF THE SEA 165

where the least rain falls ; and Tolmezzo, where the most
falls."

At noon, according to the custom of the Channel Islands,
the bell sounded for dinner. Those who wished, dined. Some
passengers had brought provisions with them, and were eat-
ing on the after-deck. Clubin ate nothing.

While dinner was going on the conversation continued.

The Guernsey man, being probably on the scent for Bibles,
approached the American. The latter said to him : —

" Are you familiar with the Channel.? "

" I am ; I belong in this part of the country."

" So do I," remarked one of the St. Malo men.

The native of Guernse}', vrith a bow, continued:

" We are well out at sea now, fortunately ; I should not
have liked a fog when we were off the Alinquiers."

" Islanders are more at home on the sea than folks who
live on the coast," said the American to the St. ]\Ialo man.

" True ; we coast people are only half dipped in salt water."

" What are the IMinquicrs.'' " asked the American.

" An ugly reef of rocks," the St. JNIalo man replied.

" There are the Grelets, too," said the Guernsey man.

"Zounds!" ejaculated the other.

" And the Chouas,'' added the Guernsey man.

The reside:/: -"!' St. INIalo laughed.

" As for that, ' said he, " there are the Savages, too."

" And the Monks," observed the Guernsey man.

" And the Duck," cried the St. Maloite.

The tourist interposed with a question : —

" Have we to pass that legion of rocks? "

" No ; we have left the Grelets to the sou'-south-east of us."

" Big and little rocks together, the Grelets number fifty-
seven peaks," continued the Guernsey passenger.

" And the Minquiers, forty-eight," said the other.

The dialogue was now' confined to the St. IVlalo and the
Guernsey passenger.

" It strikes me, INIonsieur St. Malo, that there are three
rocks which you did not mention."

166 TOILEilS OF THE SEA

" I mentioned all of thcuj."

" From the Deree to the JNIaitre He."

" And Les Maisons? "

" Yes ; seven rocks in the middle of the Minquiers."

*' I see you know every rock."

" If I didn't, I should not be a resident of St. Malo."

" It is amusing to hear French people's reasonings."

The St. Malo man bowed in his turn, and said : —

" The Savages are three rocks."

"And the Monks two."

" And the Duck one."

" The Duck ; that means only one, of course."

" No ; for the Suarde consists of four rocks."

" What do you mean by the Suarde.? " asked the inhabitant
of Guernsey.

" We call the Suarde what you call the Chouas."

" That is a queer passage between the Chouas and the
Duck."

" It is impassable except for birds."

" And fish."

" Scarcely ; in bad weather they knock themselves against
the rocks."

" There is a shoal near the Minquiers ? "

" Around the Maisons."

" There are eight rocks visible from Jersey."

"From the beach at Azette.'' True; but not eight, only
seven."

" At low water you can walk around the Minquiers."

"And what of the Dirouilles.? "

" The Dirouilles are not like the Minquiers."

" They are very dangerous."

" They are near Granville."

" I see that you St. Malo people enjoy sailing in these
waters as much as we do."

" Yes," replied the St. JNIalo man, " with the difference that
we say, ' We are used,' and you, ' We are fond.' "

" You make good sailors."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 167

" I am a cattle merchant myself."

" Who was that famous sailor born at St. Malo ? "

" Surcouf ? "

" No, another man."

" Duguay-Trouin? "

" Duguay-Trouin," chimed in the commercial traveller.
" He was captured by the English. He was as agreeable as
he was brave. A young English lady fell in love with him.
It was she who secured him his liberty."

At this moment a voice like thunder was heard crying
out: —

" You are drunk, man ! "

CHAPTER IV

CAPTAIN CLUBIN DISPLAYS ALL HIS GREAT REMARKABLE

VIRTUES

EVERYBODY turned.
It was the captain shouting to the helmsman.

Sieur Clubin's tone and manner denoted extreme anger.

A well-timed burst of anger sometimes shifts responsibil-
ity upon other shoulders.

The captain, standing on the bridge between the two pad-
dle-boxes had his eyes fixed on the helmsman. " Drunkard,"
he repeated, between his set teeth. The unlucky Tangrouille
hung his head.

The fog had increased rapidly. It now covered nearl^'^ one
half the horizon. It seemed to be advancing from every
quarter at the same time. The light wind moved it onward
swiftly and silently. Little by little, it took possession of
the ocean. It was coming chiefly from the north-west, dead
ahead. It loomed up before the vessel's prow, vast and shad-
owy, like a line of moving cliff. It rose up out of the sea

168 TOILERS OF THE SEA

like a solid wall. There was a straight line where the waters
entered the fog, and became lost to sight.

This line of the commencement of the fog was still more
than half a league away. The distance was visibly lessening.
The fog was drawing nearer to the vessel, while the vessel
was drawing nearer to the fog.

Clubin gave the order to put on more steam, and to steer
to the eastward.

For some time they skirted the edge of the fog; it still
advanced. The vessel, meanwhile, sailed in broad sunlight.

Time was lost in these manoeuvres, which had little chance
of success. Nightfall comes quickly in February.

The native of Guernsey was meditating on the subject of
the fog.

" It will be a thick one, I'm afraid," he remarked.

" An ugly sort of weather at sea," replied one of the St.
Malo men.

" A kind of thing which spoils a good passage," the other
added.

The Guernsey passenger approached Clubin, and said:

" I'm afraid that the fog will catch us. Captain."

Clubin replied : • —

" I wished to stay at St. Malo, but I was advised to start."

"By whom.?"

" By some old sailors."

" You were certainly right to start," said the Guernsey
man. " Who knows but we may have a tempest to-morrow?
At this season you may wait and wait and only find the
weather worse."

A few minutes later, the Durande entered the fog bank.

The effect was singular. Suddenly those who were on the
after-deck could not see those on the forward deck. A soft
grey curtain divided the ship in two parts.

Then the entire vessel became enveloped in fog. The sun
looked like a dull red moon. Everybody suddenly shivered.
The passengers put on their overcoats, and the sailors their
tarpaulins. The sea, almost Avithout a ripple, was the more

TOILERS OF THE SEA 169

menacing from its cold tranquillity. The black funnel and
the heavy smoke struggled through the dewy mist which en-
shrouded the vessel.

Dropping to eastward was useless now. The captain again
headed the vessel towards Guernsey, and gave orders to put
on more steam.

The Guernsey passenger, hanging about the engine-room
hatchway, heard the negro Imbrancam talking to his com-
rade. The passenger listened. The negro said:

"This morning, in the sunshine, we were going with half
steam on ; now, in the fog, we put on full steam."

The Guernsey man returned to Clubin.

" Captain Clubin, a look-out is useless ; but haven't we too
much steam on "? "

" How can I help it, sir.? We must make up for time lost
through the fault of that drunken helmsman."

" True, Captain Clubin."

And Clubin added : —

" I am anxious to get there. It is foggy enough by day ;
it would be rather too much at night."

The Guernsey man rejoined the St. Malo passengers and
remarked : —

" We have an excellent captain."

At intervals great waves of mist bore down heavily upon
them, blotting out the sun, which emerged from them again
pale and sickly. The little that could be seen of the heavens
resembled the long strips of painted sky, dirty and stained
with oil, in the old scenery of a theatre.

The Durande passed close to a cutter which had cast an-
chor for safety. It was the " Shealtiel " of Guernsey. The
master of the cutter remarked the high speed of the steamer.
It struck him, too, that she was not in her exact course. She
seemed to him to bear to westward too much. The sight of
the vessel under full steam in the fog surprised him.

By two o'clock the weather had become so thick that the
captain was obliged to leave the bridge, and station himself
near the steersman. The sun had vanished. A sort of ashy

170 TOILERS OF THE SEA

darkness surrounded the ship. They were saihng in a pale
shroud. They could see neither sky nor water.

There was not a breath of wind stirring.

The can of turpentine suspended under the bridge, between
the paddle-boxes, did not even oscillate.

The passengers had become silent.

The Parisian, however, hummed between his teeth the song
of Beranger, —

" Un jour le bon Dieu s'^veillant."

One of the St. Malo passengers addressed him : —

" You are from Paris, sir-f* "

" Yes, sir."

" What are they doing in Paris, now.? "

" Leur planete a peri, peut-etre. Things are going on
rather badly in Paris just now, sir."

" Then it's the same ashore as at sea."

" True ; we have an abominable fog here."

" Yes ; one that may get us into difficulty."

The Parisian exclaimed : —

" Yes ; and why are all these misfortunes permitted in the
world ? Misfortunes ! What are these misfortunes sent for ^
Wliat use do they serve.? There is a fire at the Odeon the-
atre, and lo and behold, a number of families are thrown out
of employment. Is that just.? I don't know what your re-
ligion may be, sir, but I must admit that all this puzzles me."

" And me, too," said the St. Malo man.

" Everytliing here below," continued the Parisian, " seems
to go wrong. It seems as if Providence, for some reason or
other, had ceased to watch over the world."

The St. Malo man scratched his head, like one who is mak-
ing a great effort to understand. The Parisian continued : —

" God seems to be a non-resident. There ought to be a
protest against his absenteeism. He is at his country-house,
and takes no notice of us: so everything gets awry. It is
evident that he takes no part in the government ; he is taking
a holiday, leaving some vicar, some seminarist angel, som^

TOILERS OF THE SEA 171

wretched creature \\ich sparrows'-wings, to look after afrairs."

Captain Clubin, who had approached the speakers during
this conversation, laid his hand on the Parisian's shoulder.

" Hush, sir," he said. " Have a care. We are on the
sea."

There was no more loud talking.

After a pause of five minutes, the Guernsey man, who had
heard all this, whispered in the ear of the St. Malo passen-
ger:—

" A religious man, our captain."

It did not rain, but all felt their clothing wet. The crew-
paid no attention to the course they were following ; but
there was a growing feeling of uneasiness. They seemed to
have entered into a doleful region. The fog makes a deep si-
lence on the sea ; it calms the waves, and stifles the wind. In
the midst of this silence, the creaking of the Durande com-
municated a strange, indefinable feeling of melancholy and
disquietude.

They passed no more vessels. If afar off, in the direction
of Guernsey or in that of St. Malo, there were any vessels
at sea outside the fog, the Durando, submerged in the dense
cloud, must have been invisible to them ; while her long trail
of smoke attached to nothing probabl}' looked to them like
a black comet in the pale sky.

Suddenly Clubin roared out : —

" Hang-dog ! you have played us an ugly trick. You will
wreck us. You deserve to be put in irons. Get you gone,
you drunkard ! "

And he seized the helm himself.

The steersman, humbled, slunk away to take part in the
duties forward.

" We are safe now," said the Guernsey man.

The vessel was still making rapid headway.

About three o'clock, the fog began to lift a little, and they
could see the sea again.

A fog can only be dispersed by the sun or the wind. If by
the, sun it is well; if by the wind, it is not so well. It was

172 TOILERS OF THE SEA

too late for the sun. At three o'clock in the afternoon, in
the month of February, the sun has very little power. A
return of the wind at this critical time is not desirable. It
is often the forerunner of a hurricane.

If there was any breeze now, however, it was scarcely per-
ceptible. *

Clubin, holding the tiller and steering, with his eye on the
binnacle, muttered to himself some words like the following,
which reached the ears of the passengers:

" We have no time to lose ; that drunken rascal has delayed
us."

His face, meanwhile, was absolutely expressionless.

The sea was less calm under the mist. A few waves were
distinguishable.

Flecks of light appeared on the surface of the water.
These luminous patches attracted the attention of the sailors.
They indicated openings made by the wind in the overhang-
ing roof of fog. The cloud lifted a little, and then fell
again.

The ship was enveloped in a sort of foggy iceberg. At
intervals this grim circle opened a little, like a pair of pin-
cers, disclosing a glimpse of the horizon, and then closed
again.

Meanwhile, the Guernsey man, armed with his spy-glass,
was standing like a sentinel in the fore part of the vessel.

An opening appeared for a moment, and was blotted out
again.

The Guernsey man rushed back in a state of evident alarm.

"Captain Clubin!"

"What is the matter.?"

" We are steering right upon the Hanways."

" You are mistaken," said Clubin, coldly.

" I am sure of it," the Guernsey man insisted.

" Impossible."

" I just saw the rock in the horizon "

"Where.?"

" Over yonder."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 173

" That is tlie open sea there. Impossible."

And Clubin kept the vessel's head towards the very point
indicated b}' the passenger.

The Guernsey man seized his spy-glass again.

A moment later he came running aft again.

" Captain ! "

"Well?"

"Tack about!"

"Why.?"

" I am certain I just saw a very high rock just ahead of us.
It is the Great Hanway."

" You saw nothing but a thick bank of fog."

" It is the Great Hanway. Tack, in Heaven's name ! "

Clubin gave the helm a turn.

CHAPTER V

CLUBIN ATTAINS THE CROWNING-POINT OF HIS GLORY

A SUDDEN crash was heard. The ripping of a vessel's
side upon a sunken reef in open sea is the most dismal
sound conceivable. The Durande's course was stopped short.

Several passengers were knocked down with the shock and
fell upon the deck.

The Guernsey man raised his hands to Heaven,

" We are on the Hanways. I said so."

A wild cry went up from the ship.

" We are lost."

The voice of Clubin, dry and curt, was heard above all the
uproar.

" No one is lost ! Silence ! "

The black form of Imbrancam, naked to the waist, emerged
from the hatchway of the engine-room.

" The water is coming in. Captain. The fires will soon be
out," said the negro calmly.

174 TOILERS OF THE SEA

It was a terrible moment.

The shock was hke that of a suicide. If the disaster had
been wilfully sought, it coiild not have been more terrible.
The Durande had rushed to her fate as if she had attacked
the rock itself. A jagged rock had pierced her side like a
wedge. More than six square feet of planking had gone ;
the stem was broken, the prow smashed, and the gaping hull
drank in the sea with a horrible gulping sound. The vessel
had received a fatal wound. The rebound was so violent that
it shattered the rudder pendants ; the rudder itself hung un-
hinged and flapping. The rocks had shattered her keel.
Round about the vessel nothing was visible except a thick,
dense fog. The shades of night were gathering fast.

The Durande plunged forward. It was like the last effort
of a horse pierced through his entrails by the horns of a bull.
All was over with the vessel.

Tangrouille was completely sobered. Nobody is drunk at
the moment of a shipwreck. He went down to the quarter-
deck, came up again, and said : —

" Captain, the water is gaining rapidly in the hold. In
ten minutes it will be up to the scupper-holes."

The passengers ran about bewildered, wringing their hands,
leaning over the bulwarks, looking down in the engine-room,
and making all sorts of useless movements in their terror.
The tourist had fainted.

Clubin made a sign with his hand, and they were silent.
He questioned Imbrancam : —

" How much longer will the engines work.? "

" Five or six minutes, sir."

Then he questioned the Guernsey man : —

" I was at the helm. You saw the rock. On which bank
of the Hanways are we? "

" On the Mauve. Just now, in the opening of the fog, I
saw it distinctly."

" If we are on the Mauve," remarked Clubin, " we have the
Great Hanway on the port side, and the Little Hanway on
the starboard bow ; we are a mile from the shore."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 175

The crew and passengers listened, fixing their eyes anx-
iously and attentively on the captain.

Lightening the ship would have been of no avail, and in-
deed would have been hardly possible. In order to throw the
cargo overboard they would have had to open the ports and
increase the chance of the water entering. To cast anchor
would have been equally useless ; they were stuck fast. Be-
sides, with such a bottom f^r the anchor to drag upon, the
chain would probably have fouled. The engines, being un-
injured, and being workable until the fires were extinguished,
that is to say, for a few minutes longer, they could have made
an effort, by the aid of steam and the vessel's paddles, to
get her off^ the rocks ; but even if they had succeeded, the ves-
sel would have sunk immediately ; for the rock stopped the
breach to some extent and prevented the entrance of the
water. It was at least ua obstacle ; while the hole once freed,
it would have bee., impossible to stop the leak or to work the
pumps. Tu snatch a poniard from a wound in the heart is
instant death to th^ victim. To free the vessel from the rock
would have been simply to founder.

The cattle, around whom the water was rising, were lowing
piteously in the hold.

" Launch the long-boat ! " shouted Clubin.

Imbracam and Tangrouille rushed to execute the order.
The boat was released froni her fastenings. The rest of the
crew looked on as if petrified.

" Lend a hand, everybody ! " cried Clubin.

This time all obeyed.

Clubin, perfectly self-possessed, continued to issue his
orders in that old sea dialect, which a French sailor of the
present day would scarcely understand.

" Get a cable if the capstan does not work ; stop heaving ;
keep the blocks clear. Lower away there ! Bring her down
stern and bows. Now, then, all together, lads ! Take care
she don't lower stern first ! There's too much strain on there !
Hold the lanyard of the stock tackle ! Stand by there ! "

The long-boat was launched.

176 TOILERS OF THE SEA

At that instant the Durande's paddles stopped, and the
smoke ceased, — the fires were drowned out.

The passengers slipped down the ladder, or clinging to the
rigging, dropped, rather than descended into the long boat.

Imbrancam lifted the fainting tourist, carried him into the
boat, and then boarded the vessel again.

The crew hastened after the passengers, — the cabin-boy
was knocked down, and the others were trampling upon him.

Imbrancam barred their passage.

" Not a man before the lad," he said.

He kept the sailors back with his brawny arms, picked up
the boy, and handed him down to the Guernsey man, who was
standing up in the boat.

The boy saved, Imbrancam made way for the others, and
said : —

" Pass on ! "

Meanwhile Clubin had entered his cabin, and had made up
a parcel consisting of the ship's papers and instruments. He
took the compass from the binnacle, handed the papers and
instruments to Imbrancam, and the compass to Tangrouille,
and said to them : —

" Get aboard the boat."

They obeyed. The crew had taken their places before
them. The boat was now full and down to the water's edge.

" Now push off," cried Chubin.

A shout arose from the long-boat : —

" How about yourself, Captain.? "

" I shall remain here."

Shipwrecked persons havo very little time to deliberate, and
not much for indulging in tender feeling. Those who were
in the long-boat and in comparative safety, however, felt an
emotion which was not altogether selfish.

All the voices shouted together : —

" Come with us, Captain."

" No ; I shall remain here."

The Guernsey man, who had had some experience on the
sea, replied : —

TOILERS OF THE SEA 177

" Listen to me, Captain. You are wrecked on the Han-
ways. You would only have to swim a mile to reach Plein-
mont. In a boat, you can only land at Rocquaine, which is
two miles off. There are breakers, and there is the fog to
contend with. Our boat will not get to Rocquaine in less
than two hours. It will be a dark night. The sea is rising,
— the wind getting fresh. A squall is at hand. We are
ready now to return and bring you off; but if bad weather
comes on, that will be out of our power. You are lost if you
stay there. Come with us."

" The long-boat is full — too full, it is true," the Parisian
chimed in, " and one more will certainly be too many ; but
there are thirteen of us, — a bad number for a boat, and it
is better to overload than to take an unlucky number. Come,
Captain."

" It was all my fault — not yours. Captain," urged Tan-
grouille. " It isn't fair for you to be left behind."

" I have decided to remain here," said Clubin. " The ves-
sel must inevitably go to pieces in the tempest to-night. I
won't leave her. When the ship is lost, the captain is dead.
No one shall say I did not do my duty to the last. Tan-
grouille, I forgive you."

Then, folding his arms, he shouted : —

" Obey orders ! Let go the rope, and push off."

The long-boat swayed to and fro. Imbrancam had seized
the tiller. Every hand that did not hold an oar was lifted
towards the captain ; every mouth, cried : " Hurrah for Cap-
tain Clubin."

" An admirable fellow ! " said the American.

" He is one of the noblest seamen afloat, sir," replied the
Guernsey man.

Tangrouille shed tears.

" If I had had the courage," he said, " I would have stayed
with him."

The long-boat pushed off and disappeared in the fog.

The beat of the oars grew fainter, and died away.

Clubin was left alone.
12

178 .TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER VI

THE INTERIOR OF AN ABYSS SUDDENLY REVEALED

WHEN Clubin found liimself alone upon this rock, in
the midst of the fog and the wide waters, far from
every sound of human life, left for dead, with the tide rising
around him, and night settling down rapidly upon him, he
experienced a feeling of profound satisfaction.

He had succeeded.

His hopes were realized. The bill of excb?i.nge which he
had drawn upon destiny at so long a date had fallen due at
last.

With him, to be abandoned was, in fact, to be saved.

He was on the Hanways, one mile from the shore ; he had
about seventy-five thousand francs on his person. Never had
a shipwreck been more scientifically accomplished. Nothing
had failed. It is true, everything had been foreseen. From
his early years Clubin had had one idea, — to stake his repu-
tation for honesty at life's gaming-table ; to pass for a man
of strict honour, and with that as a beginning to bide his
time, to wait for his chance, to watch his opportunity ; not
to grope about, blindly, but to seize boldly ; to venture on
one great stroke, and end by carrying off the stakes, leaving
fools behind him to gape and wonder. What stupid rogues
fail in twenty times, he meant to accomplish at the first blow ;
and while they ended their career on the gallows, he intended
to finish with a fortune. His meeting with Rantaine gave
him the long coveted opportunity ; so he immediately laid his
plans to compel Rantaine to disgorge ; to frustrate his vic-
tim's possible revelations by disappearing; to make the world
believe him dead, — the best of all modes of concealment ; —
and for this purpose to wreck the Durande. The shipwreck
was necessary to the success of his plans. Lastly, he would

TOILEHS OF THE SEA 179

have the satisfaction of vanishing, leaving a good reputa-
tion behind him.

As he stood meditating on these things upon the wreck,
Clubin might have been taken for some demon in a pleasant
mood.

He had lived a lifetime for the sake of this one minute.

His whole exterior was expressive of the two words, " At
last." A look of fiendish complacency illumined his sallow
countenance. His dull eye, which usually seemed so impene-
trable, became clear and terrible. The inward fire of an evil
spirit was reflected there.

A man's inward nature has its electric phenomena like the
external world around him. An idea is like a meteor ; at the
critical moment, the confused meditations which have preceded
it open a way, and a spark flashes forth. To have within
one's self the talons of vice, the claws of evil, and to feel a
prey therein, affords some minds unspeakable delight. The
triumph of an evil purpose brightens up their visages. The
success of certain cunningly devised combinations, the attain-
ment of certain long cherished aims, the gratification of cer-
tain ferocious instincts, manifest themselves in a sinister but
luminous appearance of the eyes. It is like a threatening
gleam from out of the heart of a storm. These flashes are
generated in the conscience in its states of cloud and darkness.

Such signs were flashing in the pupils of Clubin's eyes.
They were like nothing else that can be seen shining either
above or here below.

All Clubin's pent-up wickedness found full vent now.

He gazed out into the surrounding darkness, and indulged
in a low irrepressible laugh, full of frightful significance.

He was free at last ! rich at last !

The unknown future was at length unfolding; the problem
was solved.

Clubin had plenty of time before him. The sea was ris-
ing, and consequently sustained the Durande, and even raised
her a little at last. The vessel retained its place among the
rocks; there was no danger of her foundering. Besides, he

180 TOILERS OF THE SEA

determined to give the long-boat time to get off, — to go to
the botton, perhaps. Clubin hoped it might.

Standing erect on the deck of the shipwrecked vessel, he
folded his arms, apparently enjoying his forlorn situation.

Hypocrisy had weighed heavily upon this man for thirty
years. He had been an example of evil yoked to probity.
He detested virtue with all the bitterness of one who has been
entrapped into a hateful match. Since he attained to man-
hood he had worn the cold and rigid armour of intense respec-
tability. Underneath this was the demon of self. He had
lived with the heart of a bandit in the skin of an honest citi-
zen. He had been the soft-spoken pirate, the bond-slave
of honesty. He had been swathed in the garments of inno-
cence, as in so many oppressive mummy cloths ; had worn
those angel wings which devils find so wearisome. He had
been overburdened with public esteem. It is an arduous thing,
this passing for an honest man. To preserve one's equilib-
rium amid such difficulties, to think evil, but speak sancti-
moniously, this had indeed been a task. He had been a phan-
tom of uprightness, while he was really the spectre of
crime. Such a life of contradictions had been Clubin's fate.
It had been his lot to maintain a virtuous exterior, to be al-
ways respectable, to rage in secret, and to smile while grind-
ing his teeth. Virtue presented itself to his mind as some-
thing stifling. He had felt, sometimes, as if he could have
bitten those finger-ends which he was compelled to keep be-
fore his mouth. While longing to bite, he had to kiss.

To lie is to suffer. A hypocrite is a sufferer in every sense
of the word ; he plans a triumph, but endures continual pun-
ishment. To premeditate a diabolical act and yet be obliged
to maintain a semblance of virtue all the while ; to be steeped
in secret infamy coated with outward respectability ; to have
to put the world off the scent continually ; to present a per-
petual illusion, and never to be one's self, — is a terrible task.
To fawn, to restrain and suppress one's self, to be ever on
the qui vive; to be constantly endeavouring to mask latent
crimes with a face of healthy innocence ; to transform deform-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 181

ity into beauty ; to fashion wickedness into the shape of per-
fection ; to tickle, as it were, with the point of a dagger, to
sugar-coat poison, to bridle every gesture and keep a watch
over every tone, not even to have a countenance of one's own,
— what can be harder, what can be more torturing ? The
odiousness of hypocrisy is realized perfectly by the hypocrite
himself. Drinking perpetually of his own imposture is nau-
seating. The sweetness which cunning imparts to scoundrel-
ism is repugnant to the scoundrel compelled to have it ever in
the mouth ; and there are moments of disgust when villainy
seems on the point of belching forth its secret. To have to
swallow all that bitter saliva is horrible. Add to this por-
traiture an intense pride. There are moments in the history
of such a life when hj^pocrisy worships itself. There is al-
ways an inordinate egotism in roguery. The worm has the
same mode of gliding along as the serpent, and the same man-
ner of raising its head. The treacherous villain is the despot
curbed and restrained, and only able to attain his ends by re-
signing himself to play a secondary part. The genuine
hypocrite is a Titan dwarfed.

Clubin really believed that he had been ill used. Why
had he not been born rich.'' He would have asked nothing
better than to have inherited 100,000 livres a year from his
parents. Why did he not have them.^ It was no fault of
his that it had been otherwise. Deprived as he had been of
the higher enjoyments of life, why had be been forced to
labour, — in other words, to cheat, to betray, to destroy ?
Why had he been condemned to this torture of flattering,
cringing, fawning; to be always striving for men's respect
and friendship, and to wear night and day a face that was
not his own.'' To be compelled to dissimulate was in itself a
hardship. Men hate those to whom they are compelled to
lie. But now the deception was at an end. Clubin had
taken his revenge. On whom .'' On everybody and everything !

Lethierry had never treated him otherAvisc than well ; so
much the greater his spleen. He was revenged upon Le-
thierry.

182 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He was revenged upon all those whose presence had been
a constraint upon him. It was his turn to be free now.
Whosoever had thought well of him was his enemy. He had
felt himself their captive long enough.

Now he had broken through his prison walls. His escape
was accomplished. His supposed death would really be the
beginning of his life. He was about to begin the world
afresh. The real Clubin has stripped off the false. In a
single hour the spell had been broken. He had kicked Ran-
taine into space ; involved Lethierry in ruin ; human justice
in night, and opinion in error. He had cast off all human-
ity ; blotted out the whole world.

The name of God, that word of three letters, occupied his
mind but little.

He had passed for a religious man. What was he now?

There are secret recesses in hypocrisy, or rather the hypo-
crite is himself a secret recess.

When Clubin found himself quite alone, that cavern in
which his soul had so long lain hidden was opened. He en-
joyed a moment of delicious liberty. He revelled for a mo-
ment in the open air. He gave vent to himself in one long
breath.

The excess of evil within him revealed itself in his visage.
He expanded, as it were, with diabolical joy. The features
of Rantaine compared with his at that moment would have
looked like the innocent features of a new-born child.

What a relief this casting off of the old mask was. His
conscience rejoiced in the sight of its own depravity as it
stepped forth to take its hideous bath of wickedness. The
long restraint of men's respect seemed to have given him a
mad relish for infamy. He experienced a certain lascivious
enjoyment of wickedness. Such natures find intense delight
in those frightful moral abysses which are so rarely sounded.
The long-endured insipidity of his false reputation for virtue
gave him a sort of longing for disgrace. In this state of
mind men despise their fellow creatures so much, that they
even long for the contempt which marks the end of their un-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 183

merited homage. They feel a satisfaction in the freedom of
degradation, and cast an eye of envy at baseness, sitting at
its ease, clothed in ignominy and shame. Eyes that are
forced to droop modestly are familiar with these steady
glances at sin. From Messalina to Marie-Alacoque the dis-
tance is not great. Remember the histories of La Cadiere and
the nun of Louviers. Clubin too, had worn the veil. Ef-
frontery had always been the object of his secret admira-
tion. He envied the painted courtesan and the impassive
countenance of the professional ruffian. He felt a pride
in surpassing her in artifices, and a disgust for the trick
of passing for a saint. He had been the Tantalus of cyni-
cism. And now, upon this rock, in the midst of this solitude,
he could be frank and open. A bold plunge into wickedness,
— what a voluptuous sense of relief it brought with it. All
the delights known to the fallen angels are summed up in
this ; and Clubin experienced them at that moment. The long
arrears of dissimulations were paid at last. Hypocrisy is an
advance ; the devil reimburses it. Clubin gave himself up to
the intoxication of being shameless and of no longer having
any eye upon him but that of Heaven. He whispered within
himself, " I am a scoundrel," and felt profoundly satisfied.

Never before did any human conscience experience such a
tide of emotions.

The eruption of a hypocrite is far beyond that of any cra-
ter.

He was glad to be alone, and yet he would not have been
sorry to have had some one there. He would have been pleased
to have a witness of his fiendish joy.

He would have been gratified to have an opportunity of
saying to society, " Thou fool."

The solitude, indeed, assured his triumph, but lessened it.

He himself was the sole spectator of his glory.

Even to be in the pillory has its satisfaction ; for every-
body can see your infamy.

To compel the crowd to stand and gaze is, in fact a proof
of power. A malefactor standing on a platform in the mar-

184 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ket-place, with an iron collar around his neck, is master of
all the 'glances which he constrains the multitude to turn to-
wards him. What is yonder scaffold but a pedestal? To
be there, the centre of universal observation, is not that, too,
a triumph? To rivet the eyes of the public upon you is one
form of supremacy? For those who worship wickedness, op-
probrium is glory. It is a height from which they can look
down ; a superiority of some kind at least ; a pre-eminence in j
which Ihey can display themselves royally. A gallows stand-
ing high in the gaze of all the w^orld bears some analogy to
a throne.

To be exposed to the public gaze is, at least, to be seen and]
studied.

A wicked reign has all the enjoyments of the pillory. Neroj
burning Rome ; Louis XIV. treacherously seizing the Palati-
nate ; the Prince Regent slowly killing Napoleon ; Nicholas
strangling Poland before the eyes of the civilized world, —
may have felt something akin to Clubin's joy. Universal
execration derives a grandeur from its very vastness.

To be unmasked is a humiliation ; but to unmask one's self
is a triumph. There is an intoxication in the position, an
insolent satisfaction, a flaunting nakedness which affronts the
decencies of life. Supreme bliss !

These ideas appear inconsistent in a hypocrite, but in real-
ity they are not. All infamy is logical. Honey is gall.
Escobar had some affinity with the Marquis de Sade. Leo-
tade is a proof of this. A hypocrite, being the personifica-
tion of complete vice, includes in himself the two poles of per-
versity. Priest-like on one side, he resembles the courtesan
on the other. The sex of his diabolical nature is double. The
hypocrite is the self-impregnating hermaphrodite of evil. He
engenders and transforms himself.

All these ideas were floating confusedly through Clubin's
mind. He analyzed them little, but he enjoyed them much.

A whirlwind of flakes of fire, borne up from the pit of hell
into the dark night, would fitly represent the wild succession
of ideas in his soul.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 185

Clubin remained for some time thoughtful and motionless.
He was surveying his cast-off virtues as a serpent surveys its
cast-off skin.

Everybody had had faith in these virtues ; even he liimself
had had a little.

He laughed again.

Society would imagine him dead, while he was rich. They
would believe him drowned, while he was saved. What a
capital trick to have played on the stupidity of the world.

Rantaine, too, was included in that universal stupidity.
Clubin thought of Rantaine with ineffable disdain, — the dis-
dain of the tiger for the weasel. The trick had failed with
Rantaine, it had succeeded with him ; Rantaine had slunk away
abashed, Clubin disappeared in triumph. He had substituted
himself for Rantaine, stepped between him and his mistress,
and carried off her favours.

He had no well-settled plans for the future.- In the iron
tobacco-box in his girdle he had the three bank-notes. The
knowledge of that fact was enough. He would change his
name. There are plenty of countries where sixty thousand
francs are equal to six hundred thousand. It would be no
bad scheme to go to one of those corners of the earth, and
live there honestly on the money that scoundrel Rantaine had
disgorged. To speculate, to embark in commerce, to increase
liis capital, to become really a millionaire, that, too, would be
no bad termination to his career.

For example, the great trade in coffee from Costa Rica
was only in the first stages of its development. There was
plenty of money to be made. He would see.

All this was of very little consequence. He would have
plenty of time to think of it. The hardest part of the en-
terprise was accomplished. Stripping Rantaine of his ill-
gotten wealth and disappearing with the wreck of the Du-
rande were the grand achievements. All the rest was very
simple. No obstacle was likely to stop him henceforth. He
had nothing more to fear. He could easily reach the shore
by swimming. He would land at Pleinmont in the darkness ;

186 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ascend the cliffs ; go straight to the old haunted house ; enter
it by the aid of the knotted cord, concealed beforehand in a
crevice of the rocks. He would find in the house his travel-
ling-bag containing provisions and dry clothing. There he
could await his opportunity. He had information. A week
would not pass without the Spanish smugglers — Blasquito
probably — touching at Pleinmont. For a few guineas he
could obtain a passage, not to Torbay, as he had said to
Blasco, to confound conjecture, and put him off the scent,
but to Bilboa or Passages. Thence he could get to
Vera Cruz or New Orleans. But the time had now come
for taking to the water. The long boat was far enough off
by this time. An hour's swimming Avas nothing for Clubin,
and as he was on the Hanways, he could not be more than a
mile from the shore.

At this point in Clubin's meditations, an opening suddenly
appeared in the fog bank.

The fierce and terrible Douvres rocks stood before him.

CHAPTER VII

THE UNEXPECTED INTERVENES

Cl.UBIN stared at them, motionless with horror.
It was indeed those dangerous and lonely rocks that
confronted him.

It was impossible to mistake their distorted outlines. The
tv/in Douvres reared their forms aloft before him, hideously
revealing the opening between them, like a snare, — a cut-
throat in ambush in the ocean.

They were close to him. The fog, like an artful ac-
complice, had hidden them until now.

Clubin had mistaken his course in the dense mist. Not
withstanding all his pains, he had experienced the fate of

1

TOILERS OF THE SEA 187

two other great navigators, — of Gonzalez who discovered
Cape Blanco, and Fernandez who discovered Cape Verde.
The fog had bewildered him. Greatly as it had seemed to
favour the execution of his project, it had in reality grossly
deceived him. In veering to westward he had lost his reck-
oning. The Guernsey man, who fancied that he recognized
the Hanways, had determined his fate, and decided him to
give the final turn to the wheel. Clubin had never once
doubted that he was steering the vessel straight on the Han-
ways.

The Durande, stove in by one of the hidden rocks of the
group, was only separated from the two Douvres by a few
cables' lengths.

Two hundred yards farther on was a massive block of gran-
ite, upon whose steep sides were some hollows and small pro-
jections which might help a man to climb, while the square
corners of the rude walls indicated the existence of a plateau
on the summit.

It was the rock known by the name of " The Man."

" The Man " rose even higher than the Douvres. Its
platform commanded a view over their two inaccessible peaks.
This platform, though crumbling at its edges, was charac-
terized by a sort of sculptural regularity. No more deso-
late or more dangerous place could be imagined. The hardly
perceptible waves of the open sea lapped gently against the
square sides of the enormous mass, — a fit resting-place for
the grim phantoms of the sea and of the night.

Clubin had often seen the Douvres from a distance. He
knew that he was indeed there. He could not doubt it.

What a sudden and hideous change ! The Douvres instead
of the Hanways ! Instead of one mile, five leagues of open
sea! The Douvres to the solitary shipwrecked sailor is the
visible and palpable presence of death, — the extinction of all
hope of reaching land.

Clubin shuddered. He had placed himself voluntarily in
the jaws of destruction. No other refuge was left him save
" The Man." It was probable that a tempest would arise

188 TOILERS OF THE SEA

in the night, and that the long-boat, overloaded as she was,
would sink to the bottom, so no news of the shipwreck would
ever reach land. It would not even be known that Clubin
had been left upon the Douvres. There was no prospect be-
fore him but death from cold and hunger. His seventv-five
thousand francs could not purchase him a mouthful of bread.
All the scaffoldingr he had built with such infinite care and
labour had only brought him to this pass. He alone was the
laborious architect of this cro^vning catastrophe. No re-
source,— no possible escape ; his triumph was transformed
into utter ruin. Instead of dehverance, a prison : instead of
a long, prosperous future, the death agony ! In the twink-
ling of an eye, in the instant which the Hghtning occupies
in passing, his lordly structure had fallen into ruins. The
paradise dreamed of by this demon had changed into a sep-
ulchre.

Meanwhile a slight movement became perceptible in the
air. The wind was rising. The fog, roughly shaken and
rent asunder, moved towards the horizon in huge rugged
masses, and the sea became visible again as suddenly as it had
disappeared from view a few hours before.

The cattle, more and more invaded by the waters, contin-
ued to bellow in the hold.

Night was approaching, probably bringing a storm with it.

The Durande, filling slowly with the rising tide, swung
from right to left, then from left to right, and began to
turn upon the rock as upon a pivot.

The mom.ent was close at hand when a wave would move
her from her fixed position, and probably roll her over on
her beam-ends.

It was not even as dark now as when she struck the rocks.
Though the day was nearing its close, one could see much
more clearly, for the fog had carried a part of the dark-
ness away with it. The western horizon was cloudless. Twi-
light brings a pale sky. Its vast reflection glimmered on the
sea.

The Durande's bows were lower than her stem. Her stem

TOILERS OF THE SEA 189

was, in fact, almost out of the water. Clubin mounted the
taffrail, and fixed his eyes on the horizon.

The hypocrite is naturally sanguine ; he is continually wait-
ing for an opportunity. Hypocrisy is nothing, in fact, but
a horrible hopefulness ; its very foundation is composed of that
virtue transformed into a vice. Strange contradiction !
There is a strange trustfulness about hypocrisy. The hypo-
crite relies upon some power, unrevealed even to himself, which
encourages the progress of evil.

Clubin gazed out over the ocean.

The position was desperate, but he had not yet yielded to
despair.

He knew that after the fog lifted, vessels that had been
lying-to or riding at anchor would resume their course ; and
he thought that one might pass that way.

As he had anticipated, a sail appeared.

The vessel was coming from the east and steering towards
the west.

It had but one mast, and a fore and aft rig. Her bowsprit
was almost horizontal. It was a cutter.

In less than a half-hour she must pass not very far from
the Douvres.

Clubin said to himself, " I am saved ! "

At a moment like this, a man thinks of nothing but his
life.

The cutter was probably a foreign craft. Might it not
be one of the smuggling vessels on its way to Pleinmont ?
It might even be Blasquito himself. In that case, not only
life, but fortune, would be saved ; and the catastropne at the
Douvres, by hastening the conclusion, — by dispensing with
the necessity for concealment in the haunted house, and by
bringing the adventure to a denouement at sea, — would prove
a piece of good fortune.

All his original confidence in his eventual success returned.

It is remarkable how easily scoundrels are persuaded that
they deserve to succeed.

There was but one course to adopt.

190 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The Durande being entangled among the rocks, her form
was necessarily mingled with their irregular outlines, and she
was not likely, in the little light which remained, to attract the
attention of the crew of the approaching vessel.

But a human form standing out in bold relief against
the grey sky, upon " The Man " rock, and making signs
of distress, would doubtless be seen, and the cutter would then
send a boat to take the shipwrecked man aboard.

" The Man " was only two hundred yards off. To reach
it by swimming would be an easy matter; to climb it would
be equally easy.

There was not a minute to lose.

The bows of the Durande being wedged in between the
rocks, it was from the top of the poop where Clubin stood
that he had to jump into the sea. He began by taking a
sounding, and discovered that there was a considerable
depth of water just under the stern of the wrecked vessel.
The microscopic shells of foraminifera which the tallow on
the lead-line brought up were intact, indicating the presence
of hollow caves under the rocks, in which the water was tran-
quil, however great the agitation on the surface might be.

He undressed, leaving his clothing on the deck. He knew
that he would be able to get clothing aboard the cutter.

He retained nothing but his leather belt.

As soon as he was stripped he placed his hand on this
belt, buckled it more securely, felt for the iron tobacco-box,
took a rapid survey in the direction which he would have to
take among the waves and breakers to reach " The Man "
rock; then precipitating himself head first, he plunged into
the sea.

As he dived from a height, he plunged heavily.
He sank deep in the water, touched the bottom, skirted
the submarine rocks for a moment, then struck out to regain
the surface.

At that moment he felt himself seized by the foot.

BOOK VII

THE DANGER OF OPENING A BOOK AT RANDOM

CHAPTER I.

THE PEARL AT THE FOOT OF A ' PRECIPICE

A FEW moments after his brief conversation with Sieur
Landoys, Gilhatt reached St. Sampson.

He was troubled, even anxious. What could have hap-
pened ?

There was a murmur in St. Sampson like that which rises
from a startled bee-hive. Everybody was at his door. The
women were talking loudly. There were people who seemed
to be relating some occurrence and who were gesticulating
excitedly. A group had gathered around them. Such ex-
clamations as, How unfortunate ! what a pity ! could be heard
on every side. Some faces wore a smile.

Gilliatt interrogated no one. It was not his nature to
ask questions. He was, moreover, too much excited to talk
to strangers. He had no confidence in rumours. He pre-
feiTed to go direct to the Bravees.

His anxiety was so great that he did not even hesitate to
enter the house.

The door of the great lower room opening upon the Quay
stood wide open. There was a crowd of men and women on
the threshold. Everybody was going in, and Gilliatt went
in with the others. On entering, he found Sieur Landoys
standing near the door-post.

191

192 TOILERS OF THE SEA

" You have heard the news, I suppose? " he remarked.

" No."

" I did not hke to shout it out to you on the road. It made
me feel hke a bird of evil omen."

" What has happened ? "

" The Durande is lost."

There was a crowd in the room. They were all talking
in subdued tones like people in a sick chamber.

The assemblage, which consisted of neighbours, anxious
to hear the news, huddled together near the door with a
sort of timidity, leaving clear the end of the room where
Deruchette was sitting, bathed in tears, Mess Lethierry stand-
ing beside her.

He was leaning against the wall at the end of the room
with his sailor's cap pulled down over his eyebrows. A
lock of grey hair hung down on his cheek. He said noth-
ing. His arms were motionless ; he seemed scarcely to breathe.

He looked like a man whose very life had been crushed
out of him. The Durande being gone, Lethierry had no
object left in life. What should he do now? Get up every
morning; go to sleep every night. Never more would he
await the coming of the Durande: see her get under way, or
come into port. What would the rest of his life be without
any object? To drink, to eat, and what then? He had
crowned the labours of his life bv a masterpiece, cfTected an
advance in civilization by his devotion. The step was lost;
the masterpiece destroyed. To live a few dreary years
longer ! what would be the good of that ? There was noth-
ing left for him now. At his age men do not begin life
afresh. Besides, he was ruined financially. Poor old man !

Deruchette, sitting near him on a chair and weeping bit-
terly, held one of Mess Lethierry's hands in hers. Her hands
were clasped ; his hand was clinched hard. This indicated
the shade of difference in their feelings. In clasped hands
there is still some sign of hope ; in the clinched fist none.

Mess Lethierry gave up his arm to her, and let her do
with it what she pleased. He was passive. Struck down

TOILERS OF THE SEA 193

by a thunderbolt, he had scarcely a spark of life left within
him.

There are crushing misfortunes which isolate the mind
entirely from all fellowship with man. The figures which
come and go about your room become confused and indis-
tinct. They pass, they even touch you, but never really
come near you. You are far away, — inaccessible to them,
as they to you. Intense joy and despair differ in this.
In despair, we take cognizance of the world only as some-
thing dim and afar off: we are blind to what goes on befoi'e
our eyes; we lose the consciousness of our own existence. It
matters not at such times that we are flesh and blood ; our
consciousness of life is none the more real: we are become, even
to ourselves, nothing but a dream.

Mess Lethierry's gaze denoted that he had reached this
state of mental absorption.

The neighbours were whispering together, exchanging such
bits of information as they had been able to gather. This
was the substance of their news:- —

The Durande had been wrecked in the fog the day before
on the Douvres, about an hour before sunset. With the
exception of the captain, who refused to leave his vessel, the
crew and passengers had all escaped in the long-boat. A
squall from the south-west, springing up as the fog cleared,
had almost wrecked them a second time, and carried them out
to sea beyond Guernsej', During the night they had had
the good fortune to meet with the " Cashmere," which had
taken them aboard and landed them at St. Peter's Port. The
disaster was entirely the fault of steersman Tangrouille, who
was in prison. Clubin had behaved nobly.

The pilots, who had mustered in great force, pronounced
the words " The Douvres " with a peculiar emphasis. " A
dreary half-way house, that," said one.

A compass and a bundle of registers and memorandum-
books lay on the table; they were doubtless the compass
of the Durande and the ship's papers handed to Inbran-
cam and Tangrouille by Clubin at the time of the departure

194 TOILERS OF THE SEA

of the long-boat. They were evidences of the magnificent
self-abnegation of that man who had busied himself in saving
these documents even in the presence of death itself, — a little
incident full of moral grandeur; an instance of sublime un-
selfishness never to be forgotten.

They were unanimous in their admiration of Clubin ; unani-
mous also in believing him to have been saved after all. The
cutter " Shealtiel " had arrived some hours after the " Cash-
mere." It was this vessel that had brought the latest intelli-
gence. She had passed four-and-twenty hours in the same
waters as the Durande. She had lain-to in the fog, and
tacked about during the squall. The captain of the " Sheal-
tiel " was present.

This captain had just finished his account to Lethierry as
Gilliatt entered. His narrative was a true one. Towards
morning, the storm having abated, and the wind becoming
manageable, the captain of the " Shealtiel " had heard the
lowing of oxen in the open sea. This sound in the midst of
the waves had naturally startled him. He steered in the di-
rection from which the sound had proceeded, and perceived the
Durande upon the Douvres. The sea had subsided sufficiently
for him to approach. He hailed the wreck, but the bellow-
ing of cattle was the only reply. The captain of the " Sheal-
tiel " was confident that there was no one aboard the Durande.
The wreck still held together, and notwithstanding the vio-
lence of the squall, Clubin might have passed the night there.
He was not there now, however ; so he must have been res-
cued. It was certain that several sloops and luggers, from
Granville and St. Malo, must have passed pretty near the
rocks after laying-to in the fog on the previous evening.
Consequently it was more than likely that one of these vessels
had taken Clubin aboard. It must be remembered that the
long-boat of the Durande was full when it left the ill-fated
vessel ; that it was sure to encounter great risks ; that taking
another man aboard would have overloaded her, and perhaps
caused her to founder; and that these circumstances had no
doubt helped to strengthen Clubin in his determination to

1

TOILERS OF THE SEA 195

remain on the wreck. His duty once fulfilled, however, and
a vessel at hand, Clubin assuredly would not have scrupled
to avail himself of its aid. A hero is not necessarily an idiot.
The idea of suicide was absurd in connection with a man of
Clubin's irreproachable character. The culprit, too, was
Tangrouille, not Clubin. All this was conclusive. The cap-
tain of the " Shealtiel " was evidently right, and everybody
expected to see Clubin reappear very shortly. There was even
a plan to carry him through the town in triumph.

Two things appeared certain from the narrative of the
captain, — Clubin was saved, the Durande lost.

As regards the Durande, there was nothing to be done
but accept the situatiozi ; the catastrophe was irremediable.
The captain of the " Shealtiel " had witnessed the foundering
of the wreck. The sharp rock on which the vessel had been
nailed, as it were, had held her fast during the night, and
resisted the shock of the tempest as if reluctant to part with
its prey; but in the morning, just after the captain of the
" Shealtiel " had satisfied himself that there was no one aboard
to be saved, and was about to bear off again, one of those seas
which are like the last angry blows of a tempest had struck
her. The wave lifted her violently from her place, and with
the swiftness and directness of an arrow from a bow had
hurled her against the two Douvres. " A frightful crash
was heard," said the captain. The vessel, lifted high by the
waves, had plunged between the two rocks up to her midship
beam. She had stuck fast again, and more firmly than on
the submarine rocks. She must have remained suspended
there, and exposed to every wind and sea.

The Durande, according to the statements of the crew of
the *' Shealtiel " was already three-fourths broken up. She
must certainly have foundered during the night, unless the
rocks had kept her up. The captain of„ the " Shealtiel "
had watched her a long time with his spy-glass. He gave
the details of her injuries with nautical precision. The
starboard quarter had been stove in, the masts shattered, the
sails blown from the bolt-ropes, the shrouds torn away, the

196 TOILERS OF THE SEA

cabin sky-lights smashed by the falHng of one of the booms,
the dome of the cuddy-house beaten in, the round-house over-
turned, the hinges of the rudder broken, the trusses wrenched
away, the bits gone, the cross-beam destroyed, the shear-rails
knocked off, the stern-post broken. As for the portion of the
cargo made fast before the foremast, all was destroyed, made
a clean sweep of, gone to ten thousand shivers, with top
ropes, iron pulleys, and chains. The Durande's hull was
shattered ; the sea would soon break her up piecemeal. In a
few days there would be nothing left of her.

Ic appeared that the engine was very little injured by
all these ravages, — a remarkable fact, and one which proved
the excellence of its workmanship. The captain of the
" Shealtiel " thought he could certify that the crank had re-
ceived no serious injury. The vessel's masts had given way,
but the funnel had resisted everything. The iron guards of
the captain's gangway were twisted ; the paddle-boxes had
suffered, the frames were bruised, but not a float was missing
from the paddle-wheels. The machinery was intact. This
was the conviction of the captain of the " Shealtiel." Imbran-
cam, the engineer, who was among the crowd, was of the same
opinion. The negro, more intelligent than many of his white
companions, was proud of his engines. He lifted up his arms,
opening the ten fingers of his black hands, and said to
Lethierry, as he sat there silent, " Master, the machinery is
still alive ! "

The safety of Clubin seeming certain, and the hull of
the Durande being hopelessly injured, the engines became
the chief topic of conversation among the crowd. They
took as much interest in it as if it were a living creature.
They all united in praising its good qualities. " That's
what I call a well-built engine," said a French sailor. " Yes,
she 's certainly a 'good one ! " cried a Guernsey fisherman.
" She must have good stuff in her," said the captain of the
" Shealtiel," " to come out of that affair with only a few
scratches."

But the Durande had enemies as well as friends. More

TOILERS OF THE SEA 197

than one man who possessed a good old saiHng-cutter, and
who hoped to get a share of the Durande's business, was not
sorry to find that the Douvres rock had so effectually disposed
of the new invention. The whispering grew louder. The
discussion became anim^ated, though the hubbub was evidently
a little restrained ; and now and then there was a simultaneous
lowering of voices out of respect to Lethierry's death-like
silence.

The result of the controversy, so obstinately maintained
on all sides, was as follows : —

The engines were the most important part of the vessel.
To rescue the Durande was impossible ; but the machinery
might still be saved. These engines were unique. The
money to construct others was wanting ; and to find a builder
would have been still more difficult. The constructor of the
machinery was dead. It had cost forty thousand francs.
No one would risk that amount again in a similar enterprise,
particularly as it was now known that steamboats could be
lost like other vessels. The accident to the Durande de-
stroyed all her former prestige. Still, it was deplorable to
think that at that very moment this valuable mechanism was
still entire and in good condition, and that in five or six days
it would probably go to pieces, like the vessel herself. As long
as this existed, it might almost be said that there had been
no shipwreck. The loss of the engines was alone irrepa-
rable. To save the machinery would be almost to repair the
disaster.

Save the machinery ! It was easy to talk about it, but
who would undertake to do it? Was it even possible? To
scheme and to execute are two different things, — as different
as it is to dream and to do. Now, if any dream had ever
appeared wild and impracticable, it was that of saving the
engines then wedged between the Douvres. The idea of send-
ing a ship and a crew to work on those rocks was absurd. It
was not to be thought of. It was the season of storms. In
the first gale the anchor-chains Mould be snapped on the sub-
marine peaks, and the vessel be shattered on the rocks.

198 TOILERS OF THE SEA

It would only be sending a second vessel to be wrecked like
the first. On the narrow height where the legends of the
place described the shipwrecked sailor as having perished of
hunger, there was barely room for one person. To save the
engines, therefore, it would be necessary for a man to go to
the Douvres, and remain there alone, — alone in that deso-
late spot five leagues from the coast, alone in that region
of horrors, alone for entire weeks, alone in the presence of
dangers, foreseen and unforeseen, without supplies in the face
of hunger and nakedness, without succour in time of distress,
without any sign of human life around him save the bleached
bones of the miserable being who had perished there in his
misery with no companionship save that of death. Besides,
how could he hope to remove the machinery? It would re-
quire not only a sailor, but an engineer; and what trials he
must expect to encounter. The man who would attempt such
a task must be more than a hero. He must be a madman ;
for in certain enterprises, in which superhuman power seems
necessary, there is a sort of madness which is more potent
than courage. And after all, would it not be a folly to im-
molate one's self for a mass of rusted iron ? No ; it was cer-
tain that nobody would undertake to go the Douvres on such
an errand. The engine must be abandoned like the rest. The
volunteer for such a task would assuredly not be forthcom-
ing. Where, indeed, would they look for such a man.^*

All this, or similar observations, formed the substance of
the excited conversation of the crowd.

The captain of the " Shealtiel," who had been a pilot, ex-
pressed the opinion of all present when he exclaimed, —

" No ; it's an impossibility. The man doesn't exist who
could go there and save the machinery of the Durande."

" If I don't go, it is because nobody could," said Imbran-
cam.

" If he did exist — " resumed the captain.

Deruchctte turned.

" I would marry him," she interrupted innocently.

There was a pause.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 199

A man forced his way through the crowd, and standing
before her, pale and anxious, asked, —

" You would marry him, Miss Deruchette ? "

It was Gilhatt.

Every eye was riveted upon him. Mess Lethierry suddenly
straightened himself up and glanced around him. His eyes
glittered with a strange light.

He snatched off his cap and threw it on the ground ; then
looking solemnly before him, without seeing any of the per-
sons present, said, —

" Deruchette should be his wife. I swear it in the pres-
ence of God."

CHAPTER II

GREAT ASTONISHMENT ON THE WESTERN COAST

THE full moon rose about ten o'clock on the following
evening; but in spite of the fine weather and favour-
able wind, no fisherman could have been induced to go out
that evening either from Hogue la Perre, or Bourdeaux Har-
bour, or Houmet Benet, or Platon, or Port Grat, or Vazon
Bay, or Perrelle Bay, or Pezeries,or the Tielles or Saints' Bay,
or little Bo, or any other port or harbour in Guernsey; and
the reason was very plain. A cock had been heard to crow
at noonday.

When a cock is heard to crow at such an extraordinary
hour, fishing is suspended.

About dusk that evening, however, a fisherman, return-
ing to Omptolle, had a surprise. When off Houmet Para-
dise, beyond the Two Brayes and the Two Grunes, having
to the left of him the Plattes Tougeres beacon represent-
ing a tub bottom side up, and to the right of him the St.
Sampson beacon representing a man's face, the fisherman
thought he noticed for the first time a third beacon. What

200 TOILERS OF THE SEA

could be the meaning of this? When was it erected on that
point? What shoal did it indicate? The supposed beacon
answered these questions forthwith. It moved, it was a mast.
The astonishment of the fisherman did not diminish. A bea-
con would have been remarkable ; a mast was still more so. It
could not be a fishing-boat. When everybody else was re-
turning, some boat v/as going out. Who could the occupant
be, and what was he going to do?

Ten minutes later the vessel, which was moving very slowly,
came within a short distance of the Omptolle fisherman. He
did not recognize it. He heard the sound of rowing. There
were evidently but two oars, so there was probably only one
man aboard. The wind was northerly. The man, therefore,
was evidently paddling in order to take the wind off Point
Fontenelle. Then he would probably use his sails. He must
intend to double the Ancresse and Mount Crevel. What could
that mean?

The vessel passed, the fisherman returned home.
That same night, at different hours, and at different places,
l^eople scattered along the western coast of Guernsey observed
certain facts.

As the Omptolle fisherman was mooring his bark, a carter
of seaweed about half a mile off, urging his horses along the
lonely road from the Clotures near the Cromlech, and in the
neighbourhood of the Martello Towers 6 and 7, saw a sail
being hoisted far out at sea, in a place but little frequented
Ifccause it requires much knowledge of the waters, and in the
direction of North Rock and the Sablonneuse. He paid very
little attention to the circumstance, not being a seaman, but a
carter of seaweed.

About half an hour afterwards a plasterer, returning from
his work in the town, sav/ a vessel sailing boldly along among
the rocks of the Quenon, the Rousse de Mer, and the Gripe de
Rousse. The night was dark, but the sky above the sea was
light, — an effect common enough, — and he could see quite
a long distance in every direction. There was no sail visible
except that on this vessel.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 201

A little farther on a gatherer of cray-fish, preparing his
traps on the beach which separates Port Soif from the Port
Enfer, was puzzled to make out the movements of a vessel
between the Boue Corneille and the Moulrette. The occupant
of the boat must have been a good sailor, and in great haste
to reach some destination, to risk his craft there.

Just as eight o'clock was striking at Catel, the tavern-
keeper at Cobo Bay observed with astonishment a sail out
beyond the Boue du Jardin and the Grunettes, and very near
the Susanne and the Western Grunes.

On Koumet Point in Vason Bay two lovers were linger-
ing before they parted for the night.

" I am not going because I don't want to stay with you,
but because I've got a great deal to do," the young woman
was saying to her companion. Their farewell kiss was inter-
rupted by a good-sized sailing boat which passed near them,
making in the direction of the Messellettes.

Monsieur le Pe^^re des Norgiots, an inhabitant of Cotil-
lon Pipet, was engaged about nine o'clock in the evening
in examining a hole made by some trespassers in a hedge
on his estate known as La Jennerotte. Even while noting
the extent of the damage, he could not help observing a fish-
ing-boat audaciously making its way round the Crocq Point
at that hour of night.

When the sea as rough, as is usually the case the day
after a gale, that route was extremely dangerous, and one
was rash to attempt it, at least, unless he knew all the channels
by heart.

About half-past nine o'clock, at L'Equerrier, a trawler
carrying home his net stopped for a while to watch some-
thing that looked like a boat between Colombelle and the
Souffleresse. The boat was in a perilous position. Sud-
den gusts of wind of a very dangerous kind are very com-
mon in that spot. The Souffleresse, or Blower, is so called
because it blows with sudden violence on ships.

As the moon was rising, the tide being high and the
sea quiet, in the little strait of Li-Hou, the solitary light-

202 TOILERS OF THE SEA

house keeper on the island of Li-Hou was considerably
startled. A tall, dark object passed slowly between him and
the moon.

As it glided along, above the line of the top of the wall
formed by the ridges of rock, the keeper of the Li-Hou
light fancied he had beheld the Black Lady.

The White Lady haunts the Tau de Fez d'Amont; the
Grey Lady, the Tau de Fez d'Aval ; the Red Lady, the Sil-
leuse, to the north of the Marquis Bank ; and the Black Lady,
the Grand Etacre, to the west of Li-Houmet. At night, when
the moon shines, these ladies walk abroad, and sometimes
meet.

The dark object might, of course, be a sail. The long
line of rocks on which she appeared to be walking might
be concealing the hull of a bark sailing along behind them.

But the keeper asked himself, what bark would dare, at
that hour, to venture between Li-Hou and the Fecheresses,
and the Anguillieres and Leree Foint? And what object
could she have? It seemed to him much more probable that
it was the Black Lady.

As the moon was passing the clock-tower of St. Feter
in the Wood, the serjcant at Castle Rocquaine, while in the
act of raising the drawbridge castle, perceived at the end of
the bay beyond Haute Canee, but nearer than the Sambule,
a sailing-vessel which seemed to be steadily dropping down
from north to south.

On the southern coast of Guernsey behind Fleinmont, in
the curve of a bay composed entirely of precipices and rocky
walls, there is a singular landing-place, to which a French-
man, a resident of the island since 1855, the one, perhaps,
who writes these lines, has given the name of " The Fourth
Story Fort," a name now very generally adopted. This port,
or landing-place, which was then called the Moie, is a rocky
plateau formed partly by Nature, and partly by art, raised
about forty feet above the level of the waves and communi-
cating with the water by two large beams laid parallel in
the form of an inclined plane. The fishing vessels are hoisted

TOILERS OF THE SEA 203

up out of the water by means of chains and pulleys, and
are lowered again in the same manner. There is a ladder
for the use of the fishermen. This port, at the time of our
story, was much used by smugglers. Being difficult of ac-
cess, it was well suited to their purposes.

About eleven o'clock, some smugglers, perhaps the same
upon whose aid Clubin had counted, stood with their bales
of goods on the summit of this platform of the Moie. A
smuggler is necessarily a man who is ever on the lookout; it
is a part of his business to watch. These men were aston-
ished to see a sail suddenly make its appearance beyond the
dusky outline of Cape Pleinmont. It was moonlight. The
smugglers observed the sail narrowly, suspecting that it might
be some coastguard cutter about to hide behind the Great
Hanway. But the sail left the Hanways behind it, passed
to the north-west of the Boue Blondel, and was lost in the
pale mists of the distant horizon.

" Where the devil can that boat be going? " asked the
smuggler.

That same evening, a little after sunset, some one had
been heard knocking at the door of the old house of the
Bu de la Rue. It was a boy wearing brown clothes and
yellow stockings, — a fact that indicated that he was the little
parish clerk.

The Bu de la Rue was shut up.

An old fisherwoman prowling along the shore with a
lantern in her hand, called to the boy, and this dialogue
ensued between the fisherwoman and the little clerk, before
the doorway of the Bu de la Rue: —

"What d'ye want, lad?"

" The man that lives here."

" He's not at home."

"Where is he?"

" I don't know."

" Will he be here to-morrow ? "

" I don't know."

** Is he gone away ? "

204.

TOILERS OF THE SEA

" I don't know."

" I've come, my good woman, from the new rector of the
parish, the Reverend Ebenezer Caudray, who wishes to pay
him a visit."

" I don't know where he is."

" The rector sent me to ask if the man who Kves at the
Bu de Li Rue wonld be at home to-morrow morning."

" I don't know."

CHAPTER III

A QUOTATION FROM THE BIBLE

DURING the twenty-four hours that followed. Mess
Lethierry neither ate, nor drank, nor slept. He
kissed Deruchette on the forehead, asked after Clubin, of
whom there was no news as yet, signed a declaration cer-
t'lfymg that he had no intention of preferring a charge
against any one, and set Tangrouille at liberty.

All the morning of the next day he remained half sup-
porting himself on the table in the office of the Durande,
neither standing nor sitting ; answering quietly when any one
spoke to him. Curiosity being satisfied, the Bravees became
a solitude. There is generally a good deal of curiosity
mingled with hasty condolences. When the door at last
closed again, leaving the old man once more alone with Deru-
chette, the strange light that had shone in Lethierry's eyes
died out, and the mournful look which filled them after the
first news of the disaster returned.

Deruchette, anxious for his sake, had, at the advice of
Grace and Douce, silently laid beside him a pair of stock-
ings, which he had been knitting, sailor fashion, when the
bad news arrived.

He only smiled bitterly and said: —

TOILERS OF THE SEA 205

" They must think me a fooh"
After a quarter of an hour's silence, he added : —
" Such things are all very well when you are happy."
Deruchette carried away the stockings, and took advan-
tage of the opportunity to also remove the compass and the
ship's papers over which Lethierry had been brooding too

long.

In the afternoon, a little before tea-time, the door opened
and two strangers entered, dressed in black. One was old,
the other young. The 3^ounger one has already been men-
tioned in the course of this story.

The two men each wore a grave air; but their gravity
seemed different. The old man possessed what might be
called professional gravity ; the gravity of the young man
was a part of his nature. Habit had engendered the one ;
thought the other.

They were, as their garb indicated, two clergymen, both
belonging to the Established Church.

The peculiarity in the appearance of the younger man
which would have first struck a close observer was that his
gravity, though so pronounced and evidently perfectly nat-
ural, was in no wise due to his personal appearance. Grav-
ity is not inconsistent with passion, which it exalts by purify-
ing it ; but this young man Nvas strikingly handsome. Being
in holy orders, he must have been at least five-and-twenty,
but he looked scarcely more than eighteen. In him, the soul
seemed created for exalted passion, and the body for love.
He looked fair, fresh, slim and elegant in his severe attire,
and he had the cheeks of a young girl and extremely delicate
hands. His movements were natural and animated, though
subdued. Everything about him was pleasing, elegant, al-
most voluptuous. The beauty of his expression served to
correct this excess of personal attraction. His frank smile,
which shoAved his teeth, regular and white as those of a child,
was pensive, even devotional in character. He had all the
grace of a page combined with the dignity of a bishop.

His hair, so fair and golden as to be almost effeminate,

206 TOILERS OF THE SEA

clustered around his white forehead, which was high and well
formed. A double line between the eyebrows gave one the
idea of the bird of thought, perched with expanded wings
upon his brow.

Those who saw him felt themselves to be in the presence
of one of those pure, ingenuous, and benevolent natures whose
workings are the reverse of those of the average mind ; na-
tures that are rendered wise bj illusions and enthusiastic by
experience.

His apparent youth did not conceal his real maturity.
Compared with the grey-haired clergyman who accompanied
him, he seemed at the first glance the son, and at the second
glance, the father.

His older companion was no other than Dr. Jaquemin
Herode. Dr. Jaquemin Herode was a High Churchman ; a
sect whose belief is a sort of popery without a pope. The
Church of England was at that epoch struggling against
the tendencies which have since become strengthened and
condensed into the form of Puseyism. Dr. Jaquemin Herode
belonged to that shade of Anglicanism which is almost a va-
riety of the Church of Rome. He was haughty, precise,
stiff, and commanding in manner. He attached more im-
portance to the letter of the law than to the spirit. His
manner was arrogant ; his presence imposing. He looked
less like a " Reverend " than like a Mons'ignore. His frock-
coat was cut somewhat in the fashion of a cassock. His true
centre would have been Rome. He was a born Prelate of
the Antechamber. He seemed to have been created expressly
to play an important part at the Papal Court, to walk be-
hind the Pontifical litter, with all the Court of Rome in abito
'paonazzo. The accident of his English birth and his
theological education, directed more towards the Old than the
New Testament, had deprived him of that brilliant destiny.
All his glories were summed up in his preferments as Rector
of St. Peter's port. Dean of the Island of Guernsey, and
Surrogate of the Bishop of Winchester. There were, un-
doubtedly, not without their charms.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 207

All this did not prevent M. Jaquemin Herode from being
a very worthy man, however.

As a theologian he was esteemed by those who were com-
petent judges in such matters; he was considered an au-
thority in the Court of Arches, — the Sorbonne of England.

He had an air of erudition ; a wise contraction of the eyes :
bristling nostrils ; teeth that were always showing them-
selves ; a thin upper lip and a thick lower one. He was the
possessor of several learned degrees, a valuable prebend, titled
friends, the confidence of the bishop, and a Bible that he
always carried in his pocket.

Mess Lethierry was so completely absorbed in thought that
the entrance of the two priests produced no effect upon him
save a slight contraction of the eyebrows.

M. Jaquemin Herode advanced, bowed, alluded in a few
grave and dignified words to his recent promotion, and men-
tioned that he had come according to custom to introduce to
the inhabitants, and to Mess Lethierry in particular, his suc-
cessor in the parish, the new Rector of St. Sampson, the Rev.
J. Ebenezer Caudray, henceforth the pastor of Mess Lethierry.
Deruchette rose.

The young clergyman, who was the Rev. Ebenezer, sa-
luted her.

Mess Lethierry glanced at Monsieur Ebenezer Caudray,
and muttered, " A poor sailor."

Grace placed chairs. The two visitors seated themselves
near the table.

Dr. Herode commenced a discourse. He had learned that
a serious misfortune had befallen his host. The Duraiide
had been lost. He came as Lethierry's pastor to offer con-
dolence and advice. This shipwreck was unfortunate and
yet not without its lesson. Let us examine our own hearts.
Are we not likely to be unduly puffed up by wealth? The
waters of prosperity are dangerous. Afflictions should be
borne cheerfully. The ways of Providence are mysterious.
Mess Lethierry was ruined perhaps. But riches are a snare.
You may have false friends ; poverty will scatter them and

208 TOILERS OF THE SEA

leave jou alone. Solus cris. Tlie Durande was said to have
jielded its owner an income of one thousand pounds sterling
per annum. That was more than enough for the wise. Let
us flee from temptation. Put not your faith in gold. Sub-
mit meekly to losses and neglect. Isolation is full of good
fruits.

It was in solitude that Ajah discovered the warm
springs while leading the asses of his father Zibeon. Let us
not rebel against the inscrutable decrees of Providence. That
good man, Job, greatly increased in riches after his tribula-
tions.

Who could say that the loss of the Durande might not
even have its advantages in a temporal way. He, for in-
stance, had invested some money in an excellent enterprise,
now in progress at Sheffield. If Mess Lethierry would like
to engage in the same business with the money he had left,
he could transfer his capital to that town. It was an ex-
tensive manufactory of arms for the use of the Czar, now
engaged in suppressing an insurrection in Poland. There
was a prospect of making three hundred per cent, profit.

The word " Czar " seemed to arouse Lethierry.

" I want nothing to do with the Czar," he replied curtly.

" Princes are recognized by God, Mess Lethierry," the
Rev. Jaquemin Herode replied. " It is written, ' Render
unto Csesar the things that are Cassar's.' The Czar is
Caesar."

Lethierry, who had partially relapsed into his former state
muttered : —

" Csesar.? who is Caesar.'' I don't know him."

The Rev. Jaquimin Herode continued his exhortation. He
did not press the question of Sheffield. To condemn a Caesar
savoured of republicanism. He could understand a man be-
ing a republican, but in that case he should turn his thoughts
towards a republic. Mess Lethierry might repair his shat-
tered fortunes in the United States, even better than in Eng-
land. If he desired a profitable investment for any money
he had left, he had only to take shares in a. great company

TOILERS OF THE SEA 209

for developing the resources of Texas, which employed more
than twenty thousand negroes.

" I want nothing to do with slavery," said Letliierry.

" Slavery," replied the Rev. Herode, " is an institution
recognized by Scripture, It is written, ' If a man smite his
slave, he shall not be punished, for he is his property.' "

Grace and Douce at the door of the room listened to the
words of the Rev. Doctor in a sort of ecstasy.

Take it all in all, the doctor was a worthy man; and in
spite of his personal and religious differences with Mess
Lcthierry, he had come to offer him in all sincerity any
spiritual or even temporal aid it was in his power to dis-
pense.

If Mess Lethierry's fortune had been impaired to such
an extent that he was unable to take part in any enterprise,
Russian or American, wh^?^ should he not obtain some govern-
ment appointment suited to him? There were many very
respectable places open to him, and the reverend gentleman
was ready to recommend him. The office of Deputy -Vicomte
was vacant in Jersey. Mess Lethierry was popular and re-
spected, and the Rev. Jaquemin Herode, Dean of Guernsey
and Surrogate of the Bishop, would make an effort to obtain
the office of Deputy -Vicomte of Jersey for Mess Lethierry.
The Deputy-Vicomte is an important officer. He is present
as the representative of Her Majesty at the holding of the
Pleas of the Crown, at the debates of the " Cohue " and at
public executions.

Lethierry fixed his eye upon Doctor Herode.

" I don't approve of hanging," he said, curtly.

Doctor Herode, who, up to that time had uttered his words
with the same soothing intonation, now seemed to be seized
v.ith a fit of severity, for his tone underwent a marked
change.

" Mess Lethierry, the penalty of death is a divine institu-
tion. God has placed the sword in the hands of governors.
Is it not written, * An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth ? ' "

The Rev. Ebenezer imperceptibly drew his chair nearer

210 TOILERS OF THE SEA

to the Reverend Doctor and said, so as to be heard only
by him, • —

" What this man says is dictated to him."

" By whom ? By what ? " demanded the Rev. Jaquemin
Herode, in the same tone.

" By his conscience," the young man rephed in a whisper.

The Rev. Jaquemin Herode felt in his pocket, drew out
a small thick volume with clasps, and said aloud: —

" This is conscience."

The book was a Bible.

Then Doctor Herode's tone became softer. He really
wished to render a service to Mess Lcthierry, whom he re-
spected highly. As his pastor, it was his right and duty to
offer counsel. Mess Lethierry, however, was free to act as he
pleased.

Mess Lethierry, who had relapsed again into the same
state of overwhelming absorption, no longer listened.
Dcruchette, seated near him, did not raise her eyes, and
by her silent presence rather increased the embarrassment of
the younger visitor. A witness who says nothing is a terrible
weight. Doctor Herode, however, did not seem to feel it.

As Lethierry made no reply. Doctor Herode expatiated
freely. " Counsel is from man ; inspiration is from God.
In the counsels of the priest there is inspiration. It is
good to accept, dangerous to refuse them. Sochoh was
seized by eleven devils for disdaining the exhortations of
Nathaniel. Tiburianus was stricken with leprosy for having
driven the Apostle Andrew from his house. Barjesus, ma-
gician though he was, was punished with blindness for having
mocked at the words of St. Paul. Elxai and his sisters,
Martha and Martena, are in eternal torments for despising
the warnings of Valentianus, who clearly proved to them that
their Jesus Christ, thirty-eight leagues in height, was a
demon. Aholibama, who is also called Judith, obeyed the
counsels ; Reuben and Peniel listened to advice from on high,
as their names, indeed, indicate. Reuben signifies son of the
vision; and Peniel the face of God"

TOILERS OF THE SEA 211

Mess Lethierry struck the table with his clinched fist.

" Parbleu! " he cried; " it was all my fault."

" What do you mean? " asked M. Jaquemin Herode.

" I say it was all my fault."

"Your fault.? WhV.? "

" Because I allowed the Durande to return on Fridays."

M. Jaquemin Herode whispered in Caudray's ear, —

" The man is superstitious."

Then, raising his voice, he resumed in a didactic tone : —

" INIess Lethierry, it is absurd to believe in Fridays. You
ought not to put any faith in fables. Friday is just like
any other day. It is very often a propitious day. Melendez
founded the city of Saint Augustine on a Friday; it was on
a Friday that Henry the Seventh gave his commission to John
Cabot ; the Pilgrims of the ' Mayflower ' landed at Plymouth
on a Friday. Washington was born on Friday, the 22d of
February, 1732 ; Christopher Columbus discovered America
on Friday, the 12th of October, 1492."

Having delivered himself of these remarks, he rose.

Caudray, whom he had brought with him, also rose.

Grace and Douce, perceiving that the two clergymen were
about to take leave, opened the door.

Mess Lethierry saw nothing; heard nothing.

M. Jaquemin Herode said, in an aside, to M. Caudray: —

" He does not even bow to us. This is not grief ; it is
insanity. He must have lost his reason."

Nevertheless, he took his little Bible from the table and
held it out at arms length, as one holds a bird when one is
afraid it will fly away. This attitude aroused the eager at-
tention of all except Lethierry. Grace and Douce leaned
forward breathlessly.

His voice assumed all the solemnity of which it was capable.

" Mess Lethierry," he began, " let us not part without
reading a page of the Holy Book. It is from books that
wise men derive consolation in the trials of life. The profane
have their oracles ; but believers have a blessed resource in
the Bible. The first book that comes to hand, opened by

212 TOILERS OF THE SEA

chance, may afford counsel ; but the Bible, opened at any
page, yields a revelation. It is, above all, a boon to the
afflicted. Yea, the Holy Scriptures are a never-failing balm
for their wounds. In the d&y of affliction, it is well to con-
sult its sacred pages, — to open it without choosing the place,
and to read with faith the passage upon which the eye chances
to fall. What man does not choose is chosen by God. He
knoweth what best suiteth us. His Invisible finger polnteth
to that which we read. Whatever the page be, it will not fail
to enlighten us. Let us seek, then, no other light ; but hold
fast to His. It Is the word from on high. In the text which
is evoked with confidence and reverence, we often find a mys-
terious slgnificanco in our present troubles. Let us hearken,
then, and obey. Mess Lethierry, you are In affliction, but I
hold here the book of consolation. You are sick at heart, but
I have here the book of spiritual health."

The Rev. Jaquemin Herode opened the clasp, and let his
finger slip between the leaves. Then he placed his hand a
moment upon the open page, he straightened himself up, and
after an impressive glance at his auditors began to read In a
loud voice.

The passage he had chanced upon was as follows: —

" And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at the even-
tide, and he lifted up his eyes and saw, and behold the camels
were coming.

" And Rebekah lifted up her eyes, and when she saw Isaac
she lighted off the camel.

" For she had said unto the servant. What man is this that
walketh in the field to meet us?

" And Isaac brought her Into his mother Sarah's tent,
and took Rebekah, and she became his wife, and he loved her ;
and Isaac was comforted after his mother's death."

Caudray and Deruchette glanced at each other.

END OF VOL,. I.

TOILERS OF THE SEA

I

CONTENTS

Vol. II.

PART II.— MALICIOUS GILLIATT.

BOOK I.— The Reef.
Chapter Page

I. Easy to Reach, but Difficult to leave 1

II. A Catalogue of Disasters 7

III. Sound, but not Safe 10

IV. A Preliminary Survey 13

V. A Word upon the Secret Co-operations of the Elements 15

VI. A Stable for the Horse 19

VII. A Chamber for the Voyager 22

VIII. Importune Volucres 31

IX. The Rock, and how Gilliatt used it 34

X. The Forge 37

XI. Discovery 42

XII. The Interior op an Edifice under the Sea 46

XIII. What was seen There; and What was Half-seen ... 48

BOOK II.— The Task.

I. The Resources of One who has Nothing 54

II. How Shakespeare may meet ^schylus 57

III. Gilliatt's Masterpiece comes to the Rescue of Lethiehry's

Masterpiece 59

IV. Sub Re 63

V. Sub Umbra 69

VI. Gilliatt places the Sloop in Readiness 75

VII. Sudden Danger 78

VIII. Movement rather than Progress 81

IX. A Slip between Cup and Lip 85

X. Sea-Warnings 87

XI. Murmurs in the Air 90

BOOK III.— The Struoguc.

I. Extremes meet 94

II. The Ocean Winds 96

• • •

iv CONTENTS

Chapter Page

III. The Mystertotis Sounds explained 99

IV. TuEBA Tuema 102

V. Gilliatt's Alteenatives 105

VI. The Combat 106

BOOK I v.— Pit-Falls in the Way

I. He who is Hungey is not Alone 127

II. The Monstee 132

III. Anothee Kind of Sea-Combat ......... 140

IV. Nothing is hidden, Nothing lost 143

V. The Fatal Difference between Six Inches and Two Feet 147

VI. De Peofundis ad Altum 151

Vil. The Appeal is heaed 158

PART III.— DERUCHETTE
BOOK I. — Night and the Moon

I. The Haebour Bell 161

II. The Harbour Bell again 177

BOOK II. — Gratitude and Despotism

I. Joy mingled with Anguish 186

II. The Leather Trunk 195

BOOK III. — The Departure of the Cashmere

I. The Havelet near the Church 199

II. Despair confronts Despair 203

III. The Forethought of Self-Sacrifice 210

IV. " For your Wife : when you Marry " 215

V. The Great Tomb 219

TOILERS OF THE SEA

PART II

MALICIOUS GILLIATT

BOOK I
THE REEF

CHAPTER I

EASY TO REACH, BUT DIFFICULT TO LEAVE

THE bark which had been seen by so many persons on
the coast of Guernsey the previous evening was, as
the reader has probably suspected, the old Dutch barge or
sloop. Gilliatt had chosen the channel between the rocks
along the coast. It was the most dangerous route, but it was
also the most direct. To reach his destination as soon as
possible was his only thought. Shipwrecks will not wait;
the sea is an urgent creditor; an hour's delay may be irrep-
arable. He was anxious to go to the rescue of the machinery
immediately.

One of his objects in leaving Guernsey at night was to

avoid notice.
I

2 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He set out like one fleeing from justice, and anxious to
hide from human eyes. He shunned the eastern coast, as if
he did not care to pass within sight of St. Sampson and St.
Peter's Port, and ghded silently along the opposite coast,
which is comparatively uninhabited. It was necessary to ply
the oars among the breakers; but Gilliatt managed them on
scientific principles. Taking the water quietly, and dropping
it with perfect regularity, he was able to move on in the dark-
ness with very little noise and great rapidity. So stealthy
were his movements that one might have supposed him bent
upon some evil deed.

The fact is, though he was embarking in an enterprise
which might well be called impossible, and was risking his
life with every chance against him, his greatest fear was of
some possible rival.

As day began to break, those unseen eyes which look
down on the world from boundless space might have beheld,
in one of the most dangerous and lonely places in the chan-
nel, two objects, the distance between which gradually de-
creased as one approached the other. One which was almost
imperceptible in the general movement of the waters, was a
sailboat. In this sailboat was a man. It was Gilliatt's
sloop.

The other, black, motionless, colossal, rose high above the
waves. It was of singular form. Two tall pillars emerging
from the sea bore aloft a sort of cross-beam that strongly
resembled a bridge between them. This bridge, so singular
in shape that it was impossible to imagine what it really was,
from a distance, touched each of the two pillars. The whole
thing looked like a vast portal. Of what use could such a
structure be in the open sea, which stretched far and wide
around it? It might have been a Titanic Dolmen, planted
there in mid-ocean by an imperious whim, and built by hands
accustomed to proportion their labours to the mighty deep.
Its huge outlines stood out in bold rehef against the clear
sky.

The morning light was growing stronger in the east; the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 3

whiteness in the horizon made the water look still darker. In
the western sky the moon was sinking.

The two tall perpendicular rocks were the Douvres. The
huge mass held fast between them, like an architrave between
two pillars, was the wreck of the Durande.

The rocks, thus holding fast and exhibiting their prey,
were terrible to behold. Inanimate things sometimes look as
if they were endowed with a grim and hostile spirit towards
man. There was a menace in the attitude of these rocks.
They seemed to be biding their time.

Their whole appearance was highly suggestive of haughti-
ness and arrogance.

The two rocks, still dripping from the tempest of the
day before, were like two wrestlers sweating from a recent
contest. The wind had subsided ; the sea rippled gently, but
the presence of breakers might be detected here and there in
light streaks of foam upon the surface of the waters. A
sound like the murmuring of bees arose from the sea.

Up to a certain height the Douvres were thickly covered
with sea-weed; above this, their steep haunches glittered in
places like polished armour. They seemed ready to commence
the strife anew. The beholder felt that they were rooted
deep in mountains whose summits were beneath the sea.
Their aspect was full of tragic power.

Ordinarily the sea conceals her crimes. She delights in
secrecy. Her unfathomable depths maintain a rigorous
silence. She envelops herself in mystery and very rarely con-
sents to disclose secrets. We know her savage nature, but
who knows the extent of her evil deeds.'' She is at once open
and secretive. She wrecks a vessel, and covering it with the
Avaves, ingulfs it deep, as if conscious of her guilt. One of
her worst crimes is hypocrisy. She slays and steals, then she
conceals her booty, assumes an air of unconsciousness, and
smiles. She roars like a lion one minute, and bleats like a
lamb the next. There was nothing of that kind here, how-
ever. The Douvres, lifting above the level of the waters the
shattered hull of the Durande, wore an air of triumph. One

4 TOILERS OF THE SEA

might have fancied they were two monstrous arms, reaching
upwards from the gulf, and exhibiting to the tempest the
hfeless body of the sliip. Their aspect was like that of an
assassin boasting of his evil deeds.

The hour contributed not a little to the solemnity of the
scene. There is a mysterious grandeur in the dawn as of the
border-land between the region of consciousness and the world
of our dreams. There is something almost ghastly about
this transition period. The immense form of the two Douvres,
like a capital letter H, the Durande forming its cross-stroke,
stood out against the horizon in a sort of gruesome majest3\

Gilliatt was attired in his seaman's rig, — a woollen shirt,
woollen stockings, thick shoes, a knitted jacket, trousers of
thick stuff, with pockets, and upon his head a cap of red
worsted, of the kind then in use among sailors, and known
in the last century as a galerienne.

He recognized the rocks, and steered towards them.

The situation of the Durande was exactly the contrary
of that of a vessel gone to the bottom: it was a vessel sus-
pended in mid-air.

No stranger instance of salvage as ever seen.

It was broad daylight when Gilliatt neared the Douvres.

As we have said, there was very little sea. The slight
agitation of the water was due almost entirely to its con-
finement among the rocks. Every passage, small or large,
is subject to this chopping movement. The inside of a chan-
nel is always more or less white with foam.

Gilliatt did not approach the Douvres without caution.

He cast the sounding-lead several times.

He had a cargo to land.

Accustomed to long absences, he had a number of neces-
saries always ready at home. He had brought with him a
sack of biscuit, another of rye-meal, a basket of salt fish and
smoked beef, a large can of fresh water; a gaily painted
Norwegian chest, containing several coarse woollen shirts, his
tarpaulin and waterproof overalls, and a sheepskin which he
was accustomed to throw over him at night. On leaving the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 5

Bu de la Rue he had put all these things into the barge, with
the addition of a large loaf of bread. In his haste, he had
brought no other tools but liis huge forge-hammer, his axe
and hatchet, and saw, and a knotted rope, fastened to a grap-
pling-iron. With a ladder of that sort, provided one knows
how to use it, the steepest rocks become accessible, and a good
sailor will find it possible to scale the highest escarpment. In
the island of Sark the visitor can see what feats the fishermen
of the Havre Gosselin manage to accomplish with a knotted
rope.

His nets and lines and all his fishing tackle were in tliQ
sloop. He had placed them there mechanically and rather
from force of habit than otherwise ; for he intended, if his
enterprise succeeded, to remain for some time in a region
of breakers, where fishing nets and tackle are of very little
use.

When Gilliatt approached the great rock the sea was re-
tiring ; a circumstance favourable to his purpose, for the
ebbing tide left bare one or two table-rocks, horizontal, or
only slightly inclined, at the foot of the smaller Douvre.
These table-rocks which varied considerably in breadth, some
being narrow and some very wide, and which stood at un-
equal distances along the side of the great perpendicular
column, were continued in the form of a thin cornice up to a
spot just beneath the Durande, which was held fast between
the two rocks as in a vice.

This series of platforms would be convenient for ap-
proaching and surveying the position. It was convenient
also for disembarking the contents of the barge provision-
all}"- ; but it was necessary to make haste, for it was only
above water for a few hours. With the rising tide the table-
rocks would be again covered with foam.

It was in front of these table-rocks that Gilliatt pushed in
and brought the boat to a standstill.

A thick mass of wet and slippery sea-wrack covered them,
rendered more slippery here and there by their sloping
surface.

6 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Gilliatt pulled off his shoes, sprang bare-footed on to the
slimy weeds, and made the sloop fast to a point of rock.

Then he advanced as far as he could along the granite
cornice, reached the rock immediately beneath the wreck,
looked up, and examined it.

The Durande had been caught between the two rocks,
about twenty feet above the water. It must have been a
huge billow that had carried her there.

Such effects from furious seas are not surprising to those
who are familiar with the ocean. To cite one example
only : — On the 25th of January, 1840, in the Gulf of Stora,
a tempest struck a brig, and carried it intact over the broken
wreck of the corvette " La Marne," and fixed it immovably,
bowsprit first, in a gap between the cliffs.

The Douvres, however, held only a part of the Durande.

The vessel had been, as it were, uprooted from the waters
by the hurricane. A whirlwind had hurled it against the
counteracting force of the rolling waves, and the vessel thus
caught in contrary directions by the two claws of the tempest
had snapped like a lath. The afterpart, with the engine
and the paddles, lifted out of the foam and driven by the
fury of the cyclone into passage between the Douvres, had
plunged in up to her midship beam, and remained wedged
there.

The blow that had driven it in this fashion between
the two rocks, had been as accurately directed as if dealt with
a hammer. The forecastle, carried away by the sea, had
fallen in fragments among the breakers.

The hold, broken in, had scattered the bodies of the drowned
cattle upon the sea.

A large portion of the forward side and bulwarks still j
hung to the riders by the larboard paddle-box, and by some
shattered braces that could be severed with the blow from a
hatchet.

Beams, planks, bits of canvas, pieces of chain, and other
fragments of wreck were lying around here and there on the
rugged rocks.

.TOILERS OF THE SEA 7

GiUiatf examined the Durande attentively. The keel
formed a roof over his head.

A cloudless sky stretched far and wide over the motion-
less waters. The sun rose gloriously above the vast azure
circle.

Now and then a drop of water oozed from the wreck and
fell into the sea below.

CHAPTER II

THE CATALOGUE OF DISASTERS

THE Douvres differed in shape as well as in height.
Upon the Little Douvre, which was curved and pointed,
long veins of r&ddish rock, of a comparatively soft texture,
could be seen running through the granite. At the edges
of these red veins were fractures which would be of great
service in climbing. One of these openings, a little above the
wreck, had been so worn and scooped out by the action of the
waves that it had become a sort of niche, in which it would
have been quite possible to place a statue. The granite
of the Little Douvre was rounded at the surface, and as soft
as the touchstone ; but this peculiarity did not impair its du-
rability. The Little Douvre terminated in a point like a hora.
The Great Douvre, polished, smooth, glossy, perpendicular,
and looking as if it had been cut out by the builder's square,
was in one piece, and seemed made of black ivory. There was
not a hole or a break in its smooth surface. The place
looked inhospitable enough. A convict could not have used
it for a refuge, nor a bird for its nest. True, there was a
horizontal space on its summit as upon " The Man " rock ;
but the summit of the Great Douvre was inaccessible.

It was possible to scale the Little Douvre, but not to re-
main on the summit ; it would have been possible to remain
on the summit of the Great Douvre, but not to scale it.

8 TOILERS or THE SEA

Gilliatt, having rapidly taken in the situation of affairs,
returned to the sloop, landed its contents upon the largest
of the horizontal rocks, made the whole mass into a sort
of bale, which he rolled up in tarpaulin, made a slip-noose
around it with his rope, pushed the package into a nook
in the rocks where the waves could not reach it, and then
clutching the Little Douvre with his hands, and holding on
with his naked feet, he clambered from projection to pro-
jection, and from niche to niche, until he found himself on a
level with the wrecked vessel.

Having reached the height of the paddle-wheels, he leaped
on deck.

The interior of the wreck presented a terrible aspect.

Traces of a frightful struggle were everj^where visible.
The ravages of the wind and waves could be seen on every
side. The action of the tempest resembles the violence of a
band of pirates. The storm-cloud, the thunder, the rain, the
squall, the waves, and the breakers are a formidable band of
destroyers.

Standing upon the dismantled deck, it was easy to pic-
ture the orgy that had been held there by spirits of the
storm. All around were traces of their rage. The strange
distortion of many parts of the iron-work testified to the
terrific force of the gale.

No wild beast can compare with the sea for mangling its
prey. Each wave has its talons. The north wind rends,
the billows shatter, the waves are like hungry jaws. The
ocean strikes as a lion strikes with its heavy paw, tearing
and dismembering at the same time.

The destruction everywhere apparent in the Durande had
the peculiarity of being detailed and minute. It was a sort
of horrible stripping and plucking. Much of it seemed to
have been done designedly. The beholder was tempted to
exclaim, " What wanton mischief ! "

The planking was jagged here and there artistically.
This peculiarity is common in the ravages made by a cyclone.
To chip and tear away is one of the whims of that great

TOILERS OF THE SEA 9

devastator. Its ways resemble those of the professional
torturer. The damages which it causes appear like in-
genious punishments. One might fancy it actuated by the
worst passions of man. It has the refined cruelty of a savage.
While it is exterminating, it dissects bone by bone. It tortures
its victim, revenges itself, and appears to take delight in its
work. It even seems to stoop to petty acts of malice.

Cyclones are rare in our latitudes, and are for that reason
the more dangerous, being generally unexpected. A rock in
the pathway of a heavy wind may become the pivot of a
storm. It is probable that the squall had rotated around the
Douvres, and been suddenly turned into a waterspout by its
encounter with the rocks, — a fact which explained the cast-
ing of a vessel so high between them. In a cyclone the wind
drives the largest vessel onward as swiftly and easily as a
stone is hurled from a sling.

The injury which the Durande h^ti received was like the
wound of a man cut in twain. It was a divided trunk from
which depended a mass of debris like the entrails of a human
body. Various kinds of corv lage hung floating and trembling,
chains swung clattering; the fibres and nerves of the vessel
hung there naked and exposed. Everything that was not
shattered was disjointed. Some fragments of the sheething
resembled currycombs bristling with nails ; a hand-spike had
become nothing but a piece of iron ; a sounding-lead, nothing
but a lump of metal ; a dead-eye had become a mere piece
of wood ; a halliard, an end of rope ; a strand of rope, a
tangled skein. Naught remained that was not unhooked, un-
nailed, cracked, torn, warped and pierced with holes. Noth-
ing hung together in the dreadful mass, everything was torn,
dislocated or broken. Upon every side reigned that wild
disorder which characterizes the scene of all strusarles, —
from the melees of men, which are called battles, to the
melees of the elements, to which we give the name of
chaos. Everything was hanging lose and dropping off. A
rolling mass of planks, panelling, iron-work, cables, and
beams had stopped just at one edge of the big rent in the

10 TOILERS OF THE SEA

hull, where the least additional shock would have precipitated
it into the water below.

This remnant of her once powerful frame, suspended here
between the two Douvres and in imminent danger of falling
at any moment, was cracked here and there, showing through
big apertures the dismal gloom within.

CHAPTER III

SOUND, BUT NOT SAFE

GILLIATT had not expected to find only a part of the
ship left. Nothing in the account given by the
captain of the " Shealtiel " had led him to anticipate this
division of the vessel in the center. It was probable that the
" frightful crash " heard by the captain of the " Shealtiel "
had marked the moment when this destruction had taken place
under the blows of a tremendous sea. The captain had borne
off a little doubtless just before this last heavy squall; and
what he had taken for a huge wave was probably a waterspout.
Later, when he drew near again to observe the wreck, he had
only been able to see the stern of the vessel, the remainder, —
that is to say, the large opening where the forepart had given
way, — having been concealed from him by huge masses of
rock.

With that exception, the information given by the captain
of the " Shealtiel " was strictly correct. The hull was useless,
but the engine remained intact.

Such cases are common in the history of shipwrecks. The
logic of disaster at sea is beyond human science.

The masts, having snapped off short, had fallen over the
side; the smoke-stack was not even bent. The thick iron
plating which supported the machinery had kept it together.
The planks of the paddle-boxes were disjointed, like the slats

TOILERS OF THE SEA 11

of wooden shutters ; but through the apertures thus made the
paddles themselves could be seen in good condition. A few
of their floats only were missing.

The huge stern capstan had escaped destruction as well
as the machinery. Its chain was there, and, thanks to its
firm fixture in a frame of joists, might still be of service,
unless the strain of the voyal should break away the plank-
ing. The floor of the deck bent at almost every point, and
seemed unsafe throughout.

On the other hand, the trunk of the hull, wedged between
the Douvres, held together, as we have already said, and ap-
peared strong.

There was something like derision in this preservation of
the machinery ; something which imparted an air of irony
to the misfortune. The grim malice of the unseen powers
of mischief displays itself sometimes in such bitter mockeries.
The machinery was safe, but its preservation did not make
it any the less lost. The ocean seemed to have kept it only
to demolish it at her leisure, as a cat toys with her prey.

To suffer there and to be dismembered day by day seemed
its inevitable fate. It seemed doomed to be the plaything of
the cruel, relentless sea, and slowly to dwindle away until
it disappeared altogether. For what could be done.'' That
this huge mass of machinery and gearing, so ponderous and
yet so delicate in its construction, thus hopelessly imprisoned
here, could escape slow, but none the less sure, destruction in
this lonely, inaccessible spot, seemed an utter impossibility.

The Durande was the captive of the Douvres.

How could she be extricated from that position?

How could she be dcli\'ered from her bondage.''

This was, indeed, a perplexing problem !

12 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER IV

A PRELIMINARY SURVEY

GILLIATT was beset on every side with urgent demands
upon his attention. The most pressing, however, was
to find a safe harbour for the sloop ; then, a shelter for him-
self.

The Durande having settled down more on the larboard
than on the starboard side, the right paddle-box was much
higher than the left.

Gilliatt climbed upon the right paddle-box. From that
position, although the cleft extending at an acute angle be-
hind the Douvres had several elbows, he was able to study
the ground-plan of the group.

This survey was the preliminary step of his operations.

The Douvres, as we have already described them, were like
two high-gable ends, forming the narrow entrance to a
straggling alley of small cliffs with perpendicular sides. It
is not unusual to find in primitive submarine formations these
singular passages, which seem to have been cut with a hatchet.

This defile was extremely winding, and never dry even at
low water. A turbulent current traversed it from end to
end at all times. The sharpness of its turnings was favour-
able or unfavourable, according to the nature of the prevail-
ing wind ; sometimes it broke the swell and caused it to sub-
side; sometimes it augmented it. This latter effect was the
most frequent. An obstacle arouses the anger of the sea,
and leads it into excesses.

Stormy winds are subjected to similar compression in these
narrow, winding passages between the rocks, and acquire the
same malevolent character. The tempest chafes against its
sudden imprisonment. Its bulk is still immense, but sharpened
and contracted. It is both ponderous and keen. It pierces

TOILEKS OF THE SEA 13

even while it fells. It is a hurricane contracted, like the
draught through the crevice of a door.

The two ridges of rock, leaving this passage-way between
them, were much lower than the Douvrcs, and gradually
decreased until they finally disappeared altogether beneath
the waves.

There was another, but much narrower inlet, which formed
the eastern entrance of the defile. It was evident that the
double prolongation of the ridge of rocks continued under
water as far as " The Man " rock which stood like a square
citadel at the extremity of the group.

At loAV water, indeed, which was the time when Gilliatt
was observing them, the bvo rows of rock showed their tops,
some high and dry, all visible, and maintaining an unbroken
line.

" The Man " formed one boundary, and buttressed on the
eastern side the entire mass, which was protected on the oppo-
site side by the two Douvres.

The whole looked like a winding chaplet of rocks, having
the Douvres at one extremity and " The Man " at the other.
The Douvres themselves were merely two gigantic shafts
of granite which rose perpendicularly out of the water almost
touching each other, and forming the crest of one of the
mountain ranges lying beneath the ocean. The surf and the
squall had broken them up and divided them like the teeth
of a saw. Only the highest part of the ridge was visible ; this
was the group of rocks. The base, which was concealed by
the waves, must have been enormous. The passage in which
the storm had wedged the Durande was between these two
colossal shafts.

This passage, which was as zig-zag in form as forked light-
ning, was of the same width throughout. The ocean had so
fashioned it. Its eternal commotion sometimes produces
singular regularities. There is a sort of geometry in the
action of the sea.

From one extremity of the defile to the other, the two
granite walls confronted each other at a distance in which

14 TOILERS OF THE SEA

the midship frame of the Durande exactly fitted. Between
the two Douvres, the widening of the Little Douvre, curved
and turned back as it was, had left space enough for the pad-
dles. Any where else they would have been hopelessly shat-
tered.

The high double fa9ade of rock within the passage was
hideous to behold. When in the exploration of the watery
waste we call the ocean, we encounter the unknown world of
the sea, all is uncouth and shapeless. All of the defile that
Gilliatt could see from the deck, was appalling. In the rocky
gorges of ocean we can often trace a forcible representation
of shipwreck. The defile of the Douvres was one of these
gorges, and its effect was exciting to the imagination. The
oxides in the rock showed on the escarpment here and there in
red splotches, like marks of clotted blood ; it resembled the
splashes on the walls of an abattoir. Associations of the
charnel-house haunted the place. The rough marine stones,
diversely tinted, here by the decomposition of metallic amal-
gams, there by mould causing purple scales, hideous green
blotches, and lurid splashes, aroused ideas of murder and ex-
termination. It was like the unwashed walls of a chamber
which had been the scene of an assassination ; or it might have
been imagined that men had been crushed to death there,
leaving traces of their wretched fate. Some spots seemed to
be still dripping with carnage ; here the wall was wet, and it
seemed impossible to touch it without making one's fingers
bloody. The blight of massacre seemed everywhere. At the
base of the double escarpment, scattered along the water's
edge, or just below the waves, or in the worn hollows of the
rocks, were monstrous rounded masses of shingle, some scar-
let, others black or purple, which bore a strange resemblance to
the internal organs of the body ; they might have been taken
for fresh lungs, or decaying livers. Giants might have been
disembowelled there. From the top to the bottom of the cliff,
ran long red lines, which might have been mistaken for oozings
from a funeral bier.

Such sights are frequent in marine caverns.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 15

CHAPTER V

A WORD UPON THE SECRET CO-OPERATIONS OF THE ELEMENTS

THOSE who, by the disastrous chances of sea-voyages,
happen to be condemned to a temporary sojourn upon
a rock in mid-ocean, find that the shape of their inhospitable
refuge is by no measis a matter of indifference. There is the
pyramidal-shaped rock, — a single peak rising out of the
water ; there is the round rock somewhat resembling a circle of
big stones ; and there is the corridor-rock. The latter is the
most alarming of all. It is not only the incessant agony of
the waves between its walls, or the tumult of the imprisoned
sea; there are also certain obscure meteorological characteris-
tics which seem to result from the parallelism of two rocks in
mid-ocean. The two straight sides seem to form a genuine
galvanic battery.

The first result of the peculiar position of these corridor-
rocks is an action upon the air and the water. The corridor-
rock acts upon the waves and the wind mechanically by its
form ; galvanically, by the different magnetic action rendered
possible by its vertical sides and by the masses in juxtaposi-
tion and opposite to each other.

This kind of rock attracts to itself all the forces scattered
in the winds, and exercises a singular power of concentration
over the tempest.

Hence there is an increased violence in storms that occur in
tlie immediate neighbourhood of such rocks.

It must be borne in mind that the wind is composite in
character. The wind is believed to be simple ; but it is by no
means simple. Its power is not merely chemical, but also
magnetic. Its effects are often inexplicable. The wind is as
much electrical as aerial. Certain winds coincide with the
anrorcE borcalcs. The wind blowing from the bank of the
Aiguilles heaps up waves one hundred feet high, a fact noticed

16 TOILERS OF THE SEA

with astonishment by Dumont-d'Urville. " The corvette," he
says, " knew not what to make of it."

In southern seas the waters often become inflated Hke an
immense tumour ; and at such times the ocean becomes so ter-
rible that the savages flee from the sight of it. The storms in
polar seas are different. The air is filled with tiny bits of ice ;
and the fierce gusts of wind blow the sledges of the Esquimaux
backwards on the snow. Other winds burn. The simoon of
Africa is the typhoon of China and the samiel of India.
Simoon, typhoon, and samiel are believed to be the names of
demons. These storms come down from the mountains. A
storm vitrified the volcano of Toulucca. This hot wind, a
whirlwind of inky blackness, rushing upon red clouds, is al-
luded to in the Vcdas : " Behold the black god, who comes to
steal the red cows." In all these facts we trace the presence
of the electric mystery.

The air is full of it; so are the waves. The sea, too, is
composite in its nature. Beneath the waves of water which
we see, it has its waves of force, which are invisible. Its
constituents are innumerable. Of all the elements the ocean
is the most indivisible and the most profound.

Think of this chaos, so enormous that it reduces all other
things to one level. It is the universal recipient, the reservoir
of germs of life, and the crucible of transformations. It
amasses and then disperses, it accumulates and then sows, it de-
vours and then creates. It receives all the waste and refuse
waters of the earth, and converts them into treasure. It is
solid in the iceberg, liquid in the wave, fluid in suspension.
Regarded as matter, it is a mass; regarded as a force, it is an
abstraction. It equalizes and unites all phenomena. It may
be called the infinite in combination. By force and disturb-
ance, it arrives at transparency. It dissolves all differences,
and absorbs them into its own unity. One of its drops is com-
plete, and represents the whole. From the abundance of its
tempests, it attains equilibrium. Plato beheld the mazy
dances of the spheres. Strange as the assertion may seem,
it is nevertheless true that the ocean, in its vast terrestrial

TOILERS OF THE SEA 17

journey round the sun, becomes, with its flux and reflux, the
balance of the globe.

Any marine phenomenon is only a repetition of some other
natural phenomenon. The sea is expelled from a waterspout
as from a syphon ; the storm carries out the principle of the
pump; hghtning issues from the sea as well as from the air.
Aboard ships faint shocks are sometimes felt, and an odour
of sulphur issues from the receptacles of chain cables. The
ocean seethes and boils. " The devil has put the sea in his
caldron," said De Ruyter. In the tempests which characterize
the equinoxes and the restoration of equilibrium to the profilic
power of Nature, vessels breasting the foam seem to emit
a kind of fire ; phosphoric lights chase each other along the
rigging, so close sometimes to the sailors at their work that
the latter stretch forth their hands and try to catch these birds
of flame as they fly past. After the great earthquake of
Lisbon, a blast of hot air, as from a furnace, drove before it
towards the city a wave sixty feet high. The convulsions of
the ocean are closely related to the convulsions of the earth.

These immeasurable forces sometimes produce extraordinary
inundations. At the end of the year 186-i, one of the Maldive
Islands, a hundred leagues from the Malabar coast, actually
foundered in the sea. It sunk to the bottom like a ship-
wrecked vessel. The fishermen who sailed from it in the morn-
ing found nothing when they returned at night. They could
scarcely distinguish their villages under the sea. On this oc-
casion, boats were spectators of the wreck of houses.

In Europe, where Nature seems restrained by the presence
of civilization, such events are rare and are supposed to be
impossible. Nevertheless, Jersey and Guernsey originally
formed a part of Gaul ; and even now, as we write these lines,
an equinoctial gale has just demolished the cliff on the frontier
of England and Scotland, called the " First of the Fourth "
(Premiere des Quatre).

Nowhere do these terrific forces appear more formidably
conjoined than in the surprising strait known as the Lyse-
Fiord. The Lyse-Fiord is tlie most dangerous of all the

18 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Gut reefs of the ocean. Their terrors are there complete.
It is in the Norwegian sea, near the inhospitable Gulf of
Stavanger, and in the 59th degree of latitude. The water
is black and heavy, and subject to intermitting storms. In
this sea, and in the midst of this solitude, there is a great
sombre passage-way, — a passage-way for no human foot.
None ever pass through it; no ship ever ventures in. It is
a corridor ten leagues in length, between two rocky walls three
thousand feet in height. The defile has its elbows and angles
like all such marine thoroughfares, — never straight, having
been formed by the irregular action of the water. In the
Lyse-Fiord, the sea is almost always tranquil; the sky above
is serene; but the place is terrible. Where is the wind.'' Not
on high. Where is the thunder? Not in the heavens. The
wind is under the sea ; the Ughtnings within the rock. Now
and then there is a convulsion of the water. At certain
moments, when there is perhaps not a cloud in the sky, nearly
lialf way up the perpendicular rock, at a thousand or fifteen
hundred feet above the water, and usually on the southern
rather than on the northern side, the rock suddenly thunders,
hghtnings dart forth, and then retire like those toys which
lengthen out and spring back again in the hands of children.
They contract and enlarge; strike the opposite cliff, re-enter
the rock, issue forth again, recommence their play, multiply
their heads and tips of flame, strike wherever they can, begin
again, and then begin again with startling abruptness.
Flocks of birds fly away in terror. Nothing could be more
mysterious than this artillery issuing out of the invisible. One
cliff attacks the other, raining lightning blows from side to
side. Their warfare is not waged against mankind. It is the
old enmity of two rocks in the impassable gulf.

In the Lyse-Fiord, the rock performs the function of the
clouds, and the thunder breaks forth like volcanic fire. This
strange defile is a voltaic pile, the plates of which are the
double line of cliffs.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 19

CHAPTER VI

A STABLiE FOR THE HORSE

GILLIATT was sufficiently familiar with marine rocks to
grapple effectively with the Douvres. First of all, as
we have just said, it was necessary to find a safe shelter for
the sloop.

The double row of reefs, which stretched in a sinuous
form behind the Douvres, was connected here and there with
other rocks, and suggested the existence of blind passages
opening out in a straggling way, and attached to tlie princi-
pal ridge like branches to the trunk of a tree.

The lower part of these rocks was covered with kelp, the
upper part with lichens. The uniform level of the sea-weed
indicated the high-water mark in calm weather. The parts
which the water had not touched presented those silver and
golden hues imparted to marine rocks by the white and yellow
lichen.

A sort of leprosy of conoidal shells covered the rock at
certain points, — the dry rot of the granite.

At other points in the retreating angles, where fine sand
had accumulated, worn from the surface by the wind rather
than by the action of the waves, appeared tufts of blue
thistles.

In the indentations, sheltered from the winds, could be
traced the little perforations made by the sea-urchin. This
shelly mass of prickles, which moves about like a living ball,
by rolling on its spines, and the armour of which is composed
of ten thousand pieces, artistically adjusted and welded to-
gether,— the sea-urchin, which is popularly called, for some
unknown reason, " Aristotle's lantern," gnaws away the
granite with his five teeth, and then lodges himself in the hole.
It is in such holes that the cockle gatherers find them. They
cut them in halves and eat them raw, like an oyster. Some

20 TOILERS OF THE SEA

steep their bread in the soft flesh. Hence its other name,
" Sea egg."

The tops of the further reefs, left visible by the reced-
ing tide, extended close to the escarpment of " The Man "
and into a sort of creek, enclosed on nearly all sides by rocky
walls. Here was evidently a possible harbourage.

It was shaped like a horseshoe, and was open only on
the side of the east v»ind, which was the least violent of
all winds in this marine labyrinth. The water was con-
sequently protected there, and almost motionless.

The shelter seemed comparatively safe. Gilliatt, more-
over, had not much choice.

If he wished to take advantage of the low water, it was
necessary to make haste.

The weather continued to be fine and calm. Tlie insolent
sea was for a v/hile in a gentle mood.

Gilliatt descended, put on his shoes again, unmoored the
cable, re-embarked, and pushed out into the water.

He used his oars, and kept quite close to the side of the
rock.

Having reached " The Man " rock, he examined the en-
trance to the little creek.

A fixed, wavy line in the motionless sea, a sort of wrinkle,
imperceptible to an^^ eye save that of a sailor, marked the
channel.

Gilliatt studied its curve for a moment, then he held off a
little in order to veer easily, and steer well into the channel ;
and suddenly with a stroke of the oars he entered the little
bay.

He sounded.

The anchorage appeared to be excellent.

The sloop would be safe there against almost any of the
contingencies of the season.

The most formidable reefs have quiet nooks of this sort
The ports which are thus found among th.e breakers are
like the hospitality of the fierce Bedouin, — friendly anci
sure. ji

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 21

Gilliatt got the sloop as near to " The Man," as he could,
but still far enough off to escape grazing the rock; then
he cast his two anchors.

This done, he folded his arms, and reflected on his posi-
tion.

The sloop was protected. Here was one problem solved.
But another remained. Where could he find shelter him-
self?

He had the choice of two places, — the sloop itself, with
its bit of cabin, '.vhich was scarcely habitable, and the sum-
mit of " The Man " rock, which could be scaled without much
difficulty.

From both of these refuges it v/as possible at low water,
by jumping from rock to rock, to reach the passage between
the Douvres where the Durande was fixed, almost Avithout
wetting one's feet.

But low water lasts only a little while, and all the rest of
the time he would be cut off either from his shelter or from
the wreck by more than two hundred fathoms. Sv/imming
among breakers is difficult at all times ; if there is the least
commotion in the sea it is impossible.

He M'as obliged to give up the idea of a shelter in the sloop
or upon " The Man."

No resting-place was possible among the neighbouring
rocks.

The summits of the lower ones disappeared twice a day be-
neath the rising tide.

The summits of the higher ones were constantly swept by
flakes of foam, and promised nothing but an inhospitable
drenching.

No choice remained but the wreck itself

Was it possible to find a refuge there.''

Gilliatt hoped it might be.

22 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER VII

A CHAMBER FOR THE VOYAGER

HALF AN HOUR afterwards, Gilliatt having returned
to the wreck, chmbed to the deck, and soon aftei-wards
descended into the hold, thus completing the summary survey
begun on his first visit.

By the help of the capstan he had raised to the deck
of the Durande the bale into which he had made the cargo
of the sloop. The capstan had worked well. Bars for
turning it were not wanting. Gilliatt had only to select one
from a pile of rubbish.

He found among the debris a cold chisel, dropped, no
doubt, from the carpenter's box, and which he gladly added
to his little stock of tools.

Besides this, for in such a dearth of appliances every little
counts, he had his jack-knife in his pocket.

Gilliatt worked all day long on the wreck, clearing away,
propping, and arranging.

By nightfall he had discovered the following facts:

The entire wreck shook in the wind, and trembled with
every step he took. There was nothing stable or strong ex-
cept that portion of the hull which was jammed between the
rocks and which contained the engine. There, the beams
were effectually supported by the granite walls.

Establishing his home in the Durande would be imprudent.
It would increase the weight ; and instead of adding to her
burden, it was important to lighten it. To burden the wreck
in any way was indeed the very contrary of what he wanted.

The dilapidated mass required, in fact, the most careful
management. It was like a sick man on the verge of dis-
solution. A strong wind would suffice to put an end
to it.

It was, moreover, bad enough to be compelled to work

TOILERS OF THE SEA 23

there. The amount of disturbance which the wreck would
have to withstand would necessarily strain it, perhaps be-
yond its strength.

Besides, if any accident should happen in the night while
Gilliatt was sleeping, he would necessarily perish with the
vessel. No assistance was possible ; all would be over. In
order to save the shattered vessel, it was absolutely necessary
to remain outside of it.

How to be outside and yet near it, — this was the
problem.

The difficulty became complicated.

Where could he find a shelter under such conditions?

Gilliatt reflected.

Nothing remained but the two Douvres. They seemed
hopeless enough.

From below it was impossible to tell with certainty whether
the upper surface of the Great Douvre was flat or
conical.

High rocks with flattened summits like the Great Douvre
and " The Man," are usually decapitated peaks. They
abound among mountains and in the ocean. Certain rocks,
particularly those which are met with in the open sea, bear
marks like half -felled trees. They appeared to have received
a terrific blow from an axe. They have been subjected, in
fact, to the blows of the gale, that indefatigable wood-cutter
of the sea.

There are other and still more powerful causes of marine
convulsions. Hence the innumerable bruises upon these
primeval masses of granite. Some of these sea giants have
had their heads struck off"; and sometimes these heads, from
some inexplicable cause, do not fall, but remain shattered on
the summit of the mutilated trunk. These cases are by no
means rare. The Devil's Rock, at Guernsey, and the Table,
in the Valley of Anweiler, illustrate some of the most sur-
prising examples of this strange geological enigma.

Some such phenomenon had probably fashioned the summit
of the Great Douvre.

24 • TOILERS OF THE SEA

If the protuberance which Gilliatt fancied he could dis-
cern on the plateau were not a natural irregularity in the
stone, it must necessarily be some remaining fragment of the
shattered summit.

Perhaps the fragment might contain some excavation, —
some hole into which a man could creep for cover, Gilliatt
asked for no more.

But hov/ could he reach the plateau? How could he scale
that perpendicular wall, hard and polished as a pebble, half
covered with a growth of glutinous confervse, and having the
slippery look of a soapy surface .^

The edge of the plateau was at least thirty feet above the
deck of the Durande.

Gilliatt took from his box of tools the knotted rope, hooked
it to his belt by the grapnel, and set to work to scale the
Little Douvre. The ascent became more difficult as he
climbed. He had forgotten to take of: his shoes, — a fact
which increased the difficulty. With great labour and strain-
ing, however, he reached the edge. Once there, he raised
himself and stood erect. There was scarcely room for his two
feet. To make it his lodging would be difficult. A Stylitc
might have contented himself there ; Gilliatt, more luxurious
in his requirements, wanted something more commodious.

The Little Douvre, leaning tov/ards the great one, lookc.^.
from a distance as if it was saluting it, and the space between
the Douvres, which measured a score of feet below, was only
eight or ten at the highest point.

From the spot to which he had climbed, Gilliatt could
see more distinctly a rocky excrescence which partly covered
the plateau of the Great Douvre.

This plateau was at least twenty feet above his head.

A precipice separated him from it. The curved escarp-
ment of the Little Douvre sloped away out of sight beneath
him.

He detached the knotted rope from his belt, took a rapid
glance at the dimensions of the rock, and slung the grapnel
up to the plateau.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 25

The grapnel scratched the rock, and slipped. The knotted
rope with the hooks at its end fell beneath his feet, swinging
against the side of the Little Douvre.

He renewed the attempt ; slung the rope farther, aiming
at the granite protuberance, in which he could perceive
crevices and scratches.

The cast was so neat and skilful this time, that the hooks
caught.

He pulled on it with all his strength. A piece of the
rock broke, fell, and the knotted rope with its heavy iron
came down once more, striking the escarpment beneath his
feet.

He slung the grapnel a third time.

It did not fall.

He put a hard strain upon the rope ; it resisted. The
grapnel was firmly anchored at last.

The hooks had caught in some fracture in the plateau
which he could not see.

It was necessary to trust his life to that unknown
support.

He did not hesitate.

The case was urgent. He was compelled to adopt the
quickest course.

Moreover, to descend again to the deck of the Durande,
in order to devise some other step, was impossible. A slip
was probable, and a fall almost certain. It was easier to
climb than to descend.

Gilliatt's movements were decisive, like those of all good
sailors.

He never wasted force. He always proportioned his ef-
forts to the work in hand. Hence the wonderful feats of
strength he performed with ordinary muscles. His biceps
were no more powerful than those of ordinary men, but his
heart was firmer. He added, in fact, to physical strength,
the energy which is one of the most potent of the mental
faculties.

The feat to be accomplished was appalling.

26 TOILERS OF THE SEA

It was to cross the space between the two Douvres, sup-
ported only by this slender line.

Oftentimes in the path of duty and devotion, the gaunt
form of death rises before men to present this momentous
question : —

" Wilt thou dare this ? " asks the shadow.

Gilliatt tested the cord again; the grappling-iron held
firm.

Wrapping his left hand in his handkerchief, he grasped
the knotted rope with his right hand, which he covered
with his left ; then stretching out one foot, and striking
the rock vigorously with the other in order that the impetus
might prevent the rope twisting, he hurled himself from
Lhe top of the Little Douvre upon the side of the larger
one.

The chock was severe.

In spite of his precautions, the rope twisted, and his shoulder
struck the rock.

There was a rebound.

In their turn his clinched fists struck the rocks, and the
handkerchief having become loosened, they were terribly
scratched. They had, indeed, narrowly escaped being
crushed.

Gilliatt remained hanging there a moment with his brain
whirhng wildly.

He was sufficiently master of himself not to let go his hold
of the rope.

A few moments passed in unavailing jerks and oscilla-
tions before he could seize the rope with his feet; but he suc-
ceeded at last.

Recovering himself, and holding the rope at last between
his feet as with two hands, he gazed into the depth
below.

He had no anxiety about the length of the rope, which
had many a time served him for great heights, and which, in
fact, trailed upon the deck of the Durande.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 27

Assured of being able to descend again, he began to
climb.

In a few moments he had gained the summit.

Never before had any wingless creature found a foot-
ing there. The plateau was covered in parts with the dung
of birds. It was an irregular trapezium, a mass broken from
the colossal granitic prism of the Great Douvre. This block
was hollowed in the centre like a basin, — the work of the
rain.

Gilliatt, in fact, had guessed correctly.

At the southern angle of the block he found a mass of
superimposed rocks, — probably fragments of the fallen
summit. These rocks, which looked like a heap of gigan-
tic paving-stones, would have afforded plenty of room for a
wild beast to secrete himself between them, if one could have
found its way there, for they were piled one upon the other,
leaving interstices like a heap of ruins. They did not form
grottoes or caves, but the pile was full of holes like a sponge.
One of these holes was large enough to admit a man.

The floor of this recess was covered with moss and a few
tufts of grass. Gilliatt could fit himself in it as in a kind
of sheath. The entrance was about two feet high, but it
became smaller near the bottom. Stone coffins are sometimes
of this form. The mass of rocks behind lying towards the
south-west, the recess, though protected from showers, was
open to the cold north wind.

Gilliatt was satisfied with the place.

The two chief problems were solved, — the sloop had a
harbour, and he himself had found a shelter.

The chief merit of his cave was its accessibility from the
wreck.

The grappling-iron of the knotted cord having fallen be-
tween two blocks, had become firmly hooked, but Gilliatt
prevented an}^ possibility of its giving way by rolling a huge
stone upon it.

He was now free to operate at leisure upon the
Durande.

28 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Henceforth he was at home.

The Great Douvre was his dwelhng, the Durande his
workshop.

It was a comparatively easy matter for him to go to and
fro, ascending and descending.

He dropped down easily bj^ means of the knotted rope on
to the deck.

The day's work was a good one, the enterprise had begun
well ; he was satisfied, and began to feel hungry.

He untied his basket of provisions, opened his knife, cut
a slice of smoked beef, took a bite from his brown loaf, took
a draught from his can of fresh water, and thus supped ad-
mirably.

To do well and eat well are two great comforts. A full
stomach resembles an easy conscience.

This supper ended, there was still a little more daylight
at his disposal. He took advantage of it to begin the lighten-
ing of the wreck, — an urgent necessity.

He had passed part of the day in gathering up the frag-
ments. He now put to one side, in the strong compartment
which contained the engine, all articles that might prove of
use to him, such as wood, iron, cordage, and canvas ; all that
was useless he cast into the sea.

The cargo of the sloop, hoisted on to the deck by the
capstan, compact as he had made it, was an encumbrance.
Gilliatt surveyed the sort of niche, at a height within his
reach, in the side of the Little Douvre. These natural
closets, not entirely shut in, it is true, are often seen in rocks.
It struck him that it would be possible to intrust some stores
to their keeping, and he accordingly placed in the back of
the recess the two boxes containing his tools and his clothing,
and his two bags of rye-meal and biscuit. In front — a
little too near the edge perhaps, but he had no other place —
he deposited his basket of provisions.

He had taken care to remove from the box of clothing
his sheepskin, his big coat with a hood, and his water-proof
overalls.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 29

To lessen the action of the wind upon the knotted cord,
he made the lower extremity fast to one of the riders of the
Durande.

This rider being bent a good deal, held the end of the cord
as firmly as a stalwart hand.

There was still some difficulty concerning the upper end
of the cord. To control the lower part was all very well,
but at the summit of the escarpment, at the spot where the
knotted cord touched the ridge of the plateau, there was
reason to fear that it would be fretted and worn away by
the sharp edge of the rock.

Gilliatt searched in a pile of rubbish, and took from it
some scraps of sail, and from a bunch of old cables pulled
out some strands of rope-yarn with which he filled his
pockets.

Any sailor would have suspected that he intended to bind
with these pieces of canvas and ends of yarn that portion of
the knotted rope which rubbed against the edge of the rock,
so as to preserve it from friction, — an operation which is
called " keckling."

Having provided himself with these things, he drew his
overalls over his legs, put his waterproof coat over his jacket,
drew its hood over his red cap, tied the sheep-skin around
his neck by the two legs, and arrayed in this complete
panoply, he grasped the rope, now firmly fastened to the side
of the Great Douvre, and again began the assault of this
grim citadel of the sea.

In spite of his scratched hands, Gilliatt easily regained
the summit.

The last pale tints of sunset were fading from the sky.
It was night upon the sea below.

A little light still lingered upon the top of the Douvre.

Gilliatt profited by this remnant of daylight to bind the
knotted rope. He wound around it again and again at the part
which passed over the edge of the rock, a bandage of several
thicknesses of canvas strongly tied at every turn. The whole
resembled somewhat the padding which actresses place upon

30 TOILERS OF THE SEA

their knees, to prepare them for the agonies and supphcations
of the fifth act.

Tliis accomplished, Gilliatt rose from his stooping
position.

While he had been busied in his task, he had had a vague
sense of a strange fluttering in the air.

It resembled, in the silence of evening, the noise which
.;n immense bat might make with the beating of its
wings.

Gilliatt raised his eyes.

A big black circle was revolving above his head in the pale
twilight sky.

Such circles are seen around the heads of saints in old
pictures. These, however, are golden on a dark ground,
while the circle around Gilliatt was dark upon a pale
ground. The effect was strange. It spread round the Great
Douvre like an aureole of night.

The circle came nearer, then retired ; grew narrower and
then spread wide again.

It was an immense flock of gulls, sea-mews, and cormo-
rants ; a vast multitude of aff'righted sea-birds.

The Great Douvre was probably tlieir lodging-place, and
they were coming to rest for the night. Gilliatt had ap-
propriated their home. It was evident that their unexpected
fellow-lodger annoyed them.

A man there was an object they had never beheld
before.

Their wild fluttering continued for some time.

They seemed to be waiting for the stranger to leave the
place.

Gilliatt followed them dreamily with his eyes.

The flying multitude at last seemed to abandon their de-
sign. The circle suddenly assumed a spiral form, and the
cloud of sea-birds settled down upon " The Man " rock at
the extremity of the group, where they seemed to be conferring
and deliberating. ♦

Gilliatt, after settling down in his granite alcove, and

TOILERS OF THE SEA 31

covering a stone for a pillow for his head, could hear the
birds for a long time chattering to one another, or croak-
ing, as if by turn.

Then they were silent, and finally they all fell asleep — •
the birds upon their rocks, Gilliatt upon his.

CHAPTER VIII

IMPORTUNE VOLUCRES

GILLIATT slept well; but he was cold, and this caused
him to wake from time to time. He had naturally
placed his feet at the end and his head at the mouth of his
cave. Unfortunately, he had not taken the precaution to
remove from his couch a number of angular stones, which
did not by any means conduce to sleep.

Now and then he half opened his eyes.

At intervals he heard loud noises. It was the rising tide
entering the caverns below with the sound like the report of
a cannon.

All the circumstances of his position conspired to produce
the effect of a vision. Hallucinations seemed to surround
him. The darkness strengthened this impression ; and Gil-
liatt felt himself plunged into a region of unrealities. He
asked himself if it were not all a dream.''

Then he dropped to sleep again, and this time in a ver-
itable dream, fancied himself at the Bu de la Rue, at the
Bravees, at St. Sampson. He heard Deruchctte singing;
everything seemed real now. While he slept he seemed to
wake and live ; it was when he awoke again that he appeared
to be sleeping.

In fact, from this time on he lived in a dream.

Towards the middle of the night a confused murmur filled
the air. Gilliatt had a vague consciousness of it even m
his sleep. It was perhaps a breeze rising.

02 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Once, awakened by a cold shiver, lie opened his eyes a httle
v» Ider than before. Clouds were moving in the zenith ; the
moon was flying through the sky, with one large star follow-
ing closely in her wake.

Gilliatt's mind was full of the incidents of his dreams.
The fantastic outlines of the objects around him as seen in
the darkness mingled confusedly with the impressions of his
sleeping hours.

By daybreak he was half frozen ; but he slept on soundly.

The sudden daylight aroused him from a slumber which
might have proved dangerous. The alcove faced the rising
sun.

Gilliatt yawned, stretched himself, and sprang out of his
resting-place.

His slumber had been so deep that he could not at first re-
call the circumstances of the night before.

By degrees the sense of reality returned, and he began to
tlunk of breakfast.

The weather was calm ; the sky cool and serene. The
clouds were gone; the night wind had cleared the horizon,
and the sun rose brightly. Another fine day was dawning.
Gilliatt felt cheerful and hopeful.

He threw off his overcoat and his overalls, rolled them
up in the sheepskin with the wool inside, fastened the roll with
a bit of rope-yarn, and pushed it into the cave for protection
in case of rain.

This done, he made his bed, — that is, he removed the
stones.

His bed made, he slid down the rope to the deck of the
Durande and approached the niche where he had placed his
basket of provisions.

The basket was not there ; as it was very near the edge, the
wind in the night had blown it down, and rolled it into the sea.

This seemed to indicate that the rock v/as defending itself.

There was an evident spirit of mischief and malice in a wind
which had sought out his basket in that position.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 33

It was the bea'innino: of hostilities. Gilliatt understood
the token.

To those who hve in a state of famiharity with the sea,
it is natural to regard the wind as an individual, and the
rocks as sentient beings.

Nothing remained for Gilliatt but the biscuit and the rye-
meal, except the shell-fish, on which the shipwrecked sailor
had supported a lingering existence upon " The Man " rock.

It was useless to think of fishing. Fish are naturally averse
to the neighbourhood of rocks. The drag and bow net fishers
would only waste their time among the reefs, the sharp tops
of which would prove destructive only to their nets.

Gilliatt breakfasted on a few limpits which he plucked with
difficulty from the rocks. He narrowly escaped breaking his
knife In the attempt.

While he was making his frugal meal, he became aware
of a strange disturbance on the sea. He looked around.

It was a swarm of gulls and sea-mews which had just
alighted upon some low rocks, and were beating their wings
and tumbling over each other, screaming and shrieking the
while. All were swarming noisily around the same object.
This horde with beaks and talons were evidently pillaging
something.

It was Gilliatt's basket.

Blown down upon a sharp point by the wind, the basket
had burst open, and the birds had gathered round it im-
mediately. They were carrying off in their beaks all sorts
of fragments of provisions. Gilliatt, even at that distance
recognized his smoked beef and salt fish.

It was their turn now to be aggressive. The birds were
retaliating. Gilliatt had robbed them of their lodging, they
deprived him of his supper.

,^54 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER IX

THE ROCK, AND HOW GILLIATT USED IT

A WEEK passed.
1m. Although this was the rahiy season no rain fell, a fact
for which Gilliatt felt very thankful.

But the woi'k he had entered upon was apparently beyond
the power of human strength or skill. Success appeared so
improbable that the attempt seemed like madness.

It is not until a task is fairly grappled with that its diffi-
culties and perils become fully manifest. There is nothing
like a beginning for proving how difficult it will be to reach
the end. Every beginning is a struggle against resistance.
The first step is an exorable undeceiver. A difficulty that
one touches pricks like a thorn.

Gilliatt found himself immediately confronted by obstacles.

In order to raise the engine of the Durande from the
wreck in which it was three-fourths buried, — in order to ac-
complish a salvage in such a place and in such a season, it
seemed necessary to be a legion of men. Gilliatt was alone ;
a complete complement of carpenters' and engineers' tools and
implements were needed. Gilliatt had a saw, a hatchet, a
chisel, and a hammer. He needed both a good workshop
and a good shed ; Gilliatt had not a roof to cover him. Pro-
A isions, too, were necessary, and Gilliatt had not even bread.

Any one who could have seen Gilliatt working on the rock
during that first week might have been puzzled to determine
the nature of his operations. He seemed to have no thought
either of the Durande or the two Douvres. He was busy only
among the breakers ; he seemed absorbed in saving the smaller
portions of the wreck. He took advantage of every high tide
to strip the reefs of everything that the shipwreck had dis-
tributed among them. He went from rock to rock, picking
up whatever the sea had scattered, — bits of sail, pieces of

TOILERS OF THE SEA 35

iron, splintered panels, shattered planking, broken yards, —
here a beam, there a chain, there a pulley.

At the same time, he carefully examined all the recesses
in the rocks. To his great disappointment none were hab-
itable. He suffered greatly from the cold in the night in his
present lodgings on the summit of the rock, and he would have
been glad to find some better shelter.

Two of those recesses were quite large. Although the
natural pavement of rock was for the most part oblique and
uneven, it was possible to stand upright, and even to walk
within them. The wind and the rain entered there at will,
but the highest tides did not reach them. They were near
the Little Douvre, and were approachable at any time. Gil-
liatt decided that one should serve him as a storehouse, the
other as a forge.

With all the lanyards, rope-bands, and reef -points he could
collect, he tied the wood and iron in bundles, and the canvas in
rolls, then lashed all these together carefully. As the rising
tide approached these packages, he began to drag them
across the reefs to his storehouse. In a hollow in the rocks
he had found a top-rope, by means of which he had been able
to haul even the large pieces of timber. In the same manner
he dragged from the sea the numerous pieces of chain which
he found scattered among the breakers.

Gilliatt worked at these tasks with astonishing activity and
tenacity. He accomplished whatever he attempted; nothing
could withstand his ant-iike perseverance.

By the end of the week he had gathered into this granite
warehouse of marine stores, and arranged in order, this mis-
cellaneous mass of salvage. There was a corner for the tacks
of sails and a corner for sheets. Bow-lines were not mixed
with halliards ; parrels were arranged according to their num-
ber of holes. The coverings of rope-yarn, unwound from the
broken anchorings, were tied in bunches ; the dead-eyes with-
out pulleys were separated from the tackle-blocks. Belay-
ing-pins, bulls-eyes, preventer-shrouds, down-hauls, snatch-
blocks, pendents, kevels, trusses, stoppers, and sailbooms, if

36 TOILERS OF THE SEA

they were not too much damaged by the storm, were placed in
different compartments. All the cross-beams, timber-work,
up-rights, stanchions, mast-heads, binding-strakes, portlids,
and clamps were heaped up apart. Whenever it was possible,
he arranged the broken planks from the vessel's bottom in their
proper order. There was no mixing up reef-points with
nippers, or crow's-feet with tow lines, or pulleys for the small
with pulleys for the large ropes, or fragments from the waist
with fragments from the stern. A place had even been re-
served for the cat-harpings, which had supported the shrouds
of the top-mast and the futtock-shrouds. Every part had
its appointed place. The entire wreck was there classed and
ticketed.

A stay-sail, fixed by huge stones, served, though torn and
damaged, to protect what the rain might have injured.

Shattered as the bows of the boat were, he had succeeded
in saving the two cat-heads with their three pulley-blocks.

He had found the bowsprit too, and had had much trouble
in unrolHng its gammoning ; it was very hard and tight, hav-
ing been, according to custom, made by the help of the v/ind-
lass, and in dry weather. Gilliatt, however, persevered until
he had detached it ; for this heavy rope was likely to be very
useful to him.

He had been equally successful in discovering the little an-
chor which had become fast in the hollow of a reef, where the
ebb tide had left it uncovered.

In what had once been Tangrouille's cabin he found a piece
of chalk, which he preserved carefully. He reflected that he
might have some marks to make.

A fire-bucket and several pails in pretty good condition
completed this stock of working materials.

All that remained of the Durande's supply of coal he car-
ried into the warehouse.

In a week this salvage of debris was finished ; the rock was
swept clean, and the Durande was lightened. Nothing was
left to burden the hull now except the machinery.

The portion of the fore-side bulwarks which hung to it

TOILERS OF THE SEA 37

did not distress the hull. The mass hung without dragging,
being partly sustained by a ledge of rock. It was large and
broad, however, and heavy to drag, and would have encum-
bered his warehouse too much. These bulwarks strongly re-
sembled the stocks in a shipyard.

Gilliatt left the mass where it was.

He had been profoundly thoughtful during all this labour.
He had sought in vain for the figurehead, — the " doll," as
the Guernsey folks called it, — of the Durande. It was one
of the things that the waves had swept away forever.

Gilliatt would have given his right hand to find it, if he
had not been in such urgent need of both his hands just at
that time.

At the entrance to the storehouse and outside it were two
piles of rubbish, — a pile of iron that would do for forging,
and a pile of wood for fuel.

Gilliatt Avas always at work by early dawn. He did not
take a moment's rest except at night.

The wild sea-birds, flying hither and thither, watched him
curiously at his work.

CHAPTER X

THE FORGE

THE warehouse completed, Gilliatt constructed his forge.
The other recess which he had chosen had within it a
sort of passage like a gallery in a mine. He at first con-
ceived the idea of making this his lodging; but the draught
was so continuous and so strong in this passage that he had
been compelled to abandon the plan. This current of air
so incessantly renewed first gave him the notion of the forge.
As it would not answer for a chamber, he was determined that
this recess should be his blacksmith's shop. To make obsta.-

38 TOILERS OF THE SEA

cles serve our purpose, it is a great step towards triumph.
The wind was Gilhatt's enemy. He set about making it his
servant.

The proverb appHed to certain kinds of men — " fit for
everything, good for nothing " — may also be appHed to the
liollows in rocks. They give no advantages gratuitously.
Here we find a hollow fashioned in the shape of a bath; but
it allows the water to run off through a fissure ; there is a
rocky chamber, but without a roof; here a bed of moss, but
recking with moisture; here an arm-chair, but one of hard
stone.

The forge which Gilliatt intended to establish had been
roughly outlined by nature; but it was a troublesome matter
to reduce this rough sketch to manageable shape ; — to trans-
form this cave into a laboratory and smith's shop. Out of
tliree or four large rocks, shaped like a funnel and ending
in a narrow fissure, chance had constructed a sort of ponder-
ous, ill-shapen blower, of very different power from those
huge old forge bellows fourteen feet long, which poured out at
every breath ninety-eight thousand inches of air. This was
quite a different kind of machine. The proportions of the
hurricane cannot be definitely measured.

This excess of power was an embarrassment. The in-
cessant draught was difficult to regulate.

The cavern had two inconveniences, — the wind traversed
It from end to end; so did the water.

This was not sea-water, but a continual little trickling
stream, more like a spring than a torrent.

The foam which the surf hurled upon the rocks and some-
times more than a hundred feet in the air, had filled with sea-
water a natural cave situated among the high rocks overlook-
ing the excavation. The overflowings of this reservoir
formed, a little back of the escarpment, a tiny waterfall about
an inch in breadth, but twelve or fourteen feet high. An oc-
casional contribution from the rains also helped to fill the
reservoir. From time to time a passing cloud dropped a
shower into this rocky basin which was always overflowing.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 39

The water was brackish and unfit to drink, but clear, and fell
in graceful drops from the ends of the long marine grasses,
as from the ends of a length of hair.

He was struck with the idea of making this water serve
to regulate the draught in the cave. By means of a funnel
made of rough planks and hastily put together to form two or
three pipes, one of which was furnished with a valve, and of
a large tub arranged as a lower reservoir, without checks or
counterweight, and completed solely by air-tight stuffing
above and air-holes below, Gilliatt, who, as we have said be-
fore, was handy at the forge and at the mechanic's bench, suc-
ceeded in constructing, instead of the forge-bellows, which he
did not possess, an apparatus less perfect than what is known
nowadays by the name of a " cagniardelle," but less rude
than that which the people of the Pyrenees formerly called a
" trompe."

He had some rye-meal, and out of it he manufactured some
paste. He had also some white rope, which he picked out
into tow. With this paste and tow, and some scraps of wood,
he stopped all the crevices of the rock, leaving only a tiny
air-hole made of a powder-flask which he had found aboard
the Durande, and which had served for loading the signal gun.
This powder-flask was directed horizontally upon a large
stone, which Gilliatt made the hearth of the forge. A stop-
per made of a piece of tow served to close it in case of need.

After this he heaped up the wood and coal upon the hearth,
struck his steel against the bare rock, caught a spark upon a
handful of loose tow, and having ignited it, soon lighted
his forge fire.

He tried the blower: It worked well.

Gilliatt felt the pride of a Cyclops : he was now the mas-
ter of air, water, and fire. Master of the air; for he had
given lungs to the wind, and changed the rude draught into
a useful blower. Master of water, for he had converted the
little cascade into a " trompe." Master of fire, for out of
this moist rock he had struck a flame.

The cave being almost everywhere open to the sky, the

40 TOILERS OF THE SEA

smoke issued freely, blackening the curved escarpment. The
rocks which seemed made only for foam became now familiar
with soot.

Gilliatt selected for an anvil a large, smooth stone, of
about the required shape and dimensions. It formed a sub-
stantial base for the blows of his hammer ; but one that was
very dangerous inasmuch as fragments were liable to fly off
from it. One of the extremities of this block, rounded and
ending in a point, might, for want of something better, serve
instead of a conoid horn ; but the other kind of horn of the
pyramidal form was wanting. It was the ancient stone anvil
of the Troglodytes. The surface, polished by the waves, had
almost the firmness of steel.

He regretted not having brought his anvil. As he did not
know that the Durande had been broken in two by the tem-
pest, he had hoped to find the carpenter's chest and all the
tools generally kept in the forehold. But it was the fore-
part of the vessel that had been carried away.

The two excavations which he had found in the rock were
contiguous. The warehouse and the forge communicated
with each other.

Every evening, when his work was ended, he supped on a
small biscuit, moistened in water, a sea-urchin or a crab, or
a few chdtaignes de mer, the only food to be found among
these rocks ; and shaking like his knotted rope, mounted again
to his cell on the Great Douvre.

The very drudgery of his daily occupation Increased the
sort of abstraction in which he lived. To be steeped too
deeply in realities is in itself a cause of visionary moods. His
bodily labour, with its infinite variety of details, did not lessen
the feeling of stupor which arose from the strangeness of his
position and his work. Ordinary physical fatigue is a thread
which binds man to earth ; but the very peculiarity of the en-
terprise he was engaged in kept him in a kind of ideal. There
were times when he seemed to be striking at the clouds. At
other times, his tools seemed to him like weapons. He had
a singular feeling as if he were repressing or providing

TOILERS OF THE SEA 41

against some latent danger of attack. Untwisting ropes, un-
ravelling threads of yarn in a sail, or propping up a couple
of beams seemed to him at such times like fashionin"; encfines
of war. The infinite pains which he had taken in his sal-
vage operations seemed at last so many precautions against
probable aggressions. His instincts became less and less those
of a worker, and more and more those of a keeper of wild
beasts.

His business there was that of a tamer. He had a vagrue
perception of the fact.

Around him, far as eye could reach, was the spectacle of
infinite labour vrasted and lost.* Nothing is more disturbing
to the mind than the contemplation of the diffusion of forces
at work in the unfathomable and illimitable space of the
ocean. The mind tends naturally to seek the object of these
forces. The incessant movement in space, the ever restless
sea, the clouds that seem continually hurrying somewhere,
the vast mysterious prodigality of effort, — all this is a prob-
lem. Whither does all this perpetual movement tend? What
are these winds constructing.? What are all these giant blows
building up? These howling, shriekings, and sobbings of
the storm, what do they result in? and what is the object of
this tumult? The ebb and flow of these questionings is eter-
nal as the tide. Gilliatt could answer for himself; he knew
his work, but the agitation which surrounded him on all
sides and at all times perplexed him with its eternal question-
ings. Unknown to himself, mechanically, by the mere pres-
sure of external things, and without any other effect than
a strange, unconscious bewilderment, Gilliatt, in this dreamy
mood, blended his own toil somehow with the prodigious,
wasted labour of the sea. How under such circumstances
could he hope to escape the influence of that mystery of this
dread, laborious ocean? how do other than meditate, so far
as meditation was possible, upon the vacillation of the waves,
the perseverance of the foam, the imperceptible wearing away
of the rocks, the furious beatings of the winds, and all this
travail and weariness for no apparent object.

For no object? No! O Thou Unknown, Thou only
knowcst for what !

4^ TOILEKS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER XI

DISCOVERY

A ROCK near the coast is sometimes visited by men ; a
rock in mid-ocean never. What object would any
one have in visiting it? It is not an island. No supplies
can be obtained there; there are no fruit-trees, no pasturage,
no beasts, no springs of water fit for man's use. Nothing i:
to be found there but inevitable ship-wreck.

This kind of rocks, which in the old sea dialect were called
holes, are, as we have said, strange places. The sea is their
only visitor; she works her own will with them. There is
no sign of terrestrial life to disturb her. Man is a terror to
the sea ; she is shy of his approach, and hides her deeds from
him. But she among the lone sea rocks is bolder. The un-
ceasing murmur of the waves is not interrupted here. She
labours at the rock, repairs its damage, sharpens its peaks,
makes them rugged or renews tliem. She pierces the gran-
ite, wears down the soft stone, aiul denudes the hard ; she
rummages, dismembers, bores, perforates, and grooves ; she
fills the rock with cells, and makes it sponge-like, hollows
out the inside, or adorns the outside with sculptures. She
makes caves, sanctuaries, and palaces for herself in this lonely
spot. She has her exuberant and hideous vegetation, com-
posed of floating plants which bite, and of monsters Avhich
take root ; and she hides away all this terrible magnificence
in her secret depths. No eye watches her on these isolated
rocks ; no spy embarrasses her movements. Here she freely
develops her mysterious side, which is inaccessible to man.
Here she deposits all her strange secretions. Here, all the
unknown wonders of the sea are congregated.

Promontories, capes, headlands, breakers, and shoals are
veritable works of art. The geological formations of the
earth are nothing in comparison with the vast operations of

TOILERS OF THE SEA 48

the ocean. These breakers, these submarine habitations, these
pja-amids, and crests of foam are all productions of that
mysterious art which the author of this book has somewhere
called " the Art of Nature." Their style is recognizable by
its vastness. The effects of chance seem to be design. Its
works are multiform. They reproduce the mazy labyrinths
of the coral groves, the sublimity of the cathedral, the extrav-
agance of the pagoda, the amplitude of the mountain, the del-
icacy of the jeweller's work, the horrors of the sepulchre.
They are filled with cells like wasps' nests, with dens like men-
ageries, with subterranean passages like the haunts of moles,
with dungeons like bastiles, with ambuscades like a hostile
camp. They have their doors, but they are barricaded ; their
columns, but they are shattered; their towers, but they are
tottering; their bridges, but they are broken. Their com-
partments are unaccommodating ; these are fitted for the birds
only, those only for fish. Their style of architecture is varied
and inconsistent ; it regards or disregards at will the laws of
equilibrium, — breaks off, stops short, begins in the form of
an archivolt, and ends in an architrave. Enceladus is the
mason.

A wondrous science of dynamics here exhibits its problems
ready solved. Fearful overhanging blocks threaten, but
fall not; the human mind cannot guess what power sup-
ports the toppling masses. Blind entrances, gaps, and pon-
derous suspensions multiply and vary infinitely. The laws
which regulate this Babel baffle human induction. The Un-
known, that great architect, plans nothing, but succeeds in
all. Rocks massed together in confusion form a monstrous
monument, defy reason, yet maintain equilibrium. Here is
something more than solidity: it is eternity. But order is
wanting. The wild tumult of the waves seems to have passed
into the wilderness of stone. It is like a tempest petrified
forever. Nothing could be more impressive than this archi-
tecture ; always standing, yet always seeming to fall ; in whicf,
everything seems to give support, and yet to withdraw it
A struggle between opposing lines has resulted in the con

41. TOILERS OF THE SEA

struction of an edifice, filled with traces of the efforts of those
old antagonists, — the ocean and the storm.

This architecture has its hideous masterpieces, of which the
Douvres was one.

The sea had fashioned and perfected it with grim solici-
tude. The snarling waters had licked it into shape. It was
hideous, treacherous, dark, full of hollows.

It had a complete venous system of submarine caverns ram-
ifying and losing themselves in unfathomable depths. Some
of the orifices of this labyrinth of passages were left exposed
by the low tides. A man might enter there, but only at the
peril of his life.

Gilliatt was obliged to explore all these grottoes, for the
purpose of his salvage labour. There was not one which was
not repulsive in aspect. Each cave bore that strong resem-
blance to an abattoir which is a characteristic of such forma-
tions.

A person who has never seen these hideous natural fres-
coes upon walls of everlasting granite, in excavations of
this kind, can form no idea of the strange effect they pro-
duce.

These pitiless caverns, too, were crafty and treacherous.
Woe betide him who might loiter there ! The rising tide filled
them to their very roofs.

Rock limpets and edible mosses abounded among Ihem.

They w^ere obstructed by quantities of shingle, heaped to-
gether in their recesses. Some of the big smooth stones
weighed more than a ton. They were of every size, and
every hue ; but the greater part were blood-coloured. Some,
covered wdth a hairy and glutinous seaweed, looked like big
green moles boring their May into the rock.

Several of the caverns terminated abruptly in the form of
a half cupola. Others, main arteries of a mysterious cir-
culation, lengthened out in the rock in dark and tortuous
fissures. They were the streets of the submarine city ; but
they contracted more and more, and at length left no way
for a man to pass. Peering in with the help of a lighted

TOILERS OF THE SEA 45

torch, he could sec nothing but dark hollows dripping with
moisture.

One day Gilliatt in his explorations, ventured into one
of these fissures. The state of the tide favoured the at-
tempt. It was a beautiful, calm, sunshiny day. Thei'e was
no fear of any accident from the sea to increase the danger.

Two necessities, as we have said, compelled him to under-
take these explorations. He had to gather fragments of
wreck and other things to aid him in his labour, and also to
search for crabs and crayfish for his food. The shell-fish
on the rocks had begun to fail him.

The fissure was narrow, and the passage difficult. Gilliatt
could see daylight beyond. He made an effort, contorted
himself as much as he could, and penetrated into the cave as
far as possible.

He had reached, without suspecting it, the middle of the
rock, the very point upon which Clubin had steered the Du-
rande. Though abrupt and almost inaccessible without, it
was hollow within. It was full of galleries, pits, and cham-
bers, like the tomb of an Egyptian king. This network of
caverns was one of the most complicated of the labyrinths cre-
ated by the restless sea.

The branches of this submarine tunnel probably com-
municated with the sea outside by more than one issue ; some,
opening on a level of the waves, others, deep and invisible.

It was near here, but Gilliatt knew it not, that Clubin had
dived into the sea.

In this crocodile cave, — where crocodiles, it is true, were
not among the dangers, — Gilliatt wound in and out striking
his head occasionally, bent low and rose again, lost his footing
and regained it many times, advancing laboriously the while.
By degrees the gallery widened ; a glimmer of daylight ap-
peared, and he found himself suddenly at the entrance to a
cavern of a singular kind.

46 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER XII

THE INTERIOR OF AN EDIFICE UNDER THE SEA

THIS gleam of daylight was most fortunate.
One step further, and Gilliatt must have fallen into a
pool that was, perhaps, bottomless. The waters of these
cavern pools are so cold and paralyzing as to prove fatal to
the strongest swimmers.

There is, moreover, no means of remounting or of clinging
to any part of their steep walls.

He stopped short. The passage from which he had just
emerged ended in a narrow and slippery projection, a sort
of corbel in the peaked wall. He leaned against the side and
surveyed it.

He was in a large cave. Over his head was a roof not
unlike the inside of a vast skull, which had just been dissected.
The dripping ribs of the striated indentations of the roof
seemed to imitate the branching fibres and jagged sutures
of the bony cranium. A stony ceiling and a watery floor.
The rippling waters between the four walls of the cave looked
like wavy paving tiles. The grotto was shut in on all sides.
Not a window, not even an air-hole visible. No breach in
the wall, no crack in the roof. The light came from below
and through the water, a strange sombre light.

Gilliatt, the pupils of whose eyes had contracted during
his explorations of the dusky corridor, could distinguish evei'y-
thing around him in the pale glimmer.

He was familiar, from having often visited them, with
the caves of Plemont in Jersey, the Creux-Maille at Guern-
sey, the Botiques at Sark ; but none of these marvellous cav-
erns could compare with the subterranean and submarine
chamber into which he had made his way.

Under the water at his feet he could discern a sort of arch.
This arch, a natural ogive, fashioned by the waves, glittered

TOILERS OF THE SEA 47

brightly between its two dark and deep supports. It was
through this kind of submerged porch that the dajhght en-
tered the cave from the open sea. A strange light shooting
upward from the gulf.

The glimmer spread out beneath the waters like a large
fan, and was reflected on the rocks. The direct rays, di-
vided into long, broad shafts, shone out in strong relief
against the darkness below ; while the refracted rays being
much duller looked as if they were seen through panes of
glass. There was light in the cave it is true; but it was an
unearthly light. The beholder might have dreamed that he
had entered some other planet. The glimmer was an enigma,
like the glaucous light from the eye of a Sphinx. The
whole cave represented the interior of a death's head of enor-
mous proportions, and of a strange splendour. The vault
was the hollow of the brain, the arch the mouth ; the sockets
of the eyes were wanting. The cavern, swallowing and dis-
gorging by turn the flux and reflux through its mouth
opened to the full noonday without, seemed to drink in the
light and vomit forth bitterness, like some intelligent but
malevolent human beings. The light, traversing this in-
let through the vitreous medium of the sea-water, became
green, like a ray of starlight from Aldcbaran ; and the pool
seen in this light looked like a liquid emerald. A tint of
aquamarine of marvellous delicacj^ pervaded the entire cave.
The roof, with its cerebral lobes and countless ramifications,
like fibres of nerves, gave out a tender reflection of chryso-
prase. The ripples reflected on the roof enlarged and con-
tracted their glittering scales in a mysterious and mazy dance.
They gave the beholder an impression of something weird
and spectral; he wondered what prey secured, or what expec-
tation about to be realized, moved with a joyous thrill this
magnificent netv/ork of living fire. From the projections of
the vault and the angles of the rock hung lengths of delicate
fibrous plants, bathing their roots probably through the
granite in some pool above, and distilling from their silky
tips, one by one, a pearly drop. These drops fell in the water

48 TOILERS OF THE SEA

now and then with a gentle splash. The effect of the scene
was singular. Nothing more beautiful or more mournful
could be imagined.

It was a wondrous palace, in which death sat smiling and
content.

CHAPTER XIII

WHAT WAS SEEN THERE ; AND WHAT WAS HALF-SEEN

CONTRADICTORY as the terms appear, this strange
cave was a place of dazzling gloom.

The palpitation of the sea made itself felt throughout the
cavern. The oscillation without raised and depressed the
level of the waters within, with the regularity of respira-
tion. A mysterious spirit seemed to pervade this vast organ-
ism, as it swelled and subsided in silence.

The water had a magical transparency ; and Gilliatt dis-
tinguished at various depths submerged recesses, and jutting
rocks of a deeper and deeper green. Cer^-ain dark hollows,
too, were there, probably too deep for soundii.gs.

On each side of the submarine portico, elliptical arches in-
dicated the position of small lateral cav< , low alcoves of the
central cavern, accessible, perhaps, at low tides.

These openings had roofs in the shape of inclined planes,
and at more or less acute angles. Little sandy beaches of
a few feet wide, laid bare by the action of the water, ex-
tended inward, until they were lost to view in these recesses.

Here and there sea- weeds more than a yard in length un-
dulated beneath the water, like long tresses waving in the
wind ; and one caught glimpses of dense masses of aquatic
plants.

Above and below the surface of the water, the walls of
the cave were covered from top to bottom with that wonder-
ful efflorescence of the sea, rarely seen by human eyes, which
the old Spanish navigators called praderias de mar. A lux-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 49

uriant moss of varied tints of olive concealed and adorned the
rough granite. From every jutting point hung the thin
fluted strips of tangle which sailors use as barometers. The
light breath which stirred in the cavern waved their glossy
lengths to and fro.

Under this mossy covering, one caught occasional glimpses
of some of the rarest gems in the casket of the ocean, —
ivory shells, whorls, mitres, casks, purple-fish, univalves,
struthiolaires, and turriculated cerites. Many bell-shaped
limpet shells adhered to the rocks, forming settlements like
tiny huts between alleys in which prowled oscabrions, those
beetles of the sea. As very few large pebbles found their
way into the cavern, many shell-fish took refuge there. Tlie
Crustacea are the grandees of the sea, who, in their lacework
and embroidery, avoid the rude contact of the pebbly crowd.
The glittering heaps of shells, in certain spots under the
wave, gave out singular irradiations, among which the eye
caught glimpses of confused azure and gold, and mother-of-
pearl of every tint of the water.

Upon the side of the cave, a little above the water-line,
a strange but magnificent plant, attaching itself like a fringe
to the border of the sea-weed, continued and completed it.
This plant, thick, fibrous, inextricably intertwined, and almost
black, hung in big dusky festoons, dotted with thousands of
tiny flowers of the colour of lapis-lazuli. In the water they
seemed to glow like small blue flames. Out of the water they
were flowers ; beneath it they were sapphires. When the water
rose and inundated the base of the wall clothed with these
plants, the rock seemed to be covered with gems.

With every swelling of the wave these flowers increased in
splendour, and at every subsidence grew dull again. So it
is with the destiny of man; aspiration is life, expiration is
death.

One of the greatest marvels of the cave was the rock it-
self. Forming here a wall, there an arch, and here again
a pillar or pilaster, it was often rough and bare ; while some-
times the rock close beside it was enriched with the most del-
4

50 TOILERS OF THE SEA

icate natural carving. It was the wondrous art-v/ork of the
ocean. Here a sort of panel, cut square and covered with
round embossments simulated a bas-relief. Seeing this sculp-
ture, with its shadowy designs, a man might have fancied that
Prometheus had sketched it for Michael Angelo. It seemed as
if that great genius with a few blows of his mallet could ha\ e
finished the labours of the giant. In other places the rock
was damasked like a Saracen buckler, or engraved like a
Florentine vase. There were portions which looked like Cor-
inthian brass, others like arabesques, as on the door of a
moeque; others like Runic stones with indistinct and mysti-
cal designs. Plants with twisted creepers and tendrils, cross-
ing and re-crossing upon the groundwork of lichens, covered
it with filigree. The grotto reminded one not a little of the
Alhambra. It was a strange compound of barbarism and the
goldsmith's art, with the imposing and rugged architecture
of ocean.

The magnificent sea-mosses covered the angles of granite
as with velvet. The escarpments were festooned with flow er-
ing bindweed, sustaining itself with graceful ease, and or-
namenting the walls with a tasteful design. Wallpellitories
showed their strange clusters here and there. All the beauty
possible to a cavern was there. The wondrous light of Eden
which came from beneath the water, at once a submarine twi-
light and a heavenly radiance, softened down and blended
all harsh lineaments. Every wave was a prism. The out-
lines of things under these rainbow-tinted undulations pro-
duced the chromatic effect of a too convex glass. Solar spcc-
vra shot through the waters. Fragments of rainbows seemed
floating in that auroral diaphany. In more secluded cor-
ners, there was a sort of moonlight effect discernible on the
water. Every kind of splendour seemed to unite there, form-
ing a strange twilight. Nothing could be more perplexing
or enigmatical than the weird beauties of this cavern. It
seemed to be an enchanted region. The fantastic vegetation
and the rude masonry of the place seemed to harmonize.

The effect of all these strange contrasts was marvellously

TOILERS OF THE SEA 51

lovely. The branches seemed to droop under their weight
of bloom. The savage rock and the delicate flower closely
oir. braced each other. Massive pillars had for capitals and
b.mds frail quivering garlands ; it was like the fingers of fair-
ies tickling the feet of Behemoth, and the rock sustained the
plant, and the plant enfolded the rock with wondrous grace.
The result of these mysteriously harmonized deformities
was one of sovereign beauty. The works of Nature, no
less supreme than those of genius, contain something of the
Absolute, and have an imposing air. Their very unexpect-
edness makes a profound Impression on the mind, and are
never more ravishing than when they suddenly cause the Ex-
quisite to spring forth from the Terrible.

This unknown grotto was, so to speak, siderealized. One
felt overwhelmed with amazement there. This crypt was
filled with an Apocalyptic light. You were not sure what
this or that thing was. There was reality stamped with im-
possibility before one's eyes. It could be seen, it could be
touched, it was there, but it was difficult to believe it.

Was it really daylight that entered through this submarine
casement.'* Was it really water that trembled in this dusky
pool.'' Were not these arched roofs and porches fashioned out
Oi sunset clouds? What stone was that beneath one's feet?
Was not this solid shaft about to melt away and vanish in
thin air? What was this cimning jewelry of glittering shells,
half -seen beneath the wave? How very remote life, and the
green earth, and human faces were ! What strange enchant-
ment haunted this mystic twilight !

At the extremity of the cave, which was oblong in form,
rose a Cyclopean archivolt, singularly perfect in form. It
was a sort of cave within a cave, a tabernacle within a sanctu-
ary. Here, behind a sheet of brilliant verdure, interposed
like the veil of a temple, a square rock bearing some resem-
blance to an altar rose out of the water. The water sur-
rounded it on all sides. It seemed as if a goddess had just
descended from it. One might have fancied that some ce-
lestial creature dwelt there in pensive beauty, but became in-

52 TOILERS OF THE SEA

visible on the approach of mortals. It was hard to conceive
of that superb chamber without a majestic vision within it.
The imagination of the intruder might evoke again the mar-
vellous apparition. A flood of chaste light falling upon white
shoulders ; a forehead bathed in the light of dawn ; an oval-
shaped Olympian visage ; a bust of marvellous beauty ; arms
modestly drooping ; floating tresses forming a sort of aureole ;
a delicately modelled body of snowy whiteness, half-envel-
oped in a sacred cloud, the form of a nymph with a glance
of a virgin ; a Venus rising from the sea, or an Eve emerging
from Chaos, — this was the vision that filled the mind.

There could be no doubt that a supernatural form inhabited
this sanctuary. Some woman in celestial nudity, with the soul
of a star, had probably been there just now. On that pedes-
tal, whence an ineffable ecstasy emanated, imagination beheld
a gleaming whiteness, living and erect. The mind pictured
for itself, in the midst of the silent wonders of this cave, an
Amphitrite, a Tethys, a Diana with the power to love. It
was she, who, departing, had left in the cave this wonderful
eff*ulgence, this sort of perfumed light. The dazzling glory
of the vision was no longer there ; this female, created to be
seen only by the unseen, was not visible, but was felt. The
goddess was absent ; but the divine influence was present.

The beauty of the recess seemed specially adapted for this
celestial presence. It was for the sake of this deity, this fairy
of the pearl caverns, this queen of the Zephyrs, this goddess
born of the waves, it was for her — or so, at least, the mind
imagined — that this subterranean dwelling had been thus re-
ligiously walled in, so that nothing might ever trouble the
majestic silence in which she dwelt.

Gilliatt, who was a kind of seer amid the secrets of Nature,
stood there musing, — a prey to varied and bewildering emo-
tions.

Suddenly he became aware of a strange object rapidly ap-
proaching through the wonderfully transparent water, a few
feet from him. A sort of long ragged band was moving
amidst the oscillation of the waves. It did not float, but swam.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 53

It seemed to have an object in view; it was advancing some-
where rapidly. The object resembled a jester's bawble, in
shape, with points that hung flabby and undulating, and
seemed to be covered with a thick slime. It was worse than
horrible ; it was foul. The beholder felt that it was something
monstrous. It was a living thing, unless indeed, it were only
an illusion. It seemed to be seeking the darker portions of the
cave, where it finally vanished. The deep waters grew darker
as its sinister form ^lided into them and disappeared.

BOOK II
THE TASK

CHAPTER I

THE RESOURCES OF ONE WHO HAS NOTHING

THE cavern seemed loath to part with its visitor. The
entrance had been difficult ; the return proved more
difficult still. Gilliatt finally succeeded in extricating him-
self, however ; but he did not return to the spot. He had
found nothing that he was in quest of, and he had no time to
indulge his curiosity.

He put the forge in operation at once. Tools were want-
ing; he set to work and made them.

For fuel he had the wreck; for motive power, the water;
for his bellows, the wind ; for his anvil, a stone ; for skill, his
instinct.

He entered upon his herculean task with ardour.

The weather seemed to smile upon his work. It continued
to be as dry and serene. The month of March had come,
but it was tranquil. The days grew longer. The blue sky,
the gentleness of the breeze, the serenity of the noontide, —
all seemed to preclude any idea of mischief. The waves
danced merrily in the sunlight. A kiss is the first step in
treachery ; the ocean is prodigal of such caresses. Her smile,
like that of woman's sometimes, cannot be trusted.

There was very little wind, and the hydraulic bellows

54

TOILERS OF THE SEA 55

worked all the better on that account. Much wind would have
hindered rather than aided it.

Gilliatt had a saw ; he manufactured for himself a file.
With the saw he attacked the wood ; with the file, the metal.
Then he availed himself of the two iron hands of the smith,
the pincers and the pliers. The pincers gripe, the pliers
handle ; oi e is like the closed hand, the other like the fingers.
Tools are organs. By degrees he made for himself a number
of auxiliaries, and constructed his armour. He made a screen
for his forge-fire with a piece of barrel hoop.

One of his principal labours was the sorting and repairing
of pulleys. He mended both the blocks and the sheaves of
tackle. He cut down the irregularities of all broken joists,
and re-shaped the extremities. He had, as we have said, a
great many pieces of wood, stored away and arranged accord-
ing to their shape and dimensions, as well as the nature of
their grain ; the oak on one side, the pine on the other ; the
short pieces like riders, separated from the straight pieces
like binding strakes. This formed his reserve of supports
and levers, which he might need at any moment.

A person who intends to construct hoisting tackle ought,
of course, to provide himself with beams and blocks ; but
these are not sufficient. He must have cordage as well. Gil-
liatt restored the cables, large and small. Ho frayed out the
tattered sails, and succeeded in converting them Into an excel-
lent yarn of which he made twine. With this he joined
the ropes. The joins, however, were liable to rot. It was
necessary, therefore, to make use of these cables as soon as
possible. He had only been able to make white tow, for he
was without tar.

The ropes mended, he proceeded to repair the chains.
Thanks to the lateral point of the stone anvil, which served
the part of the conoid horn, he was able to forge rings, rude
in shape, it is true, but strong. With these he fastened to-
gether the severed lengths of chains, and made long pieces.
To work at a forge without assistance is a difficult matter ;
nevertheless, he succeeded. It is true that he had only to

56 TOILERS OF THE SEA

forge and shape comparatively small articles, Avhich he was
able to hold by his pliers with one hand, while he hammered
with the other.

He cut into small pieces the iron bars of the captain's
bridge, by which Clubin used to pass to and fro from pad-
dle-box to paddle-box giving his orders ; fashioned one end
of each piece into a point, and affixed a flat head to the other.
In this way he manufactured huge nails nearly a foot in
length. These nails, much used in pontoon making, are use-
ful in fixing anything in rocks.

What was his object in all these labours? We shall see.

He was several times compelled to renew the blade of his
hatchet and the teeth of his saw. For renotching the saw
he had manufactured a three-sided file.

Occasionally he made use of the capstan of the Durande.
The hook of the chain broke: he made another.

By the aid of his pliers and pincers, and by using his chisel
as a screwdriver, he set to work to remove the two paddle-
wheels of the vessel, — a task which he finally accomplished.
This was rendered practicable b}^ reason of a peculiarity in
their construction. The paddle-boxes which covered them
were of great service to him in stowing them away. With the
planks fromx these paddle-boxes he made tM o cases, in which
he deposited the two paddles, piece by piece, each part being
carefully numbered.

His lump of chalk became precious for this purpose.

He kept the two cases on the strongest part of the wreck.

When these preliminaries were complelod, he found himself
face to face with the great difficuKy. The problem of the
engine of the Durande was now clearly before him.

Taking the paddle-wheels to pieces had proved practica-
ble. It was very different with the machinery.

In the first place, he was almost entirely ignorant of the
details of the mechanism. Woi'king thus blindly he might do
some irreparable damage. If he ventured to dismember it,
very diiTerent iools would bo rcqnirrd than those he could fab-
ricate witli a cavern for a forge, a draught of wind for a bel-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 57

lows, and a stone for an anvil. In attempting, therefore, to
take the machinery to pieces, there was great danger of de-
stroying it.

The attempt seemed, at first wholly impracticable.

The apparent impossibility of the project rose up before
him like a stone wall, blocking further progress.

What was to be done .''

CHAPTER II

HOW SHAKSPEARE MAY MEET j:SCHYLUS

A PLAN at last occurred to Gilliatt.
Since the time of the carpenter-mason of Salbris, who,
in the sixteenth century, in the dark ages of science, — long
before Amontons had discovered the first law of friction, or
Lahire the second, or Coulomb the third, — without any other
helper than a child, his son, with ill-fashioned tools, in the
chamber of the great clock of La Charite-sur-Loire, solved
at one stroke five or six problems in statics and dynamics in-
extricably intervolved like the wheels in a block of carts and
wagons, — since the time of that grand and marvellous achieve-
ment of the poor workman, who found means, without break-
ing a single piece of wire, without throwing one of the teeth
of the wheels out of gear, to lower in one piece, bv a marvel-
lous simplification, from the second story of the clock-tower
to the first, that massive monitor of the hours, made all
of iron and brass, " large as the room in which the man
watches at night, from the tower," with its movements, its
cylinders, its barrels, its drums, its hooks and its weights,
the barrel of its spring steelyard, its horizontal pendu-
lum, the holdfasts of its escapement, its reels of large and
small chains, its stone weights, one of which weighed five hun-
dred pounds, its bells, its peals, its jacks that strike the hours,

58 TOILERS OF THE SEA

— since the time, I say, of the man who accompKshed this
miracle, and of whom posterity knows not even the name,
nothing that could be compared with the project which Gil-
liatt was meditating had ever been attempted. What Gilliatt
dreamed of doing was still harder, that is, still grander.

The ponderousness, the delicacy, the manifold difficulties,
were no less in the machinery of the Durande than in the clock
of La Charite-sur-Loire.

The untaught mechanic had his helpmate, his son ; Gilliatt
was alone.

A crowd gathered from Meung-sur-Loire, from Nevers, and
even from Orleans, able in time of need to assist the mason
of Salbris, and to encourage him with their friendly voices.
Gilliatt had no voices but those of the wind around him ; no
crowd but the assemblage of waves.

There is nothing more remarkable than the timidity of ig-
norance, unless it be its temerity. When ignorance becomes
daring, she has sometimes a sort of compass within herself, —
the intuition of the truth, clearer oftentimes in a simple mind
than in a learned brain.

Ignorance impels to an attempt. It is a state of wonder-
ment, which, with its concomitant curiosity, forms a power.
Knowledge often disconcerts one and makes one over-cautious.
Gama, had he known what lay before him, would have re-
coiled before the Cape of Storms. If Columbus had been a
great geographer, he might have failed to discover America.

The second successful climber of ]\Iont Blanc was the sa-
vant, Saussure; the first, the goatherd, Balmat.

These instances^ I admit, are exceptions, which detract
nothing from science, which remains the rule. The ignorant
man may discover ; it io the learned who invent.

Tho sloop was still at anchor in the creek of " The Man "
rock, where the sea left it i.. peace. Gilliatt, it will be re-
membered, had arranged everything for maintaining constant
communication with it. He visited the sloop and measured
her beam carefully in several parts, but particularly her mid-
ship frame. Then he returned to Ihe Durande and meas-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 59

urcd the diameter of the floor of tlie engine-room. This di-
ameter, of course, without the paddles, was two feet less than
the broadest part of the deck of his bark. The machinery,
thei'efore, might be put aboard the sloop.
But how could it be got there .-^

CHAPTER III

gilliatt's masterpiece comes to the rescue of
lethierry's masterpiece

ANY fisherman, who was insane enough to loiter at that
season in the neighbourliood of Gilliatt's labours, would
have been repaid for his hardihood by a singular sight be-
tween the two Douvres.

Before his eyes would have appeared four stout beams,
at equal distances, stretching from one Douvre to the other,
and apparently forced into the rock, which is the firmest of
all holds. On the Little Douvre, their extremities were laid
and buttressed upon the projections of rock. On the Great
Douvre, they had been driven in by blows of a hammer, by
the powerful hand of a workman standing upright upon
the beam itself. These supports were a little longer than
the distance between the rocks. Hence the firmness of their
hold ; and hence, also, their slanting position. They touched
the Great Douvre at an acute, and the Little Douvre at an
obtuse, angle. Their inclination was slight ; but it was un-
equal, which was a defect. But for this defect, they might
have been supposed to be prepared to receive the planking
of a deck. To these four beams were attached four sets of
I hoisting apparatus, each having its pendent and its tackle-
I /all with the bold peculiarity of having the tackle-blocks
with two sheaves at one extremity of the beam, and the
I simple pulleys at the opposite end. This distance, which

60 TOILERS OF THE SEA

was too great not to be perilous, was necessitated by the
operation to be effected. The blocks were firm, and the pul-
leys strong. To this tackle-gear cables were attached,
which looked like threads from a distance ; while beneath
this apparatus of pulleys and spars, the massive hull of the
Durande seemed to be suspended in the air by threads.

It was not yet suspended, however. Under the cross
beams, eight perpendicular holes had been made in the deck,
four on the port, and four on the starboard, side of the
engine ; eight other holes had been made beneath them
through the hull. The cables, descending vertically from
the four tackle-blocks, through the deck, passed out at the
starboard side under the keel and the machinery, re-entered
the ship by the holes on the port side, and passing upward
again through the deck, returned, and were wound around
the beams. Here a sort of jigger-tackle held them in a
bunch bound fast to a single cable, capable of being directed
by one arm. The single cable passed over a hook, and
through a deadeye, which completed the apparatus and kept
it in check. This combination compelled the four tacklings
to work together, and, acting as a complete restraint upon
the suspending powers, became a sort of dynamical rudder
in the hand of the pilot of the operation, maintaining the
movements in equilibrium.

The ingenious adjustment of this system of tackling had
some of the simplifying qualities of the Weston pulley of
these days, with a mixture of the antique polyspaston of
Vitruvius. Gilliatt had iavented the arrangement, although
he knew nothing of the dead Vitruvius or of the still un-
born Weston. The length of the cables varied, according
to the unequal inclination of the cross-beams. The ropes
were dangerous, for the untarred hemp was liable to give
way. Chains would have been better in this respect, but
chains would not have passed through the tackle-blocks
easily.

The apparatus was full of defects ; but as the work of one
man, it was surprising.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 61

For the rest, it will be understood that many details are
omitted which would render the construction perhaps in-
telligible to practical mechanics, but obscure to others.

The top of the funnel passed between the two beams in
the middle.

Gilliatt, unconscious plagiarist, without suspecting it, had
reconstructed, three centuries later, the mechanism of the
Salbris carpenter, — a mechanism rude and incorrect, and
fraught with no little danger to him who might venture
to use it.

Here let us remark that defects do not prevent a piece of
machinery from working after a fashion. It may limp, but
it moves.

The obelisk in the square of St. Peter's at Rome is erected
in a way v/hich offends against all the principles of statics.
The carriage of the Czar Peter was so constructed that it
looked ready to overturn at every step ; but it travelled on-
ward for all that. What blunders characterize the ma-
chinery at Marly ! Everything that is heterodox in hydrau-
lics ! Yet did it not supply Louis XIV. with water all the
same ?

Come what might, Gilliatt had faith. He even antici-
pated success so confidently as to fix in the bulwarks of
the sloop, on the very day when he measured its propor-
tions, two pair of corresponding iron rings on each side,
exactly at the same distances as the four rings on board
the Durande, to which the four chains of the funnel were
attached.

He had a very complete and settled plan in his mind.
All the chances being against him, he had evidently de-
termined that all the precautions at least should be on
his side.

He did some things which seemed useless ; a sign of careful
premeditation.

His manner of proceeding would, as we have said, have
puzzled an observer, even though he was familiar with
mechanical operations.

62 TOILERS OF THE SEA

A witness of his labour who had seen him, for example,
with enormous efforts and at the risk of breaking his
neck, driving eight or ten huge nails which he had forged
into the base of the two Douvres at the entrance to the pas-
sage between them, would have had some difficulty in under-
standing the object of these nails, and would probably have
wondered what could be the use of all that trouble.

If he had then seen him measuring the portion of the
fore bulwark which had remained hanging to the wreck,
then attaching a strong cable to the upper edge of that por-
tion, cutting away with strokes of his hatchet the fasten-
ings which held it, then dragging it out of the defile with
the aid of the receding tide, pushing the lower part while
he dragged the upper part, and, finally, with great labour,
fastening with the cable this heavy mass of planks and
piles wider than the entrance of the defile itself, with the
nails driven into the base of the Little Douvre, the ob-
server would perhaps have found the operation still more
difficult to comprehend, and might have wondered why
Gilliatt, if he wanted, for the purpose of his operations,
to disencumber the space between the two rocks of this mass,
had not allowed it to fall into the sea, where the tide would
have carried it away.

Gilliatt had his reasons, however.

In fixing the nails in the base of the rocks, he had taken
advantage of all the cracks in the granite, enlarging them
when needful, and inserting, first of all, wooden wedges in
which he drove the nails. He made a rough beginning of
similar preparations in the two rocks which stood at the
other end of the narrow passage on the eastern side. He
placed plugs of wood in all the crevices, as if he desired
to have them, too, in readiness ; but this appeared to be a
mere precaution, for he made no use of them. He was
compelled to economize, and to use his materials only when
he had need of them. This was another great drawback.

As fast as one task was accomplished, another became
necessary. Gilliatt passed unhesitatingly from one to
another, making gigantic strides all the while.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 63

CHAPTER rv

SUB EE

THE aspect of the man who accomplished all these labours
became terrible.

Gilliatt expended all his strength at once in his multi-
farious tasks, and regained it with difficulty.

Privations on the one hand, and fatigue on the other, had
greatly reduced him in flesh. His hair and beard had
grown long. He had only one shirt that was not in rags.
He went about barefooted, the wind having carried away
one of his shoes, and the sea the other. Flying fragments
of the rude and dangerous stone anvil which he used had
left small wounds upon his hands and arms. These wounds,
or rather scratches, were not deep ; but the keen air and the
salt water irritated them continually.

He was hungry, thirsty, and cold.

His store of fresh water was gone ; his rye-meal was used
up. He had nothing left but a little hard tack.

This he gnawed with his teeth, having no water in which
to steep it.

Little by little, and day by day, his strength decreased.

These terrible rocks were consuming his life.

How to obtain food was a problem ; how to get drink
was a problem ; how to find rest was a problem.

He ate when he was fortunate enough to find a crayfish
or a crab; he drank when he chanced to see a sea-bird
descend upon a point of rock ; for on climbing up to the
spot he generally found a hollow there, with a little fresh
water. He drank from it after the bird, sometimes with
the bird ; for the gulls and sea-mews had become accus-
tomed to him, and no longer flew away on his approach.
Even in his greatest need of food lie did not attempt to
molest them. He had, as will be remembered, a super-

64 TOILERS OF THE SEA

stition about birds. The birds on their part, now that his
hair was rough and wild, and his beard long, had no fear
of him. The change in his face gave them confidence ; he
had lost all resemblance to man and taken the form of the
wild beast.

In fact, the birds and Gilliatt had become good friends.
Companions in poverty, they helped each other. So long
as he had had any meal, he had crumbled for them some
bits of the cakes he made. In his deeper distress they
showed him, in their turn, the places where he could find
tiny pools of water.

He ate the shell-fish raw. Shell-fish help in a certain
degree to quench thirst. The crabs he cooked. Having
no kettle, he roasted them, between two stones heated red-
hot in his fire, after the manner of the Faroe island
savages.

Meanwhile, signs of the equinoctial season had begun to
appear. Then came rain, — an angry rain. No showers
or steady torrents, but fine, sharp, icy points which pene-
trated to his skin through his clothing, and to his bones
through his skin. It was a rain which yielded very little
drinking water, but which drenched him none the less.

Chary of assistance, prodigal of misery, such was the
character of these rains. For one entire week Gilliatt suf-
fered from them day and night.

At night, in his rocky recess, nothing but the over-
powering fatigue occasioned by his Ciily 'oil enabled him
to sleep. The big sea-gnats stung him, and he generally
awoke covered with blisters.

He had a kind of slow fever, Avhic\ sustained him; but
this fever is a succour which destroys. By instinct he
chewed the mosses, or sucked the leaves of wild cochlearia,
scanty tufts of which grew in the dry crevices of the rocks.
Of his suffering, however, he took little heed. He had no
time to devote to the consideration of his own privations.
The rescue of the machinery of the Durande was progress-
ing well. That sufficed for him.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 65

Every now and then, as the necessities of his work de-
manded, he jumped into the water, swam to some point,
and gained a footing there. He plunged into the sea and
left it, as a man passes from one room to another in
his dwelling.

His clothing was never dry. It was saturated with rain
water, which had no time to evaporate, and with sea water,
which never dries.

Living in wet clothing is a habit which may be acquired.
The poor groups of Irish people, — old men, mothers, half
naked girls and infants, — who spend the winter in the open
air, in the snow and I'ain, huddled together at the corners
of the London streets, live and die in this condition.

To be soaked through, and yet be thirsty : Gilliatt be-
came accustomed to this strange torture. There were
times when he was glad to suck the sleeve of his big
coat.

The fire that he made scarcely warmed him. A fire in
the ,pen air yields very little comfort. It burns a person
on one side, while he freezes on the other.

Gilliatt often shivered while sweating over his forge.

Everywhere about him resistance loomed amid a terrible
silence. He felt himself to be the enemy of an unseen
combination.

There is a dismal non possumus in Nature.

The inertia of matter ij like a grim threat.

-'_ m.ysteriou.o persecution environed him. He suffered
equally from sudden flushes and sudden chills. The fire
ate .'.ito his flesh; the water froze him; feverish thirst tor-
mented him ; the wind tore his clothing ; hunger under-
mined the organs of the body. Tlie mental depression all
this caused was terribly exhausting. Obstacles silent, im-
mense, seemed to converge from all points towards him with
the blind irresponsibility of fate, yet full of a savage
unanimity. He felt them pressing inexOrablj^ upon him.
There was no way of escaping them. His sufferings pro-
duced the impression of some living persecutor. He had
5

66 TOILERS OF THE SEA

a constant sense of something working against him, of a
hostile form ever present, ever labouring to circumvent and
to subdue him.

He could flee from the struggle; but so long as he re-
mained, he had no choice but to war against this secret
hostility. He asked himself what it was. It took hold of
him, grasped him tightly, overpowered him, deprived him
of breath. The invisible persecutor was destroying him by
slow degrees. Every day the feeling of depression became
greater, as if the mysterious screw had received another
turn.

His situation in this dreary spot resembled a duel, in
which a suspicion of treachery haunts the mind of one
of the combatants.

It seemed to be a coalition of obscure forces which sur-
rounded him. He felt that there was an invincible de-
termination to be rid of his prc3ence. It is thus that the
glacier drives away the loitering ice-block.

Almost without seeming to touch him, this latent co-
alition had reduced him to rags ; had left him bleeding,
distressed, and, as it were, Jiors de combat, even before the
real battle began. He toiled no less assiduously and un-
remittingly but as the work progressed the workman him-
self seemed to lose ground. One might have fancied that
Nature — that wild beast in dread of the soul — had re-
solved to undermine the man. Gilliatt toiled on and left
the rest to the future. The sea had begun by consuming
him; what would come next.''

The double Douvres, — that granite dragon lying in am-
bush in mid-ocean, — had sheltered him. It had allowed
him to enter, and to do his will but its hospitality resembled
the welcome of devouring jaws.

The unfathomable space around and above him, so full
of opposition to man's will ; the mute, inexorable deter-
mination of phenomena, following their appointed course;
the great general law of things, implacable and passive;
the ebbs and flows ; the rock itself, a dark Pleiad, whose

TOILERS OF THE SEA 67

points were each a star amid vortices, the centre of radi-
ating currents ; the strange, indefinable conspiracy to crush
with indifference the temerity of a Kving being; the wintry
winds, the clouds, and the beleaguering waves which en-
veloped him, — closed in around him slowly, and shut him
out from all companionship, like a dungeon built up stone
by stone around a living man. Everything against him ;
nothing for him ; he felt himself isolated, abandoned, en-
feebled, sapped, forgotten. His storehouse empty, his
tools broken or defective, he was tormented with hunger and
thirst by day, with cold by night, with wounds and tatters,
rags covering sores, torn hands, bleeding feet, wasted limbs,
pallid cheeks. But there was unquenchable fire in his eye.

Superb fire, will-power made visible ! Such is the eye of
man. The eyeball tells hov/ much of the man there is in
us. We reveal ourselves by the light under our eyebrows.
Petty consciences wink ; grand consciences flash. If there
is no spark in the eyeball, there is no thought in the brain,
no love in the heart. He who loves, wills, and he who wills,
lightens and flashes. Resolution gives fire to the look, — a
fire composed of the combustion of timid thoughts.

The headstrong are really the sublime. The man who is
only brave owes it to impulse; the man who is only valiant
merely possesses that temperament ; the man who is cour-
ageous has only one virtue; the man who is headstrong in
the truth is sublime. All the secrets of great souls lie in
the one word, Perseverando. Perseverance is to courage
what the winch is to the lever, a perpetual renewal of the
point of support. Let the goal be on earth or in heaven, to
reach the goal is everything ; in the first case one is Columbus,
in the second case, Jesus. Never to disobey the dictates of
your conscience, never to allow your will to be disarmed,
results in suffering, but in triumph as v,ell. The propensity
of morals to fall does not preclude the possibility of soaring.
From the fall comes the ascension. Weak souls are discon-
certed by specious obstacles ; strong souls, never. Perish,
they possibly may ; conquer, they certainly will. You might

68 TOILERS OF THE SEA

give Stephen all sorts of good reasons why he should not
let hmiself be stoned. This contempt for sensible objec-
tions gives birth to that sublime victory which is called
martyrdom.

All his efforts seemed to tend to the impossible. His
success was meagre and slow. He was compelled to expend
much labour to accomplish very trivial results. It was this
that gave to his struggle such a noble and pathetic
character.

That it should have required so many preparations, so
much toil, so many cautious experiments, such nights of
hardship, and such days of danger merely to set up four
beams over a shipwrecked vessel, to divide and isolate the
portion that could be saved, and to adjust to that wreck
within a wreck four tackle-blocks with their cables was merely
due to his solitary position.

But Gilliatt had merely accepted this solitary position.
He had deliberately chosen it. Dreading a competitor
because a competitor might have proved a rival, he had
asked no assistance. The gigantic undertaking, the risk,
the danger, the arduous toil, the possible destruction of the
salvor in his work, famine, fever, nakedness, distress,- — lie
had chosen all these for himself ! Such was his selfishness.

He was like a man placed in the bell of an air-pump,
which is being slowly exhausted of air. His vitality was
failing him little by little. He scarcely perceived the fact.

The decline of physical strength does not necessarily
impair the will. Faith is only a secondary power ; the will
is the first. The mountains, which faith is proverbially said
to move, are nothing in comparison with wliat the will can
accomplish. All that Gilliatt lost in vigour, he gained in
tenacity. The deterioration of the physical man under the
depressing influence of the surrounding sea and rock and
sky only seemed to reinvigorate his moral nature.

Gilliatt felt no fatigue, or, rather, he would not yield
to any. The refusal of the mind to recognize the faihngs
of the ' ody is in itself an immense power.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 69

He saw nothing, except the steps attending the progress
of his labours. His object— ^ now seeming so near attain-
ment— wrapped him in perpetual illusions. He endured
all this suffering without any other thought than that con-
tained in the word " Forward." His work flew to his head ;
the strength of the will is intoxicating. This intoxication
is called heroism.

He had become a kind of Job, with the ocean as the scene
of his sufferings.

But he was a Job wrestling with difficulties, a Job com-
bating and making way against afflictions ; a conquering
Job ; and if such names are not too great to be applied to
a poor sailor and fisher of crabs and crayfish, a combination
of Job and Prometheus.

CHAPTER V

SUB UMBRA

SOMETIMES in the night Gilliatt woke and peered into
the darkness.

He felt a strange emotion.

As his eyes opened upon the blackness of the night,
the situation seemed unspeakably dismal and full of dis-
quietude.

There is such a thing as the pressure of darkness.

A strange roof of shadow ; a deep obscurity, which no
diver can explore ; a light of a strange, subdued, and som-
bre kind, mingled with that obscurity ; floating atoms of
rays, like the dust of seeds or of ashes ; milHons of lamps,
but no illumination ; a vast sprinkling of fire, of which no
man knows the secret; a diffusion of shining points, like
a drift of sparks arrested in tlicir course ; the disorder of
the whirlwind, with the fixedness of death ; a mysteriou>

70 TOILERS OF THE SEA

and abysmal depth; an enigma, at once showing and con-
ceaHng its face ; the Infinite in its mask of darkness, — these
are the synonyms of night. Its weight hes heavily on the
soul of man.

This combination of all mysteries, — the mystery of the
Cosmos and the mystery of Fate, — overpowers the human
brain.

The pressure of darkness acts in inverse proportion upon
different natures. In the presence of night man feels his
own incompleteness. He perceives the dark void, and realizes
his frailty. The sky is black, the man blind. Face to face
with night, man bends, kneels, prostrates himself, crouches
on the earth, crawls towards a cave, or seeks for wings. Al-
most always he shrinks from that vague presence of Vac
Unknown. He asks himself what it is ; he trembles and
bows the head. Sometimes he desires to go to it.

To go whither?

He can only answer, " There ! "

There! But what is it like? and what will be found
there ?

This curiosity is evidently forbidden to the spirit of man ;
for all around him the roads which bridge that gulf are
demolished or gone.' There is no arch to enable him to span
the Infinite. But there is a fascination about forbidden
knowledge, as in the edge of the abyss. Where the foot
cannot tread, the eye may reach ; where the eye can penetrate
no further, the imagination may soar. There is no man,
however feeble or insufficient his resources, who does not make
the attempt. According to his nature he questions or recoils
before this great mystery. With some it has the effect of
repressing, with others it enlarges, the soul. The spectacle
is sombre, indefinite.

Is the night calm and cloudless? It is then a mass of
shadow. Is it stormy? It is then a sea of cloud. Its
limitless depths reveal themselves to us, and yet baffle our
gaze ; close themselves against research, but remain open
to conjecture. Its innumerable dots of light only make the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 71

obscurity beyond deeper. Jewels, scintillations, stars ; proofs
of the existence of unknown universes which bid defiance
to man's approach ; landmarks of the infinite creation ;
boundaries there, where there are no bounds ; landmarks
impossible, and yet real, revealing the immensity of those
infinite deeps. One microscopic glittering point ; then
another ; then another ; imperceptible, yet enormous. Yonder
light is a focus ; that focus is a star ; that star is a sun ;
that sun is a universe; that universe is nothing. For all
numbers are as zero in the presence of the Infinite.

These worlds, which yet are nothing, exist. Through
tliis fact we feel the difference M'hich separates the being
nothing from the not to he.

The inaccessible added to the inexplicable, such are the
heavens.

A sublime phenomenon is evolved from this thought, —
the development of the soul by awe.

Awe is peculiar to man ; the beast knows it not. In-
telligence finds in this sublime terror its eclipse and the
proof of its existence.

Darkness is unity, hence horror; at the same time it is
complex, hence terror. Its unity crushes the spirit, and
destroys all inclination to resist. Its complexity makes us
look anxiously around on all sides ; it seems as if some ac-
cident were about to happen. We surrender, yet are on
our guard. One is in the presence of Omnipotence, hence
submission ; and in the presence of the many, hence distrust.
The unity of darkness contair;s a multiple, visible in matter
and realizable in thought. Its very silence is only another
reason for one to be on the watch.

Night — as the writer has said elsewhere — is the proper,
normal state of the special creation to which we belong.
Day, brief in duration as in space, is merely proximity
to a star.

The wonderful mystery of night is not accomplished with-
out friction, and the friction of such a machine is the con-
tusions of life. This friction of the machine we call Evil,

72 TOILERS OF THE SEA

In the darkness we are conscious of this Evil, this covert he
against divine order, this open blasphemy of fact rebelling
against the ideal. Evil disturbs the vast Whole of the Cosmos
with a strange hundred-headed teratology. Evil is always
present to oppose. It is the hurricane that stops the ship ;
it is chaos and checks the budding of a world. Good is
characterized by unity. Evil by ubiquity ; Evil disarranges
life ; it makes the bird destroy the fly, and the comet destroy
the planet. Evil is an erasion in the book of Nature.

The darkness of night makes the brain whirl. One who
attempts to sound its depths is submerged, and struggles in
vain. No task is so hard as an examination of the land of
shadows. It is the study of an efFacement.

There is no definite spot where the spirit can rest. There
are points of departure, no points of arrival. The decussa-
tion of contradictory solutions; all the different diversities of
doubt simultaneously presented ; the ramifications of phe-
nomena perpetually exfoliating under an indefinite power of
growth ; an inexplicable promiscuity which makes minerals
vegetate, vegetation live, thought ponder, love radiate, and
gravitation attract ; a simultaneous attack upon all questions
deploying in a limitless obscurity ; the half-seen sketching
the unknown ; cosmic simultaneousness in full view, not to the
eye but to the mind, in the vast indistinct of space; the
invisible become a vision, — such are the night and the shades
of darkness.

He knows no details ; he bears, to an extent propor-
tionate to his spirit, the monstrous load of the Whole. It
was this that drove the Chaldean shepherds to astronomy.
Involuntary revelations come from the pores of Nature ; an
exudation of science is in some Avay self -produced, and wins
the ignorant. Every person who leads a lonely life under
this mysterious impregnation, becomes, often unconsciously,
a natural philosopher.

The Darkness is indivisible ; it is inhabited, — sometimes
inhabited without change of place by the Absolute, some-
times inhabited but subject to change of place. To move

TOILERS OF THE SEA 7B

therein is alarming. A holy creative power accomplishes its
phases therein. Premeditations, powers, self -chosen destinies
work out their measureless task there. A terrible and hor-
rible life is in it. There are vast evolutions of stars, the
stellar family, the planetary family, the zodiacal star-dust;
the quid divinuin of currents, of influences, of polarization
and attraction. There are affinities and antagonisms in it;
a stupendous ebb and flow of the universal antithesis ; the
imponderable at liberty in the midst of centres ; the wander-
ing atom, the scattered germ; circles of fecundation, oscula-
tions, and repugnancies ; unheard-of profusion, distances like
dreams ; giddy revolutions ; worlds plunging into the in-
calculable; prodigies pursuing each other in the gloom; the
pantings of flying spheres and whirling wheels. The learned
conjecture, the simple assent and tremble; it is, and it van-
ishes ; it is impregnable, beyond reach, beyond approach. Con-
viction becomes oppression ; some — we know not what — ■
black evidence lies heavy on us ; we can grasp nothing ; we
are crushed by the impalpable.

Everywhere around us we see the incomprehensible, no-
where the intelligible!

And then add the momentous question. Is this Immanence
endowed with a soul.''

We are in doubt. We look and listen.
Still the sad earth moves and rolls ; the flowers are conscious
of the mighty movement ; the silenia opens at eleven o'clock
in the evening, the hemerocallis at five in the morning. Strik-
ing regularity.

Each drop of water is a miniature world ; the infusoria
come to life. Think of the marvellous fecundity of an ani-
malcule ! The imperceptible displays its grandeur ; the an-
tistrophe of immensity is revealed ; a diatome in a single
hour produces thirteen hundred millions of diatomes.
Surely every enigma is summed up in this.
The irreducible equation is here. We are constrained to
have faith. But to have faith docs not suffice to give one
tranquillity. Faith has a strange need of forms. Hence

74 TOILERS OF THE SEA

religions. Nothing is so unsatisfying as a belief without
outlines.

Whatever we think, whatever we wish, whatever may be
our repugnance, to look into the darkness is not to look, but
to contemplate.

What can be done with these phenomena? How move
in the spot where they converge? To dispel this pressure is
impossible. Darkness is a silence, but an eloquent silence.
One conclusion stands out majestically, — the existence of a
God. This belief in God is inherent in man. Syllogisms,
quarrels, negations, systems, religions, pass over it without
diminishing it. This thought is confirmed by darkness. The
marvellous harmony of forces of Nature is manifested by
their power to maintain all this obscurity in equilibrium.
The universe is suspended in mid-air, yet nothing falls. In-
cessant, immeasurable change takes place without accident or
fracture. Man particijiates in this transition movement ; and
the wonderful oscillations to which he is subjected, he calls
destiny. Where does destiny begin? Where does Nature
end? What is the difference between an event and a sea-
son, between a sorrow and a rain-storm, between a virtue and
a star? Is not an hour a wave? The machinery in motion
continues its passionless revolutions, without any regard to
man. The starry heaven is a system of v,'heels, beams, and
counterweights. It is supreme contemplation coupled with
supreme meditation, all reality plus all abstraction. Noth-
ing beyond ; here we are stopped. The darkness reveals not
the secret. We are in the train of a complicated mechanism,
an integral part of an unknown Whole, and feel the Un-
known within us fraternize mysteriously with an Unknown
without us.

It is this which tells us that death is inevitable. What
anguish, and at the same time what rapture ! To be ab-
sorbed in the Infinite, and thereby brought to attribute to
one's self a necessary immortality, or — who knows? — a
possible eternity ! to feel in the immense flood of the deluge of
universal life the insubmersible will of the I ! To look on the

TOILEHS OF THE SEA 75

stars and say, " I am a soul like you ; " to look into the dark-
ness and say, " I am an abyss like 3'ou ! "

Such are the thoughts and visions awakened by the night !

All these vague fancies, multiplied and intensified by soli-
tude, weighed upon Gilliatt.

He comprehended them not, but he felt them. His was
a powerful though uncultivated intellect, a noble though
unsophisticated heart.

CHAPTER VI

GILLIATT PLACES THE SLOOP IN READINESS

THIS rescue of the machinery of the wreck as meditated
by Gilliatt was, as we have already said, like the
escape of a criminal from a prison and necessitated all the
patience and industry recorded of such achievements, — in-
dustry carried to the point of a miracle, patience only to be
compared Avith a long agony. A certain prisoner named
Thomas, at the Mont St. INIichcl, found means of secreting
the greater part of a wall in his paillasse. Another at Tulle,
in 1820, cut away a quantity of lead from the terrace where
the prisoners walked for exercise. With what kind of a
knife? No one could guess. With what fire he melted this
lead no one has ever discovered ; but it is known that he cast
it in a mould made by a bit of bread. With this lead and
this mould he made a key, and with this key he succeeded in
opening a lock of which he had never seen anything but the
keyhole. Gilliatt possessed some of this marvellous ingenu-
ity. He had once climbed and descended from the cliff at
Boisrose. He was the Baron Trenck of the wreck, and the
Latude of her machinery.

The sea, like a jailer, kept watch over him.

For the rest, mischievous and inclement as the rain had

76 TOILERS OF THE SEA

been, he had contrived to derive some benefit from it. He
had partially replenished his stock of fresh water ; but his
thirst was inextinguishable, and he emptied his can as fast as
he filled it.

One day — it was on the last day of April or the first of
May — everything was in readiness.

The engine-room was as it were enclosed between the eight
cables hanging from the tackle-blocks, four on one side, four
on the other. The sixteen holes on the deck and under tlic
keel, through wliich the cables passed, had been hooped
around. The planking had been sawed, the timber cut with
the hatchet, the iron-work with a file, the sheathing with a
chisel. The part of the keel immediately under the machin-
ery was cut so as to descend with it while stdl supporting it.
The whole ponderous mass was held by only a single chain,
which was itself only kept in position by a filed notch. At
this stage of proceedings, in such a task and so near its
completion, haste is prudence.

The water was low, the moment favourable.

Gilliatt had succeeded in removing the axle of the paddle-
wheels, the extremities of which might have proved an obsta-
cle and checked the descent. He had contrived to make this
heavy portion fast in a vertical position within the engine-
room itself.

It was time to bring his work to an end. The workman,
as we have said, was not worn out, for his will was strong;
but his tools were. The forge was fast becoming useless.
The blower had begun to work badly. The little hj^draulic
fall being of sea-water, saline deposits had incrusted the
joints of the apparatus, and now prevented its free action.

Gilliatt visited the creek of " The Man " rock, examined
the sloop, and assured himself that everything was in good
condition, particularly the four iron rings fixed to star-
board and to larboard ; then he weighed anchor, and worked
the heavy barge-shaped craft with. the oars till he brought it
alongside the two Douvres.

The defile between the two rocks was wide enough to ad-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 77

mit it. There was also depth enough. On the day of his
arrival he had satisfied himself that it was possible to push
the sloop under the Durande.

The feat, however,' was difficult ; it required the minute pre-
cision of a watchmaker. The operation was all the more
delicate from the fact that, in order to accomplish his object,
he was compelled to force it in by the stern, rudder first. It
was necessary that the mast and the rigging of the sloop
should project beyond the wreck in the direction of the sea.

All this made Gilliatt's task very difficult. It was not like
entering the creek of " The ]\Ian," where it was a mere affair
of the tiller. It was necessary to push, drag, row, and take
soundings all at once. Gilliatt spent but a quarter of an
hour in these manoeuvres ; but he was successful.

In fifteen or twenty minutes the sloop was fastened under
the wreck. It was almost wedged in there. By means of
his two anchors he moored the boat at bow and stern. The
stronger of the two was placed so as to hold against the
strongest wind that blew, which was that from the south-west.
Then by the aid of a lever and the capstan, he lowered into
the sloop the two cases containing the pieces of the paddle-
wheels. These two cases were to serve as ballast.

Relieved of these encumbrances, he fastened the gearing
that was to regulate tlie action of the pulleys to the hook of
the chain of the capstan.

In the work that now devolved upon her, the defects of
the old sloop became useful qualities. It had no deck ; so
the cargo could go all the deeper down into the hold. Her
mast was far forward, — too far forward indeed for general
purposes, — but that only gave more room ; and the mast
standing thus beyond the bulk of the wreck, there would be
nothing to hinder its disembarkation.

While engaged in these operations, Gilliatt suddenly per-
ceived that the sea was rising. He looked around to see from
what quarter the wind was coming.

78 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER VII

SUDDEN DANGER

THE breeze was scarcely perceptible; but what there was
came from the west, — a disagreeable habit of the
winds during the equinoxes.

The effect of the sea upon the Douvres rocks depended
greatly upon the quarter from which the wind came. The
waves entered the rocky corridor either from the east or
from the west, according to the gale which drove them along
before it. Entering from the east, the sea was comparatively
gentle; coming from the west, it was always violent. The
reason for this was, that the wind from the east blowing
from the land had not had time to gather much force ; while
the westerly winds, coming from the Atlantic, blew unchecked
from a vast ocean. Even a very slight breeze, if it came from
the west was serious. It rolled up huge billows in the illim-
itable expanse and dashed the waves against the narrow
defile in greater bulk than could find entrance there.

A sea which rolls into a gulf is always terrible. It is the
same with a crowd of people. When the quantity that can
enter is less than the quantity that is endeavouring to force
its way in, there is a fatal crush in the crowd, a fierce con-
vulsion on the water. As long as the west wind blows, how-
ever slight the breeze, the Douvres arc subjected to that rude
assault twice a day. The sea rises, the tide breasts up, the
narrow gorge gives little entrance ; the waves, driven violently
against it, rebound and roar, and a tremendous surf beats
upon both sides of the passage. Thus the Douvres, during
the slightest wind from the west, present the singular spec-
tacle of a comparatively calm sea without, while a storm is
raging within. This tumult of Avaters is much too circum-
scribed in character to be called a tempest. It is merely a
local outbreak among the waves, but a terrible one. As re-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 79

gards the winds from the north and south, they strike the
rocks crossAvise, and create Httle surf in the passage. The
entrance on the east, it must be remembered, was close to
" The Man " rock. The dangerous opening on the west was
at the opposite end of the passage, exactly between the two
Douvres.

It was at this western entrance that Gilliatt found him-
self with the wrecked Durande, and the sloop made fast be-
neath it.

A catastrophe seemed inevitable. There was not much
wind, but it was sufficient to make mischief.

Before many hours, the swell which was rising would be
rushing with full force into the gorge between the Douvres.
The first waves were already breaking. This swell, and
eddy of the entire Atlantic, would have the boundless sea
behind it. There would be no squall ; no tempest, but a huge
overwhelming wave, which beginning on the coast of America
rolls towards the shores of Europe with an impetus gathered
in a journey over two thousand leagues. This wave, a gi-
gantic ocean barrier, meeting the gap of the rocks, must be
caught between the two Douvres, standing like watch-towers
at the entrance of the causeway. Thus swelled by the tide,
augmented by resistance, and urged on by the wind, it would
hurl itself against the cliffs and rush between the rocky walls,
where it would reach the sloop and the Durande, and in all
probability destroy them.

A protection against this danger was needed. Gilliatt had
one.

The problem was to prevent the sea reaching it at one
bound ; to prevent it from striking, while allowing it to rise ;
to bar the passage without refusing it admission ; to pre-
vent the compression of the water in the gorge, which was the
whole danger ; to turn an eruption into a flood ; to deprive
the waves of their violence, and compel the furies to be gen-
tle ; it was, in fact, to substitute an obstacle which would ap-
pease for an obstacle which would irritate.

Gilliatt with that agility which is so much more potent

80 TOILERS OF THE SEA

than mere strength, sprang upon the rock like a chamois
among the mountains, or a monkey in the forest ; using the
smallest projection for his tottering and dizzy strides, leaping
into the water, and emerging from it again ; swimming among
the shoals and clambering upon the rocks, with a rope be-
t^vcen his teeth and a mallet in his hand. He detached the
cable which held the forward end of the Durande to the base
of the Little Douvre; fashioned out of some ends of hawsers
some rough hinges, with which he affixed this bulwark to the
huge nails fixed in the granite like the gates of a dock, turn-
ing their sides, as he would turn a rudder, outward to the
waves, which pushed one end towards the Great Douvre,
while the rope hinges held the other end to the Little Douvre ;
next, he contrived, by means of the huge nails placed before-
hand for the purpose, to fix the same kind of fastenings on
the Great Douvre as on the little one, made the huge mass
of wood-work fast to the two pillars of the gorge, slung a
chain across this barrier like a baldric upon a cuirass, and in
less than an hour this barricade against the sea was com-
plete, and the gorge was closed as by a folding-door.

This powerful apparatus, a heavy mass of beams and
planks, had with the aid of the water been handled by Gil-
liatt with all the adroitness of a juggler. It might almost
have been said that the obstruction was completed before the
rising sea had time to discover it.

It was one of those occasions on which Jean Bart would
have used the famous expression which he applied to the sea
every time he narrowly escaped shipwreck. " We have
cheated the Englishman ; " for it is well known that when
that famous admiral meant to speak contemptuously of the
ocean he called it " the Englishman."

The entrance to the defile being thus protected, Gilliatt
thought of the sloop. He loosened sufficient cable for the
two anchors to allow her to rise with the tide, — an operation
similar to what the mariners of old called " mouiller avec des
embossures." In all this Gilliatt was not taken the least by
surprise ; this possibility had been foreseen. A seaman would

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 81

have perceived it by the tv/o pulleys of the top ropes cut in
the form of snatch-blocks, and fixed behind the sloop, through
which passed two ropes, the ends of wlrich were slung through
the rings of the anchors.

Meanwhile the tide was rising fast; the half flood had
arrived, — a moment when the shock of the waves, even in
comparatively moderate weather, may become considerable.
Exactly what Gilliatt expected came to pass. The waves
rolled violently against the barrier, struck it, broke heavily,
and passed beneath it. Outside there was a heavy swell ;
within, the waters were quiet. He had invented a sort of
marine Caudine Fork. The sea was conquered.

CHAPTER VIII

MOVEMENT RATHER THAN PROGRESS

THE long dreaded moment had come.
The problem now was to get the machinery into the
sloop.

Gilliatt remained thoughtful for some moments, support-
ing the elbow of his left arm in his right hand, and pressing
his left hand to his forehead.

Then he climbed upon the wreck. The part of it which
contained the engine was to be separated from it, and the
other part left.

He severed the four straps which held the four chains that
extended from the funnel to the larboard and the starboard
sides. The straps being only of rope, his knife served him
well enough for this purpose.

The four chains, set free, hung down the sides of the
funnel.

From the wreck he climbed up to the apparatus which
he had constructed, stamped upon the beams, inspected the
6

82 TOILERS OF THE SEA

tackle-blocks, looked to tiie pullers, handled the cables, exam-
ined the eking-pieces, assured himself that the untarred hemp
was not saturated, found that nothing was wanting and that
nothing had given way ; then springing from the height of
the suspending props on to the deck, he took up his position
near the capstan, in that portion of the Durande which he
intended to leave edged between the two Douvres. This
was to be his post during his labours.

Gravely, but calmly, he gave a final glance ?\t the hoist-
ing-tackle, then seized a file and began to sever the chain
which held the whole suspended. The rasping of the file was
audible amid the i^oaring of the sea. The chain from the
capstan, attached to the regulating gear, was wit) in Gilliatt's
reach, quite near his hand.

Suddenly there was a crash. The link which hj was filing
snapped when only half cut through ; the whok apparatus
lunged violently. He had barely time to seize tht regulating
gear.

The severed chain struck against the rock ; the ei ght cables
creaked; the huge mass, sawed and cut through, detached
itself from the wreck ; the bottom of the hull opened , and the
iron flooring of the engine-room became visible lelow the
keel.

If he had not seized the regulating-tackle at that instant,
it would have fallen. But his powerful hand was tl^ >re, and
the mass descended steadily.

When the brother of Jean Bart, Peter Bart, that power-
ful and sagacious toper, that poor Dunkirk fishermal, who
thee'd and thou'd the Grand Admiral of France, w ;nt to
the rescue of the galley " Langeron," in distress in the Bay
of Ambleteuse, in the hope of saving the heavy floating" mass
in the breakers of that dangerous bay, he rolled up th< main-
sail, tied it with sea-reeds, and trusted to the ties to break
away of themselves, and give the sail to the wind at the fight
moment. In like manner Gilliatt had trusted to the break-
ing of the chain ; and the same eccentric feat of daring was
crowned with the same success.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 83

The tackle, taken in hand by Gilliatt, held out and worked
Vt'ell. Its function, it will be remembered, was to regulate
the powers of the apparatus, thus reduced from many to one,
by bringing them into united action. This gearing some-
Avhat resembled the bridle of a boAvline, except that instead
of trimming a sail it served to balance a complicated mech-
anism.

Erect, and with his hand upon the capstan, Gilliatt was
able to feel the pulse of the apparatus, so to speak.

It was here that his inventive genius manifested itself.

A remarkable coincidence of forces was the result.

While the machinery of the Durand, detached in a mass,
was being lowered into the sloop, the sloop slowly rose to re-
ceive it. The wreck and the salvage vessel thus assisting
each other as it were, saved half the labour of the operation.

The tide swelling between the two Douvres raised the sloop
and brought it nearer to the Durande. The sea was more
than conquered, — it was tamed and broken in. It became,
in fact, part and parcel of the mechanism.

The rising waters lifted the vessel without any shock, but
as gently, and almost as cautiously, as one would handle
porcelain.

Gilliatt combined and proportioned the two labours, that
of the water and that of the apparatus ; and standing stead-
fast at the capstan, like some grim statue, watched every
movement that went on around him, and regulated the slow-
ness of the descent by the slow rise of the sea.

There was no jerk given by the v.aters, no slip among the
tackle. It was a strange combination of all the natural
forces. On one side, gravitation lowering the large bulk,
on the other the sea raising the bark. The attraction of
heavenly bodies which causes the tide, and the attractive force
of the earth, which men call weight, seemed to conspire to-
gether to aid Gilliatt in his plans. There was no hesitation,
no stoppage in their service ; under the dominion of intellect
these passive forces become active auxiliaries. From minute
to minute the work advanced ; and the distance between the

84 TOILERS OF THE SEA

wreck and the sloop slowly diminished. The approach con-
tinued in silence, and as if in a sort of terror of the man who
stood there. The elements received his orders and obeyed
them.

Almost at the precise moment when the tide ceased to
rise, the cable ceased to slide. Suddenly, but without any
commotion, the pulleys stopped. The huge machine had
taken its place in the sloop, as if placed there by a powerful
hand. It stood straight, upright, motionless, firm. The
iron floor of the engine-room rested its four corners evenly
upon the hold.

The work Was accomplished.

Gilliatt contemplated it, lost in thought.

He was not the spoiled child of success. He staggered
under the weight of his great joy. He felt his limbs give
way under him ; and as he contemplated his triumph, this
man, who had never been dismayed by danger, began to
tremble.

He gazed upon the sloop under the wreck, and at the ma-
chinery in the sloop. He could hardly believe his own eyes.
It might have been supposed that he had never looked for-
ward to that which he had accomplished. A miracle had
been wrought by his hands, and he contemplated it in bewil-
derment.

His reverie lasted but a short time.

Starting like one suddenly awakened from a deep sleep,
he seized his saw, cut the eight cables now separated from
the sloop, thanks to the rising of the tide, by only about ten
feet ; sprang aboard, took a coil of rope, made four slings,
passed them through the rings prepared beforehand and
fastened to both sides of the sloop the four funnel chains
which had been still fastened to their places aboard the Du-
rande only an hour before.

The funnel being secured, he disengaged the upper part
of the machinery. A portion of the planking of the Du-
rande was adhering to it ; he struck off the nails and relieved
the sloop of this encumbrance of planks and beams, which

TOILERS OF THE SEA 85

fell over on to the rocks, — a great assistance in lightening
it.

The sloop, however, as has been foreseen, behaved well
under the burden of the machinery. It had sunk in the water,
but only to a good water-line. Although massive, the en-
gine of the Durande was less heavy than the pile of stones
and the cannon which he had once brought back from Herm
in the sloop.

His task was now ended ; he had only to depart.

CHAPTER IX

A SLIP BETWEEN CUP AND LIP

BUT all was not yet ended.
To re-open the gorge closed by a portion of the Du-
rande's bulwarks, and push out into the open sea, seemed
a very easy and simple matter. But on the ocean every min-
ute tells. There was little wind ; scarcely a ripple on the
open sea. The afternoon was beautiful, and promised a
fine night. The sea, indeed, was calm, but the ebb had be-
gun. The moment was favourable for starting. There
would be the ebb tide for leaving the Douvres ; and the flood
would carry him into Guernsey. He could be at St. Samp-
son's by daybreak.

But an unexpected obstacle presented itself. There was
a flaw in his arrangements which had baffled all his fore-
sight.

The machinery was freed, but the chimney was not.

The tide, by raising the sloop towards the wreck susp'juJjd
in the air, had diminished the dangers of the descent, and
abridged the labour. But this diminution of distance had
left the top of the funnel entangled in the gaping frame
formed by the open hull of the Durande. The funnel was
held fast there as between four walls.

80 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The services rendered by the sea had been accompanied by
this unfortunate drawback. It seemed as if the waves, con-
strained to obey, had avenged themselves by a mahcious
trick.

It is true that what the flood tide had done, the ebb would
undo.

About eight feet of the funnel was entangled in the wreck.
The water level would fall about twelve feet. Thus the fun-
nel descending with the falling tide would have four feet of
room to spare, and could easily clear itself.

But how much time would elapse before that release would
be completed? Six hours.

In six hours it would be nearly midnight. How could
he attempt to start at such an hour? How could he find
his way among all these reefs, so full of danger even by day?
How could he risk his vessel in the dead of night in that in-
extricable labyrinth, that ambuscade of shoals.

There v*^as no help for it. He must wait for the morrow.
The six hours lost entailed a loss of at least twelve hours.

He could not even hasten matters by opening the i.iouth of
the gorge. His breakwater would be needed against the
next tide.

He was compelled to wait. Folding his arms was almost
the only thing which he had not done since his arrival on the
rocks.

This forced inaction irritated him almost as much as if
it had been his own fault. He thought, " What would De-
ruchette say of me if she saw me here doing nothing? "

And yet this interval for regaining his strength was not
unnecessary.

The sloop was now at his service; he determined to spend
the night in it.

He mounted once more to fetch his sheepskin from the
great Douvre ; descended again ; supped off a few limpets
and chataignes de mcr; drank, being very thirsty, a few
draughts of water from his can, which was nearly elnpty;
wrapped himself in the skin, the wool of which felt very

TOILERS OF THE SEA 87

comfoi'table to him ; stretched himself out like a big watclv
dog beside the engine, drew his red cap over his eyes, and
slept.

Plis sleep was profound. It was such sleep as men enjoy
after the completion of a herculean task.

CHAPTER X

SEA-WARNINGS

IN the middle of the night he suddenly awoke with a jerk
like the recoil of a spring.

He opened his eyes.

The Douvres, towering high above his head, were illumined
as if by a reflection from dying embers.

Over all the dark escarpment of the rock there was a light
like the reflection of a fire.

Where did this fire come from.''

It was from the water.

The appearance of the sea was extraordinary.

The water seemed on fire. As far as the eye could reach,
among the reefs and be^^ond them, the sea was covered with
flame. The flame was not red; it had nothing in common
with the grand living fires of volcanic craters or of great
furnaces. There was no sparkling, no glare, no purple
edges, no noise. Long traik of pale light simulated upon
the water the folds of a winding-sheet. It was the ghost of
a great fire, rather than the fire itself.

It was in some degree like the livid glow of unearthly flames
lighting the inside of a sepulchre.

A gleaming darkness.

The niglit itself, dim, vast, and Avidely diff'used, was the
I fuel of that cold flame. It was a strange illumination issu-
i ing out of gloom. Even the shadows formed a part of that
I phantom fire.

88 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The sailors of the Channel are familiar with these won-
derful phosphorescent displays, so full of warning for the
navigator. Nowhere are they more startling than in the
" Great V," near Isigny.

In this light, surrounding objects lose their reality. A
spectral glimmer renders them, as it were, transparent.
Rocks become no more than outlines. Cables of anchors
look like iron bars heated to a white heat. The nets of the
fishermen seem webs of fire beneath the water. The half
of the oar above the waves is dark as ebony, the part in the
sea like silver. The drops from the blades uplifted from the
water fall in starry showers upon the sea. Every boat leaves
a furrow behind it like a comet's tail. The sailors seem to
be on fire. If you plunge your hand into the water, you
withdraw it clothed in flame. The flame is dead, and is not
felt. Your arm becomes a firebrand. The foam twinkles.
The fish are tongues of flame or fragments of forked light-
ning, moving in the palid depths.

The reflection of this brightness had passed through the
closed eyelids of Gilliatt aboard the sloop. It was this that
had awakened him.

His waking was most opportune.

The ebb tide had run out, and the Avaters were beginning
to rise again. The funnel, which had become disengaged
during his sleep, was about to re-enter the yawning gap above
it.

It was rising slowly but surely.

A rise of another foot would have entangled it in the
wreck again. A rise of one foot is equivalent to half-an-
hour's tide. If he intended, therefore, to take advantage
of the temporary deliverance once more within his reach, he
had just half-an-hour before him.

He leaped to his feet.

Urgent as the situation was, he stood for a few moments
meditating as he contemplated the phosphorescence on the
waves. •

Gilliatt was familiar with the sea in all its phases. Not-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 89

withstanding all her tricks, and often as he had suffered from
her terrors, he had long been her companion. That myste-
rious entity which we call the ocean had nothing in its secret
thoughts which he could not divine. Observation, medita-
tion, and solitude, had given him a quick perception of com-
ing changes, of wind or cloud or wave, and had made him
weatherwise.

Gilliatt hastened to the top ropes and payed out some
cable ; then being no longer held fast by the anchors, he
seized the boat hook of the sloop, and pushed her towards
the entrance to the gorge some fathoms from the Durande,
and quite near to the breakwater. Here, as the Guernsey
sailors say, it had du rang. In less than ten minutes the
sloop was withdrawn from beneath the remains of the wreck.
There was no further danger of the funnel being caught in a
trap. The tide might rise now.

And yet Gilliatt's manner was not that of one about to
take his departure.

He stood gazing at the light upon the sea again ; but he
had no intention of starting. He was thinking how he could
fasten the sloop again, and fasten it more securely than ever,
though much nearer the mouth of the gorge.

Up to this time he had used the two anchors of the sloop,
but had not yet employed the little anchor of the Durande,
which he had found, as the reader will remember, among the
rocks. This anchor had been deposited in readiness for any
emergency, in a corner of the sloop, with a quantity of haws-
ers, and coils of top-ropes, and his cable, all furnished before-
hand, with large knots, which prevented its dragging. He
now dropped this third anchor, taking care to fasten the
cable to a rope, one end of which was slung through the an-
chor ring, while the other was attached to the windlass of
the sloop.

In this manner he made a kind of fore-and-aft mooring,
much stronger than the moorings with two anchors. All this
indicated keen anxiety, and a redoubling of precautions. A
sailor would have seen in this operation something similiar to

90 TOILERS OF THE SEA

an anchorage in bad weather, when there is fear of a current
which might carry the vessel to leeward.

The phosphorescence which he had been observing, and
upon which his eye was again fixed, was ominous, but at
the same time useful. But for it he would have been held
fast locked in sleep, and betrayed by the night. The strange
appearance upon the sea had awakened him, and made things
about him visible.

The light which it shed upon the rocks was, indeed, threat-
ening; but alarming as it appeared to Gilliatt, it had served
to show him the dangers of his position, and had rendered
it possible for him to extricate the sloop. Now, whenever
he was able to set sail, the vessel, with its freight of machin-
ery, would be free.

And yet the idea of departing was further than ever from
his mind. The sloop being securely fixed in its new position,
he went in quest of the strongest chain which he had in his
store-house, and attaching it to the nails driven into the two
Douvres, he strengthened on the inside with this chain the
rampart of planks and beams, already protected from with-
out by the cross chain. Instead of opening the entrance to
the defile, he made the barrier more complete.

The phosphorescence still lighted him, but it was diminish-
ing. Day, however, was beginning to break.

Suddenly he paused to listen.

CHAPTER XI

MURMURS IN THE AIR

A FEEBLE, Indistinct sound seemed to reach his ear from
somewhere in the dim distance.
At certain times the depths of ocean give out a murmuring
sound.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 91

He listened a second time. The distant noise recommenced.
Gilliatt shook hi^ head hke one who recognizes at last some-
thing familiar to him.

A few minutes later he was at the other end of the open-
ing between the rocks, at the entrance facing the east, which
had remained open until then, and with heavy blows of his
hammer was driving large nails into the sides of the gully
near " The Man " rock, as he had done in the gully at the
Douvres.

The crevices of these rocks were prepared and well fur-
nished with timber, almost all of which was heart of oak.
The rock on this side being much broken up, there were
abundant cracks, and he was able to fix even more nails there
than in the base of the two Douvres.

Suddenly, and as if some great breath had passed over it,
the luminous appearance on the waters vanished. The light
of dawn which was becoming brighter every moment, took
its place.

The nails being driven, Gilliatt dragged beams and ropes
and chains to the spot, and, without taking his eyes off his
work, or permitting his mind to be diverted for a moment,
began to construct across the gorge at " The Man " rock with
horizontal beams, made fast by cables, one of those open bar-
riers which science has now adopted under the name of break-
waters.

Those who have witnessed, for example, at La Rocquaine
in Guernsey, or at Bourg-d'Eau in France, the effect pro-
duced by a few posts fixed in the rock, will understand the
efficacy of these simple preparations. This sort of break-
water is a combination of what is known in France as an epi
with what is known in England as " a dam." Breakwaters
are the chevaux-de-fr'ise of fortifications against tempests.
Man can struggle successfully with the sea only by taking
advantage of this principle of dividing its forces.

Meanwhile, the sun had risen, and was shining brightly.
The sky was clear, the sea calm.

Gilliatt hastened on with his work. He, too, was calm;

92 TOILERS OF THE SEA

but there was anxiety in his haste. He passed with long
strides from rock to rock, and returned dragging sometimes
a rider, sometimes a binding strake. The utiHty of this
preparation soon became manifest. It was evident that he
was about to confront a danger which he had foreseen.

A strong iron bar served him as a lever for moving the
beams.

The work was executed so fast that it was a rapid growth
rather than a construction. One who has never seen a mili-
tary pontooner at his work can scarcely form an idea of the
rapidity with which this work progressed.

The eastern opening was even narrower than the western.
The rocks were only five or six feet apart. The smallness
of this opening was a great help. The space to be fortified
and closed up being very small, the apparatus would be
stronger and more simple. Horizontal beams, therefore, suf-
ficed, the upright ones being useless.

The first cross-pieces of the breakwater being fixed, Gilliatt
climbed upon them and listened once more.

The murmurs had become significant.

He continued the construction of his breakwater. He sup-
ported it with the two cat-heads of the Durande, bound to
the frame of beams by cords passed through the three pulley-
sheaves, and made the whole fast with chains.

The apparatus was nothing more or less than a collossal
hurdle, having beams for rods, and chains in place of wattles.

It seemed woven together, quite as much as built.

He multiplied the fastenings, and added nails where they
were needed.

Having obtained a great quantity of bar iron from the
wreck, he had been able to make a large number of these
heavy nails.

While he worked, he ate a biscuit or two. He was thirsty,
but he could not drink, having no more fresh water. He
had emptied the can at his meal of the evening before.

He added afterwards four or five more pieces of timber,
then climbed again upon the barrier and listened.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 93

The noises from ihe horizon had ceased ; all was still.

The sea was smooth and quiet, deserving all those compli-
mentary phrases which worthy people bestow upon it when
well satisfied with a trip. " A mirror," " a pond," " like
oil," and so forth. The deep blue of the sky responded to
the deep green tint of the ocean. The sapphire and the em-
erald hues vied with each other. Each was perfect. Not
a cloud on high, not a line of foam below. In the midst of
all this splendour, the April sun rose magnificently. It was
impossible to imagine a lovelier day.

On the edge of the horizon a flock of birds of passage
formed a long dark line against the sky. They were flying
towards land as if alarmed.

Gilliatt set to work again to raise the breakwater.

He raised it as high as he could, — as high, indeed, as the
curvature of the rocks would permit.

Towards noon the sun seemed to emit more than its usual
warmth. Noon is the critical time of the day. Standing
upon the powerful frame which he had built up, he paused
again to survey the wide expanse.

The sea was more than tranquil. A dull, dead calm
reigned. No sail was visible. The sky was ever^'where
clear ; but it had changed from blue to white in colour. The
whiteness was peculiar. To the west, and upon the horizon,
was a small spot of a sickly hue. The spot remained in the
same place, but grew larger by degrees. Near the breakers
the waves shuddered, but very gently.

Gilliatt had done well to build his breakwater.

A tempest was at hand.

The elements had detennined to give him battle.

BOOK III
THE STRUGGLE

CHAPTER I

EXTREMES MEET

NOTHING is more dangerous than a late equinox.
The appearance of the sea presents a strange phe^
nomenon, resulting from what may be called the arrival of
the ocean winds.

In all seasons, but particularly at the epoch of the Syzy-
gies, when least expected, the sea sometimes becomes sin-
gularly tranquil. That vast perpetual movement ceases ; a
sort of drowsiness and languor overspreads it, and it seems
weary and about to rest. Every rag of bunting, from the
tiny streamer of the fishing-boat to the great flag of ships
of war, droops against the mast. The admiral's flag and
Royal and Imperial ensigns sleep alike.

Suddenly all these streamers began to flutter gently.

If there happen to be clouds, the moment has come for
noting the formation of the cirri; if the sun is setting, for
observing the red tints of the horizon; or if it be night and
there is a moon, for looking for the halo.

It is then that the captain or commander of a squadi'on,
if he happen to possess one of those storm glasses, the inven-
tor of which is unkno^sii, watches his instrument carefully,
and takes his precautions against the south wind if the clouds

94

TOILERS OF THE SEA 95

look like dissolved sugar, or against the north wind if they
exfoliate in crystallizations like brakes or brambles, or like
fir-trees. Then, too, the poor Irish or Breton fisherman,
after having consulted some mysterious gnomon engraved by
the Romans or by demons upon one of those straight enigmat-
ical stones, which are called in Brittany " Menhir," and in
Ireland " Cruach," hauls his boat up on the shore.

Meanwhile, the serenity of sky and ocean continues. The
day dawns radiant, and Aurora smiles. It was this which
filled the old poets and seers with religious horror, terrified at
the thought that men dared to fancy the falsity of the sun.
" Solem quis dicere falsum audeat? "

The power to discern latent possibilities in the world of
Nature is prevented in man by the fatal opacity of surround-
ing things. The most terrible and perfidious of her aspects
is that which masks the convulsions of the deep.

Hours and sometimes even days, pass thus. Pilots direct
their telescopes here and there. The faces of old seamen
always have an expression of severity left upon them by the
annoyance of perpetually looking for changes.

Suddenly a great confused murmur is heard. A sort of
mysterious dialogue takes place in the air.

Nothing unusual is seen.

The wide expanse is tranquil.

Yet the noises increase. The dialogue becomes more aud-
ible.

There is something moving beyond the horizon.

Something terrible. It is the wind.

The wind, or rather that nation of Titans we call the gale.
— the unseen mob.

India knew them as the Maruts, Judea as the Keroubim,
Greece as the Aquilones. They are the invisible winged crea-
tures of the infinite. Their blasts sweep over the earth.

96 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER II

THE OCEAN WINDS

THEY come from the immeasurable deep. Their wide
wings need the breadth of the ocean gulf, the spacious-
ness of desert solitudes. The Atlantic, the Pacific — those
vast blue expanses — are their delight. They hasten thither
in flocks. Commander Page witnessed, far out at sea, seven
waterspouts at once. They roam there, wild and terrible!
The eternal flux and reflux is their work. The extent of
their power, the limits of their will, no one knows. They
are the Sphinxes of the deep: Gama was their CEdipus. In
that dark, ever-moving expanse, they appear with faces of
cloud. He who perceives their pale lineaments in that wide
arena, the horizon of the sea, feels himself in presence of an
unsubduable power. It might be imagined that the prox-
imity of human intelligence disquieted them, and that they
revolted against it. The mind of man is invincible, but the
elements baffle him. He can do nothing against these ubiqui-
tous powers which no one can bind. The gentle breeze be-
comes a gale, smites with the force of a war-club, and then
become gentle again. The winds attack with a terrible crash,
and defend themselves by relapsing into nothingness. He
who would contend with them must use artifice. Their vary-
ing tactics, their swift redoubled blows, confuse one. They
fly as often as they attack. They are tenacious and im-
palpable. Who can circumvent them? The prow of the
Argo, cut from an oak of Dodona's grove, that mysterious
pilot of the bark, spoke to them, and they insulted that pilot-
goddess. Columbus, beholding their approach towards the
*' Pinta," mounted upon the poop, and addressed them with
the first verses of St. John's Gospel. Surcouf defied them:
" Here come the gang," he used to say. Napier greeted them
with cannon balls. They assume the dictatorship of chaos.

fe

TOILERS OF THE SEA 97

Chaos is theirs, in which to wreak their mysterious ven-
geance ; the cave of the winds is more appalhng than that
of hons. How man}^ corpses lie in its deep recesses, where
the howling gusts sweep relentlesslj' over that obscure and
ghastly mass ! The winds are heard wheresoever they go, but
they give ear to none. Their acts resemble crimes. No one
knows upon whom they ma}' hurl their hoar}' surf ; with what
ferocity they hang over shipwrecks, looking at times as if they
flung their impious foam-flakes in the face of heaven. They
are the tyrants of unknoAvn regions. " Luoghi spaventosi,'*
nmrmured the Venetian mariners.

The fields of space are subjected to their fierce assaults.
Strange things happen in those lonely regions. Sometimes
a horseman rides through the gloom ; sometimes the air is
full of a faint rustling as in a forest ; again nothing is vis-
ible, but the tramp of a cavalcade is heard. The noonday
is overcast with sudden night: a tornado passes. Or mid-
night suddenly' becomes bright as da}' : the polar lights are in
the heavens. Whirlwinds pass in opposite directions, and in
a sort of hideous dance, a stamping of the storm fiends upon
the waters. An over-burdened cloud opens and falls to earth.
Other clouds filled with lurid light, flash and roar, then frown
again ominously. Emptied of their lightnings, they are but
as spent brands. Pent-up rains dissolve in mists. Yonder
sea looks like a fiery furnace, into which the rains are fall-
ing ; flames seem to issue from the waves. The white gleam
of the ocean under the shower is reflected to marvellous dis-
tances. The diff'erent masses transform themselves into un-
couth shapes. Monstrous whirlpools make strange hollows
in the sky. The vapours revolve, the waves spin, the giddy
Naiads roll. The sea, solid and yielding, moves, but does
not change place ; all is livid ; shrieks as of despair resound
through the air.

Great sheaves of shadow and darkness are gathered up in
the distant sky. Now and then comes a convulsion. The
murmur becomes uproar as the wave becomes surge. The
horizon, a confused mass of strata oscillating ceaselessly, mut-

98 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ters In a continual undertone. Strange and abrupt outbursts
break the monotony. Cold blasts burst forth, followed by
hot blasts. The restlessness of the sea betokens anxious ex-
pectation, agony, profound terror. Suddenly the hurricane
sweeps down, like a wild beast, to drink of the ocean : a mon-
strous draught ! The sea rises to the invisible mouth ; a
mound of water is formed ; the swell increases, and the water-
spout appears: the Prester of the ancients, stalactite above,
stalagmite below, a whirling double-inverted cone, the kiss
of two mountains, — a mountain of foam ascending, a moun-
tain of vapour descending, — terrible coition of the cloud and
the wave. Like the column in Holy Writ, the waterspout
is dark by day and luminous by night. In its presence the
thunder itself is silent and seems cowed.

The vast commotion of these solitudes has its gamut, a
terrible crescendo. There are the gust, the squall, the storm,
the gale, the tempest, the whirlwind, and the waterspout, —
the seven chords of the wind's lyre, the seven notes of the
great deep. The heavens are a huge arena; the sea a vast
round ; but a breath passes, they have vanished, and all is
fury and wild confusion.

Such are these inhospitable realms.

The winds rush, fly, swoop down, die away, commence
again, hover about, whistle, roar, and smile ; they are fren-
zied, wanton, unbridled, or sink to ease upon the raging
waves. Their bowlings have a harmony of their own. They
make the entire heavens resound. They blow in the cloud
as in a trumpet ; they sing through infinite space with the
mingled tones of clarions, horns, bugles, and trumpets, — a
sort of Promethean fanfare.

Such was the music of ancient Pan. Their harmonies are
terrible. They revel in darkness. They drive and disperse
great ships. Night and day, in all seasons, from the tropics
to the pole, there is no truce; sounding their fatal trumpet
through the tangled thickets of clouds and waves, they pur-
sue their grim chase of vessels in distress. They have their
packs of bloodhounds, and amuse themselves by setting them

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 99

to barking at the rocks and billows. They drive the clouds
together, and then roughly disperse them. They mould and
knead the supple waters as with a million hands.

The water Is supple because It is Incompressible. It slips
away without effort. Borne down on one side, It escapes on
the other. It is thus that water becomes waves, and the bil-
lows are a token of its liberty.

CHAPTER III

THE MYSTERIOUS SOUNDS EXPLAINED

THE fiercest descent of the winds upon the earth takes
place at the equinoxes. At this period the balance of
tropic and pole llbrates, and the vast atmospheric tides pour
their flood upon one hemisphere and their ebb upon another.
The signs of Libra and Aquarius have reference to these phe-
nomena.

It is the time of tempests.

The sea awaits their coming In silence.

Sometimes the sky looks sickly. Its face is wan. A thick
dark veil obscures it. The mariners observe with uneasiness
the threatening aspect of the clouds.

But it is Its air of calm contentment which they dread
most. A smiling sky in the equinoxes is a tempest In dis-
guise. It was under skies like these that " The Tower of
Weeping Women," In Amsterdam, was filled with wives and
mothers scanning the far horizon.

When the vernal or autumnal storms loiter by the way,
they are only gathering strength, hoarding up their fury
for greater destruction. Beware of the gale that has been long
delayed. It was Ango who said that " the sea pays old debts
handsomely."

When the delay is unusually long, the sea reveals her im-

100 TOILERS OF THE SEA

patience only by a deeper calm ; but the magnetic intensity
manifests itself in what might be called a fiery humour in
the sea. Fire issues from the waves ; electric air, phosphoric
water. The sailors feel a strange lassitude. This time is
particularly dangerous for iron vessels ; their hulls are then
liable to produce variations of the compass, leading them to
destruction. The transatlantic steam-vessel " Iowa " perished
from this cause.

To those who are familiar with the sea, its aspect at these
moments is peculiar. It might be imagined to be both de-
siring and fearing the approach of the cyclone. Certain
unions, though strongly urged by Nature, are attended by
this strange compound of terror and desire. The lioness
in her tenderest moods flies from the lion. Thus the sea, in
the fire of her passion, trembles at the near approach of her
union with the tempest. The nuptials are prepared. Like
the marriages of the ancient emperors, they are celebrated
with immolations. The fete is seasoned with disasters.

Meanwhile, from yonder deep, from the great open sea,
from the unapproachable latitudes, from the lurid horizon
of the watery waste, from the furthermost limits of ocean,
the winds rush in.

Beware ! for this is the famous equinox.

The storm plots all sorts of mischief. In ancient my-
thology there personalities were recognized taking part in
this grand drama of Nature. Eolus plotted with Boreas.
The alliance of element with element is necessary ; they di-
vide their task. One has to give impetus to the wave, the
cloud, the stream: night too is an auxiliary, and must be em-
ployed. There are compasses to be falsified, beacons to be
extinguished, lanterns of lighthouses to be masked, stars to
be hidden. The sea must lend her aid. Every storm is pre-
ceded by a munnur. Beyond tlie horizon there is a premon-
itory whispering among the hurricanes.

This is the noise which is heard afar off in the darkness
amid the terrible silence of the sea.

It was this significant whispering that Gilliatt had no-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 101

ticed. The phosphorescence on the water had been the first
warning ; this murmur the second.

If the demon Legion really exists, he is assuredly no other
than the wind.

The entire heavens take part in a tempest : the entire ocean
also. All their forces are marshalled for the strife. A con-
test with a storm is a contest with all the powers of sea and
sky.

It was Messier, that great authority among naval men, the
thoughtful astronomer of the little lodge at Cluny, Avho said,
" The wind from everywhere is everywhere." He had no
faith in the idea of winds imprisoned even in inland seas.
With him there were no Mediterranean winds ; he declared that
he recognized them as they wandered about the earth. He de-
clared that on a certain day and at a certain hour, the Fohn
of the Lake of Constance, the ancient Favonius of Lucretius,
had traversed the sky of Paris ; on another day, the Bora of
the Adriatic ; on another day, the whirling Notus, which is
supposed to be confined in the round of the Cyclades. He
indicated their currents. He did not think it impossible that
even the Autan, which circulates between Malta and Tunis,
and the Autan, which circulates between Corsica and the
Balearic Isles, could escape their bounds. He did not admit
the theory of winds imprisoned like bears in their dens. It
was he, too, who said that, " every rain comes from the trop-
ics, and every flash of lightning from the pole." The wind
in fact, becomes saturated with electricity at the intersection
of the colures which marks the extremity of the axis, and
with water at the equator, thus bringing moisture from the
equatorial line and the electric fluid from the poles.

The wind is ubiquitous.

We certainly do not mean by this that wind zones do not
exist. Nothing is better established than the existence of
those continuous air currents ; and aerial navigation by means
of wind boats, to which the passion for Greek terminology has
given the name of " aeroscaphcs," may one day succeed in
utilizing these rivers of air. Tl.e regular course of air

102 TOILERS OF THE SEA

streams is an incontestable fact. There are rivers of wind
and streams of wind and brooks of wind, although their
branches are exactly the opposite of water currents ; for in the
air the brooks flow out of the streams, and the streams flow
out of the rivers instead of flowing into them. Hence, in-
stead of concentration we have dispersion.

The united action of the winds and the unity of the atmos-
phere is the natural result of this dispersion. The displace-
ment of one molecule produces the displacement of another.
The vast body of air becomes subject to one agitation.

To these profound causes of coalition we must add the ir-
regular surface of the earth, whose mountains furrow the at-
mosphere, contorting and diverting the winds from their
course, and determining the directions of counter currents in
infinite radiations.

The phenomenon of the wind is the oscillation of two oceans
one against the other; the ocean of air, superimposed upon
the ocean of water, rests upon these currents, and is convulsed
with this vast agitation.

The indivisible cannot produce separate action. No parti-
tion divides wave from wave. The islands of the Channel feel
the influence of the Cape of Good Hope. Navigation is
everywhere obliged to contend with the same monster; the sea
is one and the same hydra. The waves cover it as with a fish-
skin. The ocean is Ceto.

Upon that unity reposes an infinite variety.

CHAPTER IV

TURBA, TURMA

ACCORDING to the compass there are thirty-two winds.
But these may be subdivided indefinitely. Classed
by its direction, the wind is uncalculable ; classed by its kind,
it is infinite. Homer himself would have shrunk from the task
of enumerating them.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 103

The polar current encounters the tropical current. Heat
and cold are thus combined; the equilibrium is disturbed by
a shock; a wave of wind issues forth and is distended, scat-
tered, and broken up in every direction in fierce streams. The
dispension of the gusts shakes the streaming locks of the wind
upon the four corners of the horizon.

All the winds that blow are there. The wind of the Gulf
Stream, which disgorges the great fogs on Newfoundland;
the wind of Peru, in the region of silent heavens, where no
man ever head the thunder roar ; the wind of Nova Scotia,
where flies the great auk {Alca impennis) with his furrowed
beak ; the whirlwinds of Ferro in the China seas ; the wind of
Mozambique, which destroys the canoes and junks ; the electric
wind of Japan, foretold by the gong; the African wind,
which blows between Table Mountain and the Devil's Peak,
where it gains its liberty ; the currents of the equator, which
pass over the trade winds, describing a parabola, the summit
of which is always to the west ; the Plutonian wind, which
issues from craters and is the terrible breath of flames ; the
singular wind peculiar to the volcano Awa, which forms an
olive-hued cloud to the northward ; the Java monsoon, against
which the people construct those casemates known as hurricane
houses ; the branching north winds called by the English
" Bush winds ; " the curved squalls of the Straits of Malacca ;
observed by Horsburgh ; the powerful south-west wind, called
" pampero " in Chili, and " rebojo " in Buenos Ayres, which
carries the great condor out to sea, and saves him from the pit
where the Indian, concealed under a newly stripped bullock-
hide, watches for him, lying on his back and bending his great
bow with his feet ; the chemical wind, which, according to Lem-
ery, produces thunderbolts from the clouds ; the Harmattau
of the Caff'res ; the Polar snow-driver, which harnesses itself
to the everlasting icebergs ; the wind of the Gulf of Bengal,
which sweeps over a continent to pillage the triangular town
of wooden booths at Nijni-Novgorod, in which the great fair
of Asia is held ; the wind of the Cordilleras, agitator of great
waves and forests; the wind of the Australian Archipelago,

104 TOILERS OF THE SEA

where the bee-hunters take the wild hives iiidclen under the
forked branches of the giant eucalyptus ; the sirocco, the
mistral, the hurricane, the dry winds, the inundating and
diluvian winds, the torrid winds, which scatter dust from the
plains of Brazil upon the streets of Genoa ; those which obey
the diurnal rotation, those which revolt against it, and of
vvhich Herrara said, " Malo viento torna contra el sol ; " those
winds which hunt in couples, conspiring mischief, the one un-
doing the work of the other; and those old winds which as-
sailed Columbus on the coast of Veragua, and which for forty
days, — from the 21st of October to the 28th of November,
1520, — delayed and nearly frustrated Magellan's approach
to the Pacific; and those which dismasted the Armada and
confounded Philip II. Others, too, there are, of whose names
there is no end. The winds, for instance, which carry show-
ers of frogs and locusts, and drive before them clouds of liv-
ing' things across the ocean ; those which blow in what are
called " wind-leaps," and whose function is to destroy ships at
sea ; those which at a single blast throw the cargo out of trim,
and compel the vessel to continue her course half broadside
over ; the winds which construct the circum-cumuli ; the winds
which mass together the circum-strata ; the dark heavy winds
bloated with rain ; the winds of hailstorms ; the fever winds,
whose approach sets the salt springs and sulphur springs of
Calabria boiling; those which impart a glittering appearance
to the fur of the African panthers, prowling among the
bushes of Cape Ferro ; those which come quivering from the
cloud, like the tongue of a trigonocephal, the terrible forked
lightning; and those which bring whirlwinds of black snow.
Such is the legion of winds.

The Douvres rock heard their distant tramp at the very
moment that Gilliatt was constructing his breakwater.

As we have said, the wind means a combination of all
winds. The entire horde was advancing, — on one side, a
legion of demons ; on the other, Gilliatt.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 105

CHAPTER V

gill,iatt's alternatives

THE mysterious forces had chosen their time well.
Chance, if chance exists, is sometimes far-seeing. So
long as the sloop was anchored in the little creek of " The
iNIan " rock, and so long as the machinery was imprisoned in
the wreck, Gilliatt's position was impregnable. The sloop was
safe, the machinery sheltered. The Douvres, which held the
hull of the Durande fast, condemned it to slow destruction,
but protected it against unexpected accidents. At all events,
one resource had remained to him. If the engine had been
destroyed, Gilliatt would have been safe, for he would still
have had the sloop with which to make his escape.

But to wait till the sloop was removed from the anchorage
where she was so well protected ; to allow it to be placed in the
defile of the Douvres ; to watch until the sloop, too, was en-
tangled in the rocks ; to permit him to complete the salvage,
the moving, and the final embarkation of the machinery ; to
inflict no injury upon the wonderful apparatus by which one
man was enabled to put the whole aboard his bark ; to further,
in fact, the success of his exploits so far, — this was only the
trap which the elements had laid for him. Now, for the first
time, he began to perceive in all its sinister characteristics
the trick which the sea had been meditating so long.

The machinery, the sloop, and their master were all within
the gorge now. One blow, and the sloop might be dashed to
pieces on the rock, the machinery destroyed, and Gilliatt
drowned.

The situation could not have been more critical.

The Sphinx, which men have pictured as concealing her-
self in the cloud, seemed to mock him with a dilemma.

" Should he go or stay ? "

To go would have been madness ; to remain was terrible.

106 TOILERS OF THE SEA

CHAPTER VI

THE COMBAT

GILLIATT climbed to the summit of the great
Douvre.

From there he could command a view of the entire
horizon.

The western side was appalling. A wall of cloud spread
across it, barring the wide expanse from side to side, and
was now ascending slowly from the horizon towards the zenith.
This wall, straight, perpendicular, without a single crack or
crevice throughout its whole extent, seemed to have been built
by the quare and measured by the plumb-line. It was cloud
in the likeness of granite. Its escarpment, perfectly perpen-
dicular at the southern end, curved a little towards the north,
like a bent sheet of iron, presenting the steep slippery face of
an inclined plane. The dark wall enlarged and grew ; but its
entablature remained parallel with the horizon line, which was
almost indistinguishable in the gathering darkness. Silently,
and in one solid mass, the battlements ascended. No undula-
tion, no wrinkle, no projection changed its shape or relative
position in the heavens. The appearance of this slowly as-
cending immobile mass of cloud was impressive. The sun,
overhung by a strange sickly transparent haze, lighted up
this outline of the Apocalypse. Already the cloudy bank had
blotted out one half the sky. It was like a huge mountain
uprising between earth and heaven.

It was night suddenly blotting out midday.

A heat like that from an oven door proceeded from that
mysterious mass. The sky, which had changed from blue to
white, was now turning from white to a slaty grey. The sea
beneath was leaden-hued and dull. There was not a breath,
not a wave, not a sound. As far as eye could reach, the ocean
was deserted. Not a sail was visible in any direction. The

TOILERS OF THE SEA 107

birds had disappeared. Some deed of frightful treachery
seemed impending.

The wall of cloud grew visibly larger.

This moving mountain of vapour, which was approaching
the Douvres, was one of those clouds which might be justly
called war clouds. Grim and sinister of aspect, it seemed to
threaten with destruction anything and everything that stood
in its way.

Its approach was terrible.

Gilliatt observed it closely, muttering to himself, " I am
thirsty enough, but you will give me plenty to drink."

He stood there motionless a few moments, with his eye
fixed upon the cloud bank, as if mentally taking a sounding
of the tempest.

His cap was in his jacket pocket ; he took it out and placed
it on his head. Then he fetched from the cave, which he
had so long served him as a sleeping-room, a few articles
which he had kept there in reserve ; he put on his overalls,
and attired himself in his waterproof overcoat, like a knight
who puts on his armour at the moment of battle. He had no
shoes ; but his naked feet had become hardened to the rocks.

This preparation for the storm being completed, he looked
down upon his breakwater, grasped the knotted cord hur-
riedly, descended from the plateau of the Douvre, stepped on
to the rocks below, and hastened to his storehouse. A few
moments later he was again at work. The vast silent cloud
might have heard the strokes of his hammer. With the nails,
ropes, and beams which still remained, he constructed a second
frame for the eastern gully, which he succeeded in fastening
ten or twelve feet from the other.

The silence was still unbroken. The blades of grass be-
tween the crevices in the rocks did not move.

The sun suddenly disappeared. Gilliatt looked up.

The rising cloud had just reached it. It was like the blot-
ting out of day, succeeded by a pale hazy reflection.

The immense wall of cloud had changed in appearance. It
no longer retained its unit3\ It curved on reaching the zenith,

108 TOILERS OF THE SEA

where it spread out horizontally over the rest of the
heavens.

The tempest formation was now distinctly visible, like the
strata in the side of a deep trench. It was possible to dis-
tinguish the layers of the rain from the beds of hail. There
was no lightning, but a horrible, diffused glare, — for the idea
■ of horror may be attached to light. The breathing of the
storm was audible ; the silence was broken by an obscure
palpitation. Gilliatt silently watched the gigantic masses of
vapour grouping themselves overhead. On the horizon
brooded a band of mist of ashen hue ; in the zenith, another
band of lead colour. Pale, ragged fragments of cloud
drooped from the great mass above upon the mist below. The
pile of cloud which formed the background was wan, dull,
gloomy, indescribable. A thin, whitish transverse cloud, com-
ing no one could tell whither, cut the high dark Avell obliquely
from north to south. One of the extremities of this cloud
trailed along the surface of the sea. At the point where it
touched the water, a dense red vapour was visible in the midst
of the darkness. Below it, smaller clouds, quite black and
very low, were flying as if bewildered, or as if moved by op-
posite currents of air. The immense cloud beyond increased
from all points at once, heightened the eclipse, and continued
to spread its sombre pall over the firmament. In the east,
behind Gilliatt, there was only one clear bit of sky, and that
was rapidly becoming overcast. Without a breath of wind
in the air, a strange flock of grey downy particles seemed to
pass ; they were fine and scattered, as if some gigantic bird
had been plucked of its plumage behind the bank of
cloud.

A dark compact roof had gradually formed, which touched
the sea on the verge of the horizon, and became merged into
it. The beholder had a vague sense of something advancing
steadily towards him. It was vast, heavy, ominous. Sud-
denly an innnense peal of thunder shook the air.

Gilliatt himself felt the shock. Thunder belongs to dream-
land, and the rude reality in the midst of that visionary region

TOILERS OF THE SEA 109

has something terrific in it. The listener might fancy that
he hears something falling in the chamber of giants.

No electric , flash accompanied the report. It was a blind
peal. The silence was profound again. There was an in-
terval, as when combatants take their places. Then appeared
slowly, one after the other, great shapeless flashes ; these
flashes were silent. The wall of cloud was now a vast cavern,
with fantastic roofs and arches. Outlines of giant forms
were traceable among them ; monstrous heads were vaguely
shadowed forth ; necks seemed to stretch out ; elephants bear-
ing turrets, seen for a moment, vanished. A column of
vapour, straight, round, and dark, and surmounted by a
white mist, simulated the form of a colossal steam-vessel in-
gulfed, hissing, and smoking beneath the waves. Trailing
clouds undulated like folds of immense flags. In the centre,
under a thick purple pall, a nucleus of dense fog hung motion-
less, inert, unpenetrated by the electric fires, — a sort of hid-
eous foetus in the bosom of the tempest.

Suddenly Gilliatt felt a breath move his hair. Two or
three large spots of rain fell heavily around him on the
rock. Then there was a second thunder-clap. The wind was
rising.

The darkness was at its height. The first peal of thunder
had shaken the sea; the second rent the wall of cloud from
top to bottom ; a breach was visible ; the pent-up deluge rushed
towards it ; the rent became like a gulf filled with rain. The
outpouring of the tempest had begun.

The moment was terrible.

Rain, wind, lightnings, thunder, waves swirling upwards
to the clouds, foam, hoarse noises, and whistling sounds
mingled together like monsters suddenly unloosed.

For a solitary man, imprisoned with an overloaded vessel,
between two dangerous rocks in mid-ocean, no crisis could
have been more menacing. The danger of the tide, over
which ho had triumphed, was nothing compared with the
danger of the tempest.

Surrounded on ail sides by perils, Gilliatt, at the last

110 TOILERS OF THE SEA

moment, and before the crowning peril, resorted to an in-
genious stratagem. He had secured his base of operations
in the enemies' territory; had pressed the rock into his ser-
vice. The Douvres, originally his enemy, had become his
second in the impending duel. Out of that sepulchre he had
constructed a fortress. He had intrenched himself among
these formidable sea ruins. He was blockaded, but well de-
fended. He had, so to speak, placed his back to the wall,
and now stood face to face with the hurricane. He had bar-
ricaded the narrow strait, that highway of the waves. This,
indeed, was the only possible course. It seemed as if the
ocean, like other despots, might be brought to reason by the
aid of barricades. The sloop might be considered secure on
three sides. Closely wedged between the two inner walls of
the rock, and made fast by three anchors, she was also sheltered
on the north by the Little Douvre, and on the south by the
Great Douvre, — terrible escarpments, more accustomed to
wreck vessels than to save them. On the western side she
was protected by the frame of timbers made fast and nailed
to the rocks, — a tried barrier which had withstood the rude
flood tide of the sea ; a veritable citadel-gate, having for its
sides two huge columns of rock, — the two Douvres themselves.
Nothing was to be feared from that side. It was on the
eastern side only that there was danger.

On that side there was no protection but the breakwater.
A breakwater is an apparatus for dividing and distributing
the waves. It requires at least two frames. Gilliatt had only
had time to construct one. He was compelled to build the
second in the very face of the tempest.

Fortunately the wind came from the north-west. The wind
is not always adroit in its attacks. The north-west wind,
which is the ancient " galerno," had very little effect upon
the Douvres. It assailed the rocks on their flank, and drove
the waves against neither of the two gorges ; so that instead
of rushing into the defile, they merely dashed themselves
against a wall.

It was more than probable that there would be a sudden

TOILERS OF THE SEA 111

change, however. It it should veer to the eastward before the
second frame could be constructed, the peril would be great.
The irruption of the sea into the gorge would be complete,
and all would probably be lost.

All the while the storm was increasing in fury. In a
tempest, blow hastily follows blow. That is its strength;
but it is also its weakness. Its very fury gives human in-
telligence an opportunity to discover its weak points. Man
defends himself, but under what overwhelming difficulties !
No respite, no interruption, no truce, no pause for taking
breath. There seems to be unspeakable cowardice in that
prodigality of inexhaustible resources.

All the tumult of the wide expanse rushed towards the
Douvres. Voices were heard in the darkness. What could
they be.'' At times shouts were heard, as if some one was
uttering words of command. There were wild clamours,
strange trepidation, and then that majestic roar which mari-
ners call the " cry of ocean." The flying eddies of wind
whistled, while curling the waves and flinging them like giant
quoits, cast by invisible hands against the rocks. The surf
dashed over the rocks. There were torrents above, dashing
foam below. Then the roar redoubled. No uproar of men
or beasts could give one any idea of the wild din which
mingled with the incessant breaking of the surf. The clouds
cannonaded, the hailstones poured down in volleys, the surf
mounted to the assault. As far as the eye could reach, the
sea was white ; ten leagues of yeasty water filled the horizon.
Doors of fire were opened, clouds seemed burned by clouds,
and something like smoke rose above a nebulous red mass, re-
sembling burning embers. Floating conflagrations rushed
together and amalgamated, each changing the shape of the
other. A huge arsenal seemed to be emptied from the middle
of the dark roof, hurling downward pell-mell, waterspouts,
hail, torrents, purple fire, phosphoric gleams, darkness, and
lightnings.

Meanwhile Gilliatt seemed to pay no attention to the
storm. His head was bent over his work. The second frame-

112 TOILERS OF THE SEA

work was rapidly nearing completion. To every clap of
thunder he replied with a blow of his hammer, making a
cadence which was audible even amidst that tumult. He was
hareheaded, for a gust of wind had carried away his cap.

He suffered from a burning thirst. Little pools of rain
had formed in the rocks around him. From time to time he
took some water in the hollow of his hand and drank. Then,
without even looking upward to observe the storm, he applied
himself anew to his task.

Everything might depend upon a single moment. He
knew the fate that awaited him if his breakwater was not
completed in time. What Avas the use of wasting a moment
in watching for the approach of death?

The turmoil around him was like that of a vast bubbling
caldron. Crashing and uproar resounded everywhere. Some-
times the lightning seemed to descend a sort of ladder. The
electric flame played incessantly on projections of the rock,
where there were probably metallic veins. Hailstones of
enormous size fell. Gilliatt was compelled to shake the folds
of his overcoat, for even the pockets of it became filled with
hail.

The storm had now rotated to the west, and was expending
its fury upon the barricades of the two Douvres. But Gil-
liatt had faith in his breakwaters, and with reason. These
barricades, made of a large portion of the fore-part of the
Durande, stood the shock of the waves easily. Elasticity is
a powerful resistant. The experiments of Stephenson estab-
lish the fact that a raft of timber, joined and chained to-
gether in a certain fashion, will form a more powerful obstacle
against the waves, which are themselves elastic, than a break-
water of solid masonry. The barriers of the Douvres ful-
filled these conditions. They were, moreover, so ingeniously
hung that the action of the waves only fastened them more
securely to the rocks. To demolish them it would have been
necessary to overthrow the Douvres themselves. The surf, in
fact, was only able to hurl a few flakes of foam on the sloop.
V)n that side, thanks to the barricade, the tempest had to

TOILERS OF THE SEA 113

content itself with harmless insult. Gilliatt turned his back
upon the scene. He heard it vent its futile rage upon the
rocks behind him, with the utmost tranquillity of mind.

The angry ocean deluged the rocks, dashed over them,
penetrated the net-w^ork of internal fissures, and emerged
again from the granitic masses through the narrow chinks,
forming a kind of inexhaustible fountain playing peacefully
in the midst of the deluge. Here and there a silvery water-
fall fell gracefully from these openings into the sea.

The second frame for the eastern barrier was completed.
A few more knots of rope and ends of chains and this
new rampart would be ready to play its part in barring out
the storm.

Suddenly there was a strange brightness; the rain ceased;
the clouds rolled asunder; the wind had just shifted; a sort
of high, dark window opened in the zenith, and the liglitning
died out. The end seemed to have come, but it was only the
beginning.

The change of wind was from the north-west to the
north-east.

The storm was preparing to burst forth again with a new
legion of hurricanes. The north was about to mount to the
assault. Sailors call this dreaded moment of transition the
" return storm." The southern wind brings most rain, the
north wind most lightning.

The attack, coming now from the east, was directed against
the weak point of the position.

This time Gilliatt paused in his work and looked
around him.

He stood erect, upon a projection of rock behind the second
barrier, which was now nearly finished. If the first frame
was carried away, it would necessarily demolish the second,
which was not yet completed, and crush him. Gilliatt, in the
place that he had chosen, must in that case be destroyed be-
fore seeing the sloop, the machinery, and all his work shat-
j tered and swallowed up in the gulf, — such was the possibility
which awaited him. He accepted it unflinchingly.

114 TOILERS OF THE SEA

In the event of the wreck of all his hopes, it would cer-
tainly be his desire to die at once, — to die first as he would
have expressed it; for he had come to regard the machinery
as a living being. He pushed aside his hair, which had been
blown into his eyes by the wind, grasped his trusty mallet,
drew himself up in a defiant attitude, and awaited the shock.

He was not kept long in suspense.

A flash of lightning gave the signal; the livid opening in
the zenith closed ; a fierce torrent of rain fell ; then all became
dark, save where the lightnings burst forth once more. The
attack had recommenced in earnest.

A heavy swell, visible from time to time in the glare of
the lightning, was rolling in the east beyond " The Man "
rock. It resembled a huge wall of glass. It was green, with-
out a fleck of foam, and stretched across the whole wide ex-
panse. It was fast advancing towards the breakwater, in-
creasing in volume as it approached. It was a strange sort
of gigantic cylinder rolling along the ocean. The thunder
kept up a continuous rumbling.

The huge wave struck " The Man " rock, broke in twain,
and passed on. The broken wave, rejoined, formed a moun-
tain of water, and instead of advancing in a parallel line as
before, came down perpendicularly upon the breakwater. It
was a wave assuming the form of a beam.

This battering-ram hurled itself upon the breakwater.

The shock was terrific: the whole wave became a roaring
avalanche.

It was impossible for those who have not witnessed them
to imagine these foaming avalanches which the sea pre-
cipitates, and under which it ingulfs for the moment rocks
more than a hundred feet in height, — such, for example, as
the Great Anderlo at Guernsey, and the Pinnacle at Jersey.
At St. Mary of Madagascar it sometimes passes completely
over Tintingue Point,

For several minutes the water covered everything. Noth-
ing was visible except the furious sea, — one vast expanse of
foam, white winding-sheet blowing in the draught of a

"He pushed aside his hair, wliich had been blown into his eyes, —
grasped his trusty mallet, drew himself up in a defiant atttiude, and awaited
the shock."

Tmlera of the Sea. Vol. II, Page 1 1 4

TOILERS OF THE SEA 115

sepulchre; nothing was heard but the roaring storm working
devastation around.

When the foam subsided, GilHatt was still standing at his
post.

The barrier had stood firm. Not a chain was broken, not
a nail displaced. It had exhibited under the ordeal the two
best qualities of a breakwater ; it had proved flexible as a
wicker hurdle and firm as a wall. The surf falling upon it
had dissolved into a shower of spray.

A river of foam rushing along the zig-zags of the defile
subsided as it approached the sloop.

The man who had put this curb upon the fury of the ocean
took no rest.

The storm fortunately vented its fury elsewhere for a
moment. The fierce attack of the waves was renewed upon
the wall of rock. There was a respite, and Gilliatt took
advantage of it to complete the inner barrier.

The day went down upon his labours. The hurricane con-
tinued its assault upon the flank of the rocks with a mournful
solemnity. The stores of fire and water in the sky poured
forth incessantly without any apparent diminution. The
undulations of the wind above and below were like the move-
ments of a dragon.

Nightfall brought no deeper darkness. The change was
hardly noticeable, for the darkness was never complete.
Tempests, alternately darkening and illumining by their light-
nings, are merely intervals of the visible and invisible. One
moment all is pale glare, then all is darkness. Spectral shapes
suddenly issue forth, and return as suddenly into the gloom.

A phosphoric zone, tinged with the hue of the aurora
borealis, rose like ghastly flames from behind the dense clouds,
giving everything a wan aspect, and making the rain-drifts
luminous.

This uncertain light aided Gilliatt, and directed him in
his operations. Once he even turned to the lightning and
cried, " Give me a light ! " By its glare he was able to raise
the forward barrier. The breakwater was now almost com-

116 TOILERS OF THE SEA

plete. As he was engaged in making a powerful cable fast
to the last beam, the wind struck him full in the face. This
fact caused him to raise his head. The wind had shifted
abruptly to the north-east. The assault upon the eastern
end of the gorge had begun again. Gilliatt cast his eyes
over the horizon. Another great wall of water was ap-
proaching.

The wave broke with a great shock ; a second followed ;
then another and still another ; then five or six almost together ;
then a last shock of tremendous force.

This last wave, which was an accumulation of many waves,
bore a singular resemblance to a living tiling. It would not
have been difficult to imagine in the midst of that swelling
mass the shapes of fins and gills. It fell heavily and broke
upon the barriers. Its almost animal form was shattered in
the recoil. It looked as if some immense sea-monster were
being crushed to death upon that block of rocks and timbers.
The swell rushed through, subsiding but devastating as it
went. The huge wave seemed to bite and cling to its victim
as it died. The rock shook to its base. A savage howling
mingled with the roar ; the foam flew high in the air like the
spouting of a leviathan.

The subsidence showed the extent of the surf's ravages.
This last assault had not been altogether ineffectual. The
breakwater had suffered considerably this time. A long and
heavy beam, torn from the first barrier, had been swept over
the second, and hurled violently upon the projecting rock on
which Gilliatt had been standing only a moment before.
Fortunately he had not returned there. Had he done so, his
death would have been inevitable.

There was a remarkable circumstances connected with the
fall of this beam, which by preventing the timber from re-
bounding, saved Gilliatt from even greater dangers. It even
proved useful to him, as will be seen, in another way.

Between the projecting rock and the inner wall of the
gorge there was an opening something like the notch made
by an axe, or wedge. One of the ends of the timber hurled

TOILERS OF THE SEA 117

into the air bj tlie waves had stuck fast in this notch in fall-
ing. The gap had become enlarged.

Gilliatt was struck with an idea. It was that of bearing
heavily on the other extremity.

The beam caught by one end in the nook, which it had
widened, projected from it as straight as an outstretched
arm. This arm was parallel with the anterior M^all of the
defile, and the disengaged end extended about eighteen or
twenty inches beyond the point of support.

Gilliatt raised himself by means of his hands, feet, and
knees to the escarpment, and then turning his back upon it
pressed both his shoulders against the enormous lever. The
beam was long, which increased its power. The rock was al-
ready loosened ; but he was compelled to renew his efforts again
and again. Great drops of sweat streamed from his fore-
head. The fourth attempt exhausted all his strength. There
was a cracking noise; the gap spreading in the shape of a
fissure, opened its vast jaws, and the heavy mass fell into the
narrow space below with a sound like the reverberation of the
distant thunder.

The mass fell straight, and without breaking, resting in
its bed like a menhir precipitated intact.

The beam which had served as a lever went down with the
rock, and Gilliatt, staggering forward as it gave way, nar-
rowly escaped falling.

The bed of the pass at this part was full of huge round
stones, and there was very little water. The monolith lying
in the boiling foam, the flakes of which reached Gilliatt where
he stood, stretched from side to side of the great parallel rocks
of the defile, and formed a transversal wall, a sort of bridge
between the two escarpments. Its two ends touched the rocks.
It had been a little too long to lie flat, but its summit of soft
rock was shattered by the fall. The result of this fall was a
singular sort of cul-de-sac, which may still be seen. The
water behind this stony barrier is almost always tranquil.

This was an even more invincible rampart than the for-

118 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ward timbers of the Durande fastened between the two
Douvres.

The addition of this new barrier proved most opportune.

The assaults of the sea continued. The obstinacy of the
waves is always increased by an obstacle. The first frame be-
gan to show signs of breaking up. One breach, however
small, in a breakwater, is always serious. It inevitably en-
larges ; and there is no way of repairing it, for the sea would
sweep away the workmen.

A flash which lighted up the rocks revealed to Gilliatt the
nature of the mischief, — the beams broken down, the ends
of rope and fragments of chain swinging in the winds, and
a rent in the centre of the apparatus. The second frame
was intact.

Though the block of stone overturned by Gilliatt in the
gorge behind the breakwater was the strongest possible bar-
rier, it had one defect. It was too low. The surge could not
destroy, but might sweep over it.

It was useless to think of building it higher. Nothing
but masses of rock would be of any service upon a stone
barrier ; but how could such masses be detached ; or, if de-
tached, how could they be moved, or raised, or piled, or fixed.?
Timbers may be added, but rocks cannot.

Gilliatt was not Enceladus.

The extremely limited height of this rocky isthmus ren-
dered him anxious.

The effects of this fault were not long in showing them-
selves. The assaults upon the breakwater were incessant ; the
heavy seas seemed not merely to rage, but to attack with a
firm determination to destroy it. A sort of trampling noise
was heard upon the jolted frame-work.

Suddenly the end of a binding strake, detached from the
dislocated frame, was swept over the second barrier and
across the transversal rock, falling in the gorge, where the
water seized and carried it into the sinuosities of the pass.
Gilliatt lost sight of it. It seemed probable that it would
do some injury to the sloop. Fortunately the water in the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 110

passage, being shut in on all sides, was very little affected by
the commotion without. The waves there were comparatively
small, and the shock was not likely to be very severe. Besides,
he had very little time to spare for reflection upon this mis-
hap. Every variety of danger was threatening him at once ;
the tempest was concentrated upon the most vulnerable point ;
destruction was imminent.

The darkness was profound for a moment: the lightning
ceased, — a bit of sinister connivance. The cloud and the
sea became one ; there was a dull peal of thunder.

This was followed by a terrible outburst.

The frame which formed the front of the barriers was
swept away. The fragments of beams were visible in the
rolling waters. The sea was using the first breakwater as
an engine for making a breach in the second.

Gilliatt experienced the feeling of a general who sees his
advance guard driven in.

The second construction of beams resisted the shock. The
apparatus was powerfully secured and buttressed. But the
broken frame was heavy, and was completely at the mercy of
the waves, which were incessantly hurling it forward and
withdrawing it. The ropes and chains which remained un-
severed prevented it from breaking up entirely, and the sub-
stantial qualities with which Gilliatt had endowed it made it
all the more eff*ective as a weapon of destruction. Instead
of a buckler, it had become a mace. Besides this, it was
now full of irregularities, bits of timbers projected on ever}^
side ; and it was, as it were, covered with teeth and spikes.
No sort of weapon could have been more eff'ective, or better
fitted for the handling of the tempest.

It was the projectile, while the sea played the part of the
catapxilt.

The blows succeeded each other with dismal regularitj^.
Gilliatt, standing thoughtful and anxious behind that
barricaded portal, listened to death knocking loudly for ad-
mittance.

He reflected with bitterness that, but for the fatal en-

120 TOILERS OF THE SEA

tanglenient of the funnel of the Dui*ande in the wreck,
he would have been at that very moment safe in port in
Guernsey, with the sloop out of danger and the machinery
saved.

The dreaded moment arrived. The destruction was com-
plete. There was a sound like a death-rattle. The entire
frame of the breakwater, both barriers, crushed and mingled
inextricably, came rushing like chaos upon a mountain upon
the stone barricade, where it stopped. Here the fragments
lay together, — a mass of beams penetrable by the waves, but
still breaking their force. The conquered barrier struggled
nobly against destruction. The waves had shattered it, and
in their turn were shattered against it. Though overthrown,
it still remained tolerably effective. The rock which barred
its passage, an immovable obstacle, held it fast. The pas-
sage, as we have said before, was very narrow at the point
where the victorious whirlwind had driven and piled up the
shattered breakwater. The very violence of the assault, by
heaping up the mass and driving the broken ends one within
the other, had helped to make the pile firm. It was de-
stroyed, but immovable. Only a few pieces of timber had
been swept away and dispersed by the waves. One passed
through the air very near to Gilliatt. He felt the counter
current upon his forehead.

Some of the immense waves which rise in great tempests
with imperturbable regularity, swept over the loiins of the
breakwater. They rushed into the gorge, and in spite of the
many angles in the passage, set the waters in commotion. The
waves began to roll ominously through the gorge.

Was there any means of preventing this agitation from
extending as far as the sloop? It would not require long
for the blasts of wind to create a tempest through all the
windings of the pass. A few heavy seas would be sufficient
to stave in the sloop and scatter her burden.

Gilliatt shuddered at the thought.

But he was not disconcerted. No peril could daunt his
soul.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 121

The hurricane had now discovered the best plan of
attack, and was rusliing fiercely between the two walls of
the strait.

Suddenly a crash was heard, resounding and prolonging
itself through the defile some distance behind him, — a crash
more terrible than any he had yet heard.

It came from the direction of the sloop.

Something disastrous was happening there.

Gilliatt hastened towards it.

He could not see the sloop from where he was standing on
account of the sharp turns in the pass. At the last turn he
stopped and waited for the lightning.

The first flash revealed the state of affairs.

The rush of the sea through the eastern entrance had en-
countered a blast of wind from the other end. A disaster
Avas imminent.

The sloop had received no apparent damage; anchored as
she was, the storm had little power over her, but the remains
of the Durande were in jeopardy.

The wreck presented considerable surface to the storm,
while the breach which Gilliatt had made, and through
which the machinery had been removed, rendered the
hull still weaker. The keelson was cut the vertebral column
of the skeleton was broken.

The hurricane came down upon it.

This was all that was needed to complete its destruction.
The planking of the deck bent like an open book. The dis-
memberment had begun. It was this noise which had reached
Gilliatt's ears in the midst of the tempest.

The disaster which presented itself as he approached
seemed almost irremediable.

The square opening which he had cut in the keel had
become a gaping wound. The wind had converted the
smooth-cut hole into a ragged fracture. This transverse
breach separated the wreck in two parts. The after-part
nearest to the sloop, remained firmly wedged in its bed of
rocks. The forward portion, which faced him, was hang-

122 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ing. A fracture, while it holds, is a sort of hinge. The
whole mass oscillated with a doleful sound, as the wind
moved it. Fortunately the sloop was no longer under it.

But this swinging movement shook the other portion of the
hull, still wedged and immovable as it was between the two
Douvres. From shaking to loosening completely is but a
step. Under the fierce assaults of the gale, the dislocated
part might suddenly carry away the other portion, which
almost touched the sloop. In that case, the whole wreck, to-
gether with the sloop and the engine, would be swept into the
sea and swallowed up.

This catastrophe seemed almost inevitable.

Could it be prevented, and how.''

Gilliatt was one of those who are accustomed to snatch
the means of safety out of danger itself. He set his wits
to work for a moment.

Then he hastened to his arsenal and brought his
axe.

The mallet had served him well. It was now the
axe's turn.

He climbed upon the wreck, got a footing on that part
of the flooring which had not given way, and leaning over
the gorge between the Douvres, he began to cut away the
broken joists and planking which supported the hanging
portion of the hull.

His object was to effect the separation of the two parts
of the wreck, to disencumber the half which remained firm,
to throw overboard what the waves had seized, and thus
divide the prey with the storm. The hanging portion of
the wreck, borne down by the wind and by its own weight,
adhered at only one or two points. The entire wreck re-
sembled a folding-screen, one leaf of which, half hanging, beat
against the other. Only five or six pieces of flooring, bent
and cracked, but not broken, still held. Their fractures
creaked and enlarged at every gust, and the axe, so to
speak, had merely to assist the gale in its work. This more
than half -severed condition, while it increased the facility of

TOILERS OF THE SEA 123

the work, also rendered it much more dangerous. The whole

might give way under him at any moment.

The tempest had reached its height. The convulsions
of the sea extended to the heavens. Hitherto the storm had
been supreme; it had seemed to work its own imperious will,
to give the impulse, to drive the waves to frenzy, while still
preserving a sort of grim composure. Below was fury ;
above, anger. The heavens are the breath, the ocean only
the foam, hence the supremacy of the wind. But the in-
toxication of its own power had confused it. It had become
a mere whirlwind; it was a blindness bordering on madness.
There are times when tempests become frenzied, when the
heavens are seized with a sort of delirium, when the firmament
raves and hurls its lightnings blindly. Nothing could be
more appalling. It is a frightful moment. The trembling
of the rock was at its height. Every storm has its mysteri-
ous course ; but at such times it loses its way. It is the most
dangerous moment of the tempest. " At such times," says
Thomas Fuller, " the wind becomes a furious maniac." It
is at this period that that continuous discharge of electricity
takes place which Piddington calls " the cascade of lightning."
It is at this time, too, that in the blackest spot in the clouds,
no one knows why, unless it be to observe the universal terror,
a circle of blue hght appears, which the Spanish sailors of
ancient times called the eye of the tempest, — " el ojo de la
tempestad." That terrible eye now looked down on Gilliatt.
Gilliatt was surveying the heavens in his turn. He raised
his head defiantly now. After every stroke of his axe he
stood erect and gazed upwards, almost haughtily. He was,
or seemed to be, too near destioiction not to feel self -sustained.
Would he yield to despair.'' No! In the presence of the
wildest fury of ocean he was watchful as well as bold. He
planted his feet only Avhere the wreck was firm. He ven-
tured his life, and yet was careful ; for his determination, too,

1 had reached its highest point. His strength had grown ten-

j fold greater. He had become excited by his own intrepidity.

\ The strokes of his axe were like blows of defiance. He seemed

124 TOILERS OF THE SEA

to have gained in directness what the tempest had lost. A
pathetic struggle ! On the one hand an indefatigable will ;
on the other, inexhaustible power. It was a contest with the
elements for the prize at his feet. The clouds took the shape
of Gorgon masks in the immensity of the heavens ; every pos-
sible form of terror appeared ; the rain came from the sea,
the surf from the cloud; phantoms of the wind bent down;
meteoric faces revealed themselves and were again eclipsed,
leaving the darkness still more intense ; then nothing was vis-
ible but the torrents raging on all sides, — a boiling sea ;
cumuli heavy with hail, ashen-hued, ragged-edged, seemed
seized with a sort of whirling frenzy ; strange rattlings filled
the air ; the inverse currents of electricity observed by Volta
darted their sudden flashes from cloud to cloud. The pro-
longation of the lightning was terrible ; the flashes passed
close to Gilliatt. The very ocean seemed appalled. Gilliatt
moved to and fro on the tottering wreck, though the deck
trembled under his feet, striking, cutting, hacking with the
axe in his hand, his features pallid in the gleam of the light-
ning, his long hair streamings, his feet naked, his face cov-
ered with the foam of the sea, but still grand amid the wild
tumult of the storm.

Against the fury of the elements man hf o no weapon but
his own powers of invention. Gilliatt owed his eventual tri-
umph to Ills ingenuity. His object was to make all the dis-
located portions of the wreck fall together. For this reason
he cut away the broken portions without entirely separating
them, leaving some parts on which they still swung. Sud-'
denly he stopped, holding his axe ir^ the air. The opera-
tion was complete. The entire dislocated portion fell with a J
crash.

The mass rolled down between the two Douvres, just below
GiDiatt, who stood upon the wreck, leaning over and watch-
ing the fall. It fell perpendicularly into the water, struck
the rocks, and stopped in the defile before it touched the bot-
tom. Enough remained out of the water to project more
than twelve feet above the waves. The vertical mags

TOILERS OF THE SEA 125

formed a wall between the two Douvres. Like the rock
overturned crosswise higher up the defile, it allowed only a
slight stream of foam to pass through at its two extremities,
and thus a fifth barricade against the tempest was improvised
by Gilliatt.

The hurricane itself, in its blind fury, had assisted in the
construction of this last barrier.

It was fortunate that the close proximity of the two walls
had prevented the mass of wreck from falling to the bottom.
This circumstance gave the barricade greater height; the
water, besides, could flovr under tlie obstacle, which dimin-
ished the power of the waves. That which passes below does
not kap over. This is in part the secret of the floating
breakwater.

Henceforth, let the storm rage as it would, there was noth-
ing to fear for the sloop or the machinery. The water
around them could not become much agitated again. Be-
tween the barrier of tlie Douvres, which covered them on the
west, and the barricade which protected them from the east,
no heavy sea or wind could reach them.

Gilliatt had wrested success out of the very catastrophe it-
self. The storm had been his co-labourer in the work.

This done, he took a little water in the palm of his hand
from one of the rain-pools, and drank ; and then, looking
upward at the storm, said with a smile, " Bungler ! "

Human intelligence combating with brute force experiences
an ironical joy in demonstrating the stupidity of its antag-
onist, and in compelling it to aid the very victims of its fury,
and Gilliatt felt something of that memorable desire to insult
his invisible enemy which is as old as the heroes of the Iliad.

He descended to the sloop and examined it by the glare
of the lightning. The relief which he had been able to afford
his distressed bark was well-timed. She had been much
shaken during the last hour, and had begun to give way. A
hasty glance revealed no serious injiu'y. Nevertheless, he
was certain that the vessel had been subjected to a violen!:
strain. As soon as the waves subsided, the hull had righted

126 TOILERS OF THE SEA

itself; the anchors had held fast; as for the machinery, the
four chains had supported it admirably.

While Gilliatt was completing this survey, something white
passed before his eyes and vanished in the gloom. It was a
sea-mew.

No sight is more welcome in tempestuous weather. When
the birds reappear, the storm is departing.

The thunder re-doubled, — another good sign.

The violent efforts of the storm had broken its force. All
mariners knew that the last ordeal is severe, but short. A
marked increase of violence in a thunder-storm is a forerun-
ner of the end.

The rain stopped suddenly. Then there was only a surly
rumbling in the heavens. The storm ceased with the sudden-
ness of a plank falling to the ground. The immense mass of
clouds became disorganized.

A strip of clear sky appeared between them. Gilliatt was
astonished ; it was broad daylight.

The tempest had lasted nearly twenty hours.

The wind which had brought the storm carried it away ;
the broken clouds were soon flying in confusion across the
sky. From one end of the line to the other, there was a re-
treating movement ; a dufl muttering was heard. This grad-
ually became fainter and fainter ; a few last drops of rain
fell, then all tliose dark masses of cloud charged with thun-
der departed like a multitude of chariots.

Suddenly the wide expanse of sky became blue.

Then, for the first time, Gilliatt discovered that he was
terribly weary. Sleep swoops down upon the exhausted
frame like a bird upon its prey. Sinking down on the deck
of the sloop, he fell into a heavy slumber.

Stretched out at full length, he remained there perfectly
motionless for several hours, scarcely distinguishable from
the joists and beams among which he lay.

BOOK IV
PIT-FALLS IN THE WAY

CHAPTER I

HE WHO IS HUNGRY IS NOT ALONE

WHEN he awoke he was very hungry.
The sea was growing calmer. But there was still a
heavy swell, which made his departure impossible, — at least,
for the present. The day, too, was far advanced. For the
sloop with its burden to reach Guernsey before midnight, it
would be necessary to start in the morning.

Although sorely pressed by hunger, Gilliatt began by
stripping himself, — the only means of getting warm. His
clothes were saturated, but the rain had washed out the sea-
water, which made it possible to dry them.

He kept on nothing but his trousers, which he rolled up
nearly to his knees.

His overcoat, jacket, overalls, and sheepskin he spread out
and fastened down with large round stones here and there.

Then he thought of eating.

He had recourse to his knife, which he was careful to keep
always in a good condition, and detached from the rocks a
few limpets, similar in kind to the clonisses of the Mediter-
ranean. It is a well-known fact that these can be eaten raw :
but after such arduous and prolonged toil, the ration was but
a meagre one. His biscuit was gone; but he now had an
abundance of water.

127

128 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He took advantage of the receding tide to wander over
the rocks in search of crayfish. There was enough rock ex-
posed now for him to feel tolerably sure of success.

But he had forgotten that he could do nothing with these
without fire to cook them. If he had taken the trouble to go
to his storehouse, he would have found it inundated. His
wood and coal were drenched, and of his store of tow, which
served him for tinder, there was not a fibre which was not
saturated. No means of lighting a fire remained.

His blower, too, was completely ruined. The screen of the
hearth of his forge was broken down; the storm had sacked
and devastated his workshop. With the tools and apparatus
which had escaped the general wreck, he might still have done
a little carpentry work ; but he could not have accomplished
any of the labours of the smith. Gilliatt, however, never
thought of liis workshop for a moment.

Drawn in another direction by the pangs of hunger, he
pursued his search for food without much reflection. He
wandered, not in the gorge, but outside among the smaller
rocks where the Durande, ten weeks before, had first struck
upon the sunken reef.

For the search that Gilliatt was prosecuting, this part was
more favourable than the interior. At low water the crabs
are accustomed to crawl out into the air. They seem to like
to warm themselves in the sun, where they swarm sometimes
to the disgust of loiterers, who see in these creatures, with
their awkward sidelong gait, climbing clumsily from crack
to crack upon the rocks, a species of sea vermin.

For two months Gilliatt had lived almost entirely upon
these creatures.

This time, however, the crayfish and crabs were both want-
ing. The tempest had driven them into their solitary re-
treats, and they had not yet mustered up courage to venture
abroad.

Gilliatt held his open knife in his hand, and from time to
time scraped a cockle from under the bunches of seaweed,
which he ate as he walked on.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 129

He could not have been far from the very spot where. Sieur
Clubin had perished.

As Gilliatt was trying to make up his mind to be content
with the sea-urchins and the chdtaignes de mer, a little clat-
tering noise at his feet aroused his attention. A large crab,
startled by his approach, had just dropped into a pool. The
water was shallow, and he did not lose sight of it.

He chased the crab along the base of the rock ; but the
crab moved fast, and at last it suddenly disappeared.

It had buried itself in some crevice under the rock.

Gilliatt clutched the projections of the rock, and leaned
over to look where it shelved away under the water.

As he suspected, there was an opening in which the crea-
ture had evidently taken refuge. It was more than a crevice ;
it was a kind of porch.

The water beneath it was not deep, and the bottom, cov-
ered with large pebbles, was plainly visiLlo. The stones were
green and clothed with confervce, indicating that they were
never dry. They looked like the tu js oi" a number of infants'
heads, covered with a kind of green hair.

Holding his knife between his teeth, Gilliatt descended,
by the aid of his feet and hands, from the upper part of
the escarpment, and leaped into the water. It reached al-
most to his shoulders.

He made his way through the porch, and found himself in
a blind passage, with a roof shaped like a rude arch over his
head. The walls were polished and slippery. The crab was
nowhere visible.

As Gilliatt advanced the light grew fainter, so that he be-
gan to lose the power to distinguish objects.

When he had gone about fifteen yards the vaulted roof
overhead ended. He had penetrated bej'ond the low passage.
There was more space here, and consequently more daylight.
The pupils of his eyes, moreover, had dilated, and he could see
pretty clearly. The discovery he made amazed him.

He had found his way again into the singular cavern which

he had visited the month before.
9

130 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The only difference was that he had entered by way of the
sea.

It was through the submarine arch, that he had remarked
before, that he had just entered. At certain low tides it was
accessible.

His eyes became more accustomed to the place. His vision
became clearer and clearer. He was astonished. He found
himself again in that extraordinary palace of shadows; saw
again before his eyes the vaulted roof, those fantastic col-
umns, those purple, blood-like stains, the vegetation rich with
gems, and at the farther end, the crypt or sanctuary, and
that huge stone which so resembled an altar.

He took little notice of these details, but they were so
strongly impressed upon his mind that he saw that the place
was unchanged.

He observed before him, at a considerable height in the
wall, the crevice through which he had penetrated the first
time, and which, from the point where he now stood, seemed
inaccessible.

Nearer the moulded arch, he noticed those low, dark grot-
toes, those caves within caves, which he had already observed
from a distance. He was now much nearer to them. The
entrance to the nearest was out of the water, and easily ap-
proached.

Nearer still than this recess he noticed, above the level
of the water, and within reach of his hand, a horizontal
fissure.

It seemed to him probable that the crab had taken refuge
there, and he plunged his hand in as far as he was able, and
grouped in that dusky aperture.

Suddenly he felt himself seized by the arm. A strange,
indescribable horror thrilled him.

Some living thing, thin, rough, flat, cold, and slimy had
twisted itself round his naked arm, in the dark depth below. It
crept upward towards his chest. Its pressure was like a
tightening cord, its steady persistence like that of a screw.
In another instant the same mysterious spiral form had wound

TOILERS OF THE SEA 131

around his wrist and elbow, and had reached his shoulder. A
sharp point penetrated beneath the armpit.

Gilliatt recoiled, but he had scarcely power to move ! He
was, as it were, nailed to the place. With his left hand, which
was disengaged, he seized his knife, which he still held be-
tween his teeth, and with that hand gripping the knife, Iig
supported himself against the rocks, while he made a desper-
ate effort to withdraw his arm ; but he only succeeded in dis~
turbing his persecutor, which wound itself still tighter. It
was supple as leather, strong as steel, cold as night.

A second form, sharp, elongated, and narrow issued from
the crevice like a tongue out of monstrous jaws.

It seemed to lick his naked body ; then suddenly stretching
out, it became longer and thinner, as it crept over his skin,
and wound itself around him. At the same time a terrible
sensation of pain, utterly unhke any he had ever known, made
all his muscles contract. It seemed as if innumerable suck-
ers had fastened themselves in his flesh and were about to
drink his blood.

A third long undulating shape issued from the hole in the
rock, seemed to feel its way around his body to lash itself
around his ribs like a cord, and fix itself there.

Intense agony is dumb. Gilliatt uttered no cry. There
was sufficient light for him to see the repulsive forms which
had wound themselves about him.

A fourth ligature, — but this one swift as an arrow, —
darted towards his stomach, and wound around him there.

It was impossible to sever or tear away the slimy bands
which were twisted tightly around his body, and which were
adhering to it at a number of points. Each of these points
was the focus of frightful and singular pangs. It seemed
as if innumerable small mouths were devouring him at the
same time.

A fifth long, slimy, ribbon-shaped strip issued from the
hole. It passed over the others, and wound itself tightly
around his chest. The compression increased his sufferings.
He could scarcely breathe.

132 TOILERS OF THE SEA

These living thongs were pointed at their extremities, but
broadened hke the blade of a sword towards its hilt. All five
evidently belonged to the same centre. They crept and
glided about him ; he felt the strange points of pressure, which
seemed to him like so many mouths, change their position
from time to time.

Suddenly a large, round, flattened, glutinous mass issued
from beneath the crevice. It was the centre ; the five thongs
were attached to it like spokes to the hub of a wheel. On
the opposite side of this disgusting monster appeared the be-
ginning of three other similar tentacles, the ends of which
remained under tlie rock. In the middle of this slimy mass
were two eyes.

These eyes were fixed on Gilliatt.

He recognized the Devil Fish.

CHAPTER II

THE MONSTER

IT is difficult for those who have not seen it to believe in
the existence of the devil-fish.

Compared with this creature, the ancient hydras are in-
significant.

At times Ave are tempted to imagine that the shadowy forms
which haunt our dreams may encounter in the realm of the
Possible attractive forces which have the power to create liv-
ing beings out of these visions of our slumbers. The Un-
known is cognizant of these strange visions, and concocts
monsters out of thorn.

Orpheus, Homer, and Hesiod created only fabulous mon-
sters. Providence created the devil-fish.

When God chooses, he excels in creating what is execrable.
The Avherefore of this perplexes and affrights the devout
thinker.

TOILERS or THE SEA 133

If teiTor were the object of its creation, nothing more per-
fect than the devil-fish could be imagined.

The whale is enormous in bulk, the devil-fish is compara-
tively small; the jararaca makes a hissing noise, the devil-
fish is mute ; the rhinoceros has a horn, the devil-fish has none ;
the scorpion has a dart, the devil-fish has no dart ; the shark
has sharp fins, the devil-fish has no fins ; the vespertilio-bat
has wings with claws, the devil-fish has no wings ; the porcu-
pine has his spines, the devil-fish has no spines ; the sword-
fish has his sword, the devil-fish has none ; the torpedo has its
electric spark, the devil-fish has none ; the toad has its poison,
the devil-fish has none ; the viper has its venom, the devil-
fish has no venom ; the lion has its claws, the devil-fish has no
claM's ; the griffon has its beak, the devil-fish has no beak ; the
crocodile has its jaws, the devil-fish has no jaws.

The devil-fish has no muscular organization, no menacing
cry, no breastplate, no horn, no dart, no claw, no tail with
which to hold or bruise ; no cutting fins, or wings with nails,
no prickles, no sword, no electric discharge, no poison, no
claws, no beak, no jaws. Yet he is of all creatures the most
formidably armed.

What, then, is the devil-fish? It is a huge cupping-glass.

The swimmer who, attracted by the beauty of the spot,
ventures among reefs far out at sea, where still waters hide
the wonders of the deep, or in the hollows of unfrequented
rocks, or in unknov/n caverns abounding in marine plants,
testacea, and Crustacea, under the deep portals of the ocean,
runs the risk of meeting it. If that fate should be yours,
be not curious, but fly. The intruder enters there dazzled,
but quits the spot in terror.

This frightful monster which is so often encountered amid
the rocks in the open sea, is of a greyish colour, about five
feet long, and about the thickness of a man's arm. It is
ragged in outline, and In shape strongly resembles a closed
umbrella, without a handle. This irregular mass advances
slowly towards you. Suddenly it opens, and eight radii
issue abruptly from around a face with two eyes. These

134 TOILERS OF THE SEA

radii are alive ; their undulation is like lambent flames ; they
resemble, when opened, the spokes of a wheel measuring four
or five feet in diameter.

This monster winds itself around its victim, covering and
entangling him in its long folds. Underneath it is j-ellow;
above, it is of a dull greyish hue. It is spider-like in form,
but its tints are those of the chameleon. When irritated it
becomes violent. Its most horrible characteristic is its soft-
ness.

Its folds strangle ; its contact paralyzes. '

It has the aspect of gangrened or scabrous flesh. It is a
monstrous embodiment of disease.

It clings closely to its prey, and cannot be torn away, —
a fact which is due to its power of exhausting air. The
eight antennas, large at their roots, diminish gradually, and
end in needle-like points. Underneath each of these feelers
are two rows of suckers, decreasing in size, the largest ones
near the head, the smallest at the extremities. Each row con-
tains twenty-five of these. There are, therefore, fifty suck-
ers to each feeler, and the creature possesses four hundred in
all. These suckers act like cupping-glasses.

They are cartilaginous substances, cylindrical, horny, and
livid. Upon the large species they diminish gradually from
the diameter of a five-franc piece to the size of a split pea.
These small tubes can be thrust out and withdrawn by the ani-
mal at will. They are capable of piercing to a depth of more
than an inch.

This sucking apparatus has all the regularity and delicacy
of a key -board. It projects one moment and disappears the
next. The most perfect sensitiveness cannot equal the con-
tractibility of these suckers ; always, proportioned to the in-
ternal movement of the animal, and its exterior circumstances.
The monster is endowed with the qualities of the sensitive
plant.

This animal is the same as those which mariners call
poulps ; which science designates cephalopods, and which
ancient legends call krakens. It is the English sailors who

TOILERS OF THE SEA 135

call them " devil-fish," and sometimes bloodsuckers. In the
Channel Islands they are called pieuvres.

They are rare in Guernsey, and very small in Jersey;
but near the island of Sark they are numerous as well as
very large.

An engraving in Sonnini's edition of BufFon represents a
cephalopod crushing a frigate. Denis Montfort, in fact,
considers the polypus, or octopod, of high latitudes, strong
enough to destroy a ship. Bory Saint Vincent doubts this;
but he shows that in our latitude they will attack men.
Near Brecq-Hou, in Sark, they show a cave where a devil-
fish seized and drowned a lobster-man a few years ago
Peron and Lamarck are mistaken in their belief that the
polypus having no fins cannot swim. The writer of these
lines once saw with his own eyes a pieuvre pursuing a bather
among the rocks called the Boutiques, in Sark. When
captured and killed, this specimen was found to be four
English feet broad, and it possessed four hundred suckers.
The monster thrust them out convulsively in the agony of
death.

According to Denis Montfort, one of those observers whose
marvellous intuition degrades or elevates them to the level of
magicians, the polypus is almost endowed with the passions
of man; it has its hatreds. In fact, in the animal world to
be hideous is to hate.

Hideousness has to contend against the natural law of
elimination, which necessarily renders it hostile.

While swimming, the devil-fish remains, so to speak, in
its sheath. It swims with all its parts drawn close together
It might be likened to a sleeve sewed up with a closed fist
within. This protuberance, which is the head, pushes the
water aside and advances with an undulatory movement. The
two eyes, though large, are indistinct, being the colour of the
water.

When it is lying in ambush, or seeking its prey, it re-
tires into itself as it were, becomes smaller and condenses
itself. It is then scarcely distinguishable in the dim, sub-

136 TOILERS OF THE SEA

marine light. It looks like a mere ripple in the water. It
resembles anything except a living creature.

The devil-fish is crafty. When one is least expecting it,
it suddenly opens.

A glutinous mass, endowed with a malevolent will, what
could be more horrible.

It is in the most beautiful azure depths of limpid water
that this hideous, voracious sea-monster delights.

It always conceals itself, — a fact which increases its ter-
rible associations. When they are seen, it is almost invariably
after they have captured their victim.

At night, however, and particularly in the breeding season,
it becomes phosphorescent. These horrible creatures have
their passions, their submarine nuptials. Then it adorns
itself, glows, and illumines ; and from some rock it can some-
times be discerned in the deep obscurity of the waves below,
expanding with a pale irradiation, — a spectral sun.

The devil-fish not only swims, but crawls. It is part fish,
part reptile. It crawls upon the bed of the sea. At such
times, it makes use of its eight feelers, and creeps along after
the fashion of a swiftly moving caterpillar.

It has no blood, no bones, no flesh. It is soft and flabby ;
a skin with nothing inside. Its eight tentacles may be turned
inside out like the fingers of a glove.

It has a single orifice in the centre of its radii, which
appears at first to be neither the vent nor the mouth. It
is in fact both. The orifice performs a double function.

The entire creature is cold.

The jelly-fish of the Mediterranean is repulsive. Contact
with that animated gelatinous substance, in wliich the hands
sink, and at which the nails tear ineffectually ; which can be
rent in twain without killing it, and which can be plucked off
without entirely removing it, that soft and yet tenacious crea-
ture which slips through the fingers, — is disgusting ; but no
horror can equal the sudden apparition of the devil-fish, that
Medusa with its eight serpents.

No grasp is like the sudden strain of the cephalopod.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 137

It is with the sucking apparatus that it attacks. The
victim is oppressed by a vacuum drawing at numberless
points; it is not a clawing or a biting, but an indescribable
scarification. A tearing of the flesh is terrible, but less ter-
rible than a sucking of the blood. Claws are harmless in com-
parison with the terrible action of these natural cupping-
glasses. The claws of the wild beast enter your flesh; but
with the cephalopod, it is you who enter the creature that
attacks you.

The muscles swell, the fibres of the body are contorted, the
skin cracks under the loathsome oppression, the blood spurts
out and mingles horribly with the lymph of the monster,
which clings to its victim by innumerable hideous mouths.
The hydra incorporates itself with the man ; the man becomes
one with the hydra. The spectre lies upon you ; the tiger
can only devour you; the horrible devil-fish sucks your life-
blood away. He draws you to and into himself; while
bound down, glued fast, powerless, you feel yourself gradually
emptied into this horrible pouch, which is the monster it-
self.

To be eaten alive is terrible ; to be absorbed alive is horrible
beyond expression.

Science, in accordance with its usual excessive caution, even
in the face of facts at first rejects these strange animals as
fabulous ; then she decides to observe them ; then she dissects,
classifies, catalogues, and labels them ; then procures speci-
mens, and exhibits them in glass cases in museums. They
enter then into her nomenclature; are designated mollusks,
invertebrata, radiata: she determines their position in the
animal world a little above the calamaries, a little below the
cuttle-fish ; she finds an analogous creature for these hydras
of the sea in fresh water called the argyronectes : she divides
them into large, medium, and small kinds ; she more readily
admits the existence of the small than of the largo species,
which is, however, the tendency of science in all countries, for
she is rather microscopic than telescopic by nature. Classif}^-
ing them according to their formation, she calls them cephalo-

138 TOILERS OF THE SEA

pods ; then counts their antennae, and calls then octopods.
This done, she leaves them. Where science drops them,
philosophy takes them up.

Philosophy, in her turn, studies these creatures. She goes
farther and yet not so far. She does not dissect, she
meditates. Where the scalpel has laboured, she plunges the
hypothesis. She seeks the final cause. Eternal perplexity of
the thinker. These creatures disturb his ideas of the Creator.
They are hideous surprises. They are the death's-head at
the feast of contemplation. The philosopher determines their
characteristics in dread. They are the concrete forms of evil.
What attitude can he assume in regard to this treachery of
creation against herself.'' To whom can he look for the solu-
tion of this enigma.''

The Possible is a terrible matrix. Monsters are mysteries
in a concrete form. Portions of shade issue from the mass,
and something within detaches itself, rolls, floats, condenses,
borrows elements from the ambient darkness; becomes subject
to unknown polarizations, assumes a kind of life, furnishes
itself with some unimagined form from the obscurity, and
with some terrible spirit from the miasma, and wanders ghost-
like among living things. It is as if night itself assumed the
forms of animals. But for what good.'' with what object.''
Thus we come again to the eternal question.

These animals are as much phantoms as monsters. Their
existence is proved and yet improbable. It is their fate to
exist in spite of a priori reasonings. They are the amphibia
of the shore which separates life from death. Their un-
reality makes their existence puzzling. They touch the
frontier of man's domain and people the region of
chimeras.

We deny the possibility of the vampire, and the devil-fish
appears to disconcert us. Their swarming is a certainty which
disconcerts our confidence. Optimism, which is nevertheless
in the right, becomes silenced in their presence. They form
the visible extremity of the dark circles. They mark the
transition of our reality into another. They seem to belong

TOILERS OF THE SEA 139

to that commencement of terrible life, which the dreamer sees
confusedly through the loop-hole of the night.

This multiplication of monsters, first in the Invisible, then
in the Possible, has been suspected, perhaps perceived by magi
and philosophers in their austere ecstasies and profound con-
templations. Hence the conjecture of the material hell. The
demon is simply the invisible tiger. The wild beast which
devours souls has been presented to the eyes of human beings
by Saint John, and by Dante in his vision of hell.

If, in truth, the invisible circles of creation continue in-
definitely, if after one there is yet another, and so on and on
in illimitable progression ; if that chain, which we for our part
are resolved to doubt, really exists, the devil-fish at one end
proves Satan at the other.

It is certain that the wrong-doer at one end proves wrong-
doing at the other.

Every malignant creature, like every perverted intel-
ligence, is a sphinx.

A terrible sphinx propounding a terrible riddle, — the
riddle of the existence of Evil.

It is this perfection of evil which has sometimes sufficed to
incline powerful intellects to a belief in the duality of the
Deity, towards that terrible bifrons of the Manichasans.

A piece of silk stolen during the last war from the palace
of the Emperor of China represents a shark eating a croco-
dile, who is eating a serpent, who is devouring an eagle,
who is preying on a swallow, who in his turn is eating a cater-
pillar.

All Nature, which is under our observation, is thus alter-
nately devouring and devoured. The prey prey upon each
other.

Learned men, however, who are also philosophers, and there-
fore optimists in their view of creation, find or think they
find, an explanation. Among others, Bonnet of Geneva, that
mysterious, exact thinker, who was opposed to BufFon, as in
later times Geoffroy St. Hillaire has been to Cuvier, was struck
with the idea of the final object. His notions may be summed

140 TOILERS OF THE SEA

up thus: universal death necessitates universal sepulture; the
devourers are the sextons of the system of Nature.

Every created thing eventually enters into and forms a
part of some other created thing. To decay is to nourish.
Such is the terrible law from which not even man is exempt.

In our world of twilight this fatal order of things pro-
duces monsters. You ask for what purpose. We find the
solution here.

But is this the solution.? Is this the answer to our ques-
tionings .'' And if so, why not some different order of things ?
Thus the question returns.

We live: so be it. But let us try to believe that death
means progress. Let us aspire to an existence in which these
mysteries shall be made clear.

Let us obey the conscience which guides us thither.

For let us never forget that the best is only attained
through the better.

CHAPTER III

ANOTHER KIND OF SEA-COMBAT

SUCH was the creature in whose power Gilhatt had
fallen.

The monster was the mysterious inmate of the grotto ; the
terrible genius of the place ; a kind of marine demon.

The splendours of the cavern existed for it alone.

The shadowy creature, dimly discerned by Gilliatt beneath
the rippling surface of the dark water on the occasion of his
first visit, was the monster. This grotto was its home. When
he entered the cave a second time in pursuit of the crab, and
saw a crevice in which he supposed the crab had taken refuge,
the pieuvre was there lying in wait for prey.

No bird would brood, no egg would burst to life, no flower
would dare to open, no breast to give milk, no heart to love,

TOILERS OF THE SEA 141

no spirit to soar, under the influence of that impersonation of
evil watching with sinister patience in the dim hght.

Gilhatt had thrust his arm deep into the opening; the
monster had snapped at it.

It held him fast, as the spider holds the fly.

He was in the water up to his belt ; his naked feet clutching
the slippery roundness of the huge stones at the bottom ; his
right arm bound and rendered powerless by the flat coils
of the long tentacles of the creature, and his body almost
hidden under the folds and cross folds of this horrible band-
age.

Of the eight arms of the devil-fish, three adhered to the
rock, while five encircled Gilliatt. In this way, clinging to
the granite on one side, and to its human prey on the other,
it chained him to the rock. Two hundred and fifty suckers
were upon him, tormenting him with agony and loathing.
He was grasped by gigantic hands, each finger of which was
nearly a yard long, and furnished inside with living blisters
eating into the flesh.

As we have said, it is impossible to tear one's self from the
clutches of the devil-fish. The attempt only results in a
firmer grasp. The monster clings with more determined
force. Its efforts increase with those of his victim ; every
struggle produces a tightening of its ligatures.

Gilliatt had but one resource, — his knife.

His left hand only was free ; but the reader knows with
what power he could use it. It might have been said that
he had two right hands.

His open knife was in his hand.

The antennae of the devil-fish cannot be cut ; it is a leathery
substance upon which a knife makes no impression ; it slips
under the blade ; its position in attack too is such that to sever
it v/ould be to wound the victim's own flesh.

The creature is formidable, but there is a way of resisting
it. The fishermen of Sark know it, and so does any one who
has seen them execute certain abrupt movements in the sea.
Porpoises know it, too ; they have a way of biting the cuttle-

142 TOILERS OF THE SEA

fish which decapitates it. Hence the frequent sight on the sea
of headless pen-fish, polypuses, and cuttle-fish.

In fact, its only vulnerable part is its head.

Gilliatt was not ignorant of this fact.

He had never seen a devil-fish of this size. His first en-
counter was with one of the largest species. Any other man
would have been overwhelmed with terror.

With the devil-fish, as with a furious bull, there is a certain
instant in the conflict which must be seized. It is the instant
when the bull lowers his neck ; it is the instant when the devil-
fish advances its head. The movement is rapid. One who
loses that moment is irrevocably doomed.

The events we have described occupied only a few seconds.
Gilliatt, however, felt the increasing power of the monster's
innumerable suckers.

The monster is cunning; it tries first to stupefy its prey.
It seizes and then pauses awhile.

Gilliatt grasped his knife ; the sucking increased.

He looked at the monster, which seemed to return the look.

Suddenly it loosened from the rock its sixth antenna, and
darting it at him, seized him by the left arm.

At the same moment, it advanced its head with a quick
movement. In one second more its mouth would have fast-
ened on his breast. Bleeding in the sides, and with his two
arms entangled, he would have been a dead man.

But Gilliatt was watchful.

He avoided the antenna, and at the very instant the mon-
ster darted forward to fasten on his breast, he struck it with
the knife clinched in his left hand.

There were two convulsive movements in opposite direc-
tions,— that of the devil-fish, and that of its prey.

The movements were as rapid as a double flash of light-
ning.

Gilliatt had plunged the blade of his knife into the flat,
slimy substance, and with a rapid movement, like the flourish
of a whiplash in the air, had described a circle round the two
eyes, and wrenched ofi^ the head as a man would draw a tooth.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 143

The struggle was ended. The shmy bands relaxed. The
air-pump being broken, the vacuum was destroyed. The four
hundred suckers, deprived of their sustaining power, dropped
at once from the man and the rock. The mass sank to the
bottom of the water.

Breathless with the struggle, Gilliatt could dimly discern
on the stones at his feet two shapeless, slimy heaps, the head
on one side, the rest of the monster on the other.

Nevertheless, fearing a convulsive return of the death
agony, he recoiled to be out of the reach of the dreaded ten-
tacles.

But the monster was quite dead.

Gilliatt closed his knife.

CHAPTER IV

NOTHING IS HIDDEN, NOTHING LOST

IT was time that he killed the devil-fish. He was almost
suffocated. His right arm and his chest were purple.
Hundreds of small swellings were visible upon them ; the
blood flowed from them here and there. The remedy for
these wounds is sea-water. Gilliatt plunged into it, rubbing
himself vigorously at the same time with the palms of his
hands. The swellings disappeared under the friction.

By stepping further into the waters he had, without per-
1 ceiving it, approached to the sort of recess already noticed
by him near the crevice where he had been attacked by the
devil-fish.

This recess stretched obliquely under the great walls of
the cavern, and was dry. The large pebbles which had be-
come heaped up there had raised the bottom above the level
of ordinary tides. The entrance was a rather large ellip-
tical arch; a man could enter it by stooping. The green

144 TOILERS OF THE SEA

light of the submarine grotto penetrated and faintly illu-
mined it.

While hastily rubbing his skin, Gilliatt raised his eyes me-
chanically.

He was able to see far into the tiny grotto.

He shuddered, for he fancied he perceived, at the farther
depth of the dusky recess, a face wreathed with a ghastly
smile.

Gilliatt had never heard the word " hallucination," but he
was familiar with the idea. Those mysterious encounters
with the invisible, which we call hallucinations in order to
spare ourselves the trouble of explaining them, are a part
of Nature. Whether they be illusions or realities, visions are
an unquestionable fact. One who has the gift is sure to see
them.

Gilliatt, as we have said, was a dreamer. He had at times
the power of a seer. It was not in vain that he had spent
his life musing among solitary places.

He imagined himself the dupe of one of those mirages
which he had more than once beheld in his dreamy moods.

The opening was shaped something like a lime-burner's
kiln. It was a low niche with projections like basket-han-
dles. The sharp groins contracted gradually as far as the
extremity of the crypt, where the heaps of round stones and
the rocky roof joined.

Gilliatt entered, and lowering his head, advanced towards
the object in the distance.

There was indeed something smiling at him.

It was a death's-head. There was not only the head, but
the entire skeleton.

A complete human skeleton was lying in the cave.

Under such circumstances a bold man will continue his re-
searches.

Gilliatt glanced around him. He was surrounded by a
multitude of crabs. The multitude did not stir. They were
but empty shells.

These groups were scattered here and there among the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 145

masses of pebbles, forming all sorts of odd figures on the floor
of the cave.

Gilliatt, having his eyes fixed elsewhere, had walked over
them without perceiving them.

At the farther end of the crypt, where he had now pene-
trated, there was a still larger pile of remains. It was a con-
fused mass of legs, antennse, and mandibles. Claws stood
wide open ; bony shells lay quiet under their bristling horns ;
some reversed showed their livid hollows. The heap was like
a melee of besiegers who had fallen, and lay massed together
entangled like so much brush-wood.

The skeleton was partly buried in this heap.
Under this confused mass of scales and tentacles, the eye
could distinguish the cranium, the vertebra, the thigh bones,
the tibias, and the long- jointed finger bones with their nails.
The frame formed by the ribs was filled with crabs. A heart
had once beat there. The green mould of the sea had settled
round the sockets of the eyes. Limpets had left their slime
upon the bony nostrils. Within this rocky cave there was
neither sea-gull, nor weed, nor a breath of air. All was still.
The teeth grinned hideously.

The gloomy side of laughter is that strange mockery of
its expression which is peculiar to a human skull.

This marvellous palace of the deep, inlaid and incrustcd
with all the gems of the sea, had at last revealed its secret.
It was a savage haunt ; the devil-fish inhabited it ; it was also
a tomb, in which the body of a man reposed.

The skeleton and the creaures around it seemed to oscil-
late slightly by reason of the reflections from the water which
trembled upon the roof and wall. The multitude of crabs
looked as if they were finishing their repast. These Crusta-
cea seemed to be devouring the carcass.

Gilliatt had the storehouse of the devil-fish before his eyes.
It was a dismal sight. The crabs had devoured the man ;
the devil-fish had devoured the crabs.

There were no remains of clothing visible anywhere. The

man must have been seized naked.
10

146 TOILERS OF THE SEA

GilHatt began to remove the shells from the skeleton. Who
was this man? The body looked as if it had been prepared
for an anatomical study. All the flesh was stripped off; not
a muscle remained ; but not a bone was missing. If Gilliatt
had been skilled in physiology he could have demonstrated
the fact. The periostea, denuded of their covering, were
as white and smooth as if they had been polished. But for
some green mould from sea-mosses here and there, they would
have been like ivory. The cartilaginous divisions were del-
icately inlaid and arranged. The tomb sometimes produces
this dismal mosaic work.

The body was, as it were, buried under a heap of dead
crabs. Gilliatt disinterred it.

Suddenly he stooped and examined it more closely.

He had perceived around the vertebral column a sort of
belt.

It was the leathern girdle, which had evidently been worn
buckled around the waist of the man when alive.

The leather was moist ; the buckle rusty.

Gilliatt pulled the girdle ; the vertebras of the skeleton re-
sisted, and he was compelled to break through them in order'
to remove it. A crust of small shells had begun to form upon
it.

He felt it, and discovered a hard substance inside. It was
useless to endeavour to unfasten the buckle, so he cut the
leather with his knife.

The girdle contained a small iron box and several pieces
of gold. Gilliatt counted twenty guineas.

The iron box was a sailor's tobacco-box, that opened and
shut with a spring. It was very tight and rusty. The
spring being completely oxidized would not work.

Once more the knife served Gilliatt in a difficulty. A pres-
sure with the point of the blade caused the lid to fly up.

The box was open.

There was nothing inside but some pieces of paper.

These were damp, but uninjured. The box, hermetically
sealed, had preserved them. Gilliatt unfolded them.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 147

They were three bank-notes of one thousand pounds ster-
ling each, making in all seventy-five thousand francs.

Gilliatt folded them up again, replaced them in the box,
taking advantage of the space which remained to add the
twenty guineas ; and then re-closed the box as well as he
could.

Next he examined the belt.

The leather, which had originally been smooth outside,
was rough within. Upon this tawny ground some letters had
been traced in thick, black ink. Gilliatt deciphered them,
and read the words " Sieur Clubin."

CHAPTER V

THE FATAL DIFFEEENCE BETW^EEN SIX INCHES AND TWO FEET

GILLIATT replaced the box in the girdle, and crammed
the girdle in his trousers' pocket.

He left the skeleton among the crabs, with the remains of
the devil-fish beside it.

While he had been occupied with the devil-fish and the
skeleton, the rising tide had submerged the entrance to the
cave. He was only able to leave it by diving under the arched
entrance. He got through without any difficulty ; for he
knew the ground well, and was a proficient in such manoeu-
vres.

It is easy to understand the drama that had taken place
there the ten weeks before. One monster had seized another
monster, the devil-fish had captured Clubin.

These two embodiments of treachery had met in the in-
exorable darkness. There had been an encounter at the bot-
tom of the sea between these two compounds of cruelty and
watchfulness ; the monster had destroyed the man : a terrible
fulfilment of justice.

148 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The crab feeds on carrion, the devil-fish on crabs. The
devil-fish seizes anything within its reach, — be it otter, dog,
or man, — sucks the blood, and leaves the body at the bottom
of the sea. The crabs are the scavengers of the deep. Pu-
trefying flesh attracts them ; they crowd round it, devour the
body, and are in their turn consumed by the devil-fish. Dead
creatures disappear in the crab, the crab disappears in the
pieuvre. This is the law which we have already pointed out.
The devil-fish had laid hold of Clubin and drowned him.
Some wave had carried his body into the recess at the far-
ther end of this cave, where Gilliatt had discovered it.

He returned searching among the rocks for sea-urchins,
and limpets, as he went. He had no desire for crabs ; to have
eaten them now would have seemed to him like feeding upon
human flesh.

There was nothing now to prevent his departure. Heavy
tempests are always followed by a calm, which sometimes lasts
several days. There was, therefore, no danger to be appre-
hended from the sea. Gilliatt had resolved to leave the rocks
on the following day. It v/as important, on account of the
tide, to keep the barrier between the two Douvres during the
night, but he intended to remove it at daybreak, to push the
sloop out to sea, and set sail for St. Sampson. The light
breeze which was blowing came from the south-west, whicli
was precisely the wind he needed.

It was in the first quarter of the moon, in the month of
May; and the days were long.

When Gilliatt, having finished his wanderings among the
rocks, and appeased his appetite to some extent, returned
to the passage between the two Douvres, where he had left the
sloop, the sun had set, the twilight was increased by the pale
light which comes from a crescent moon ; the tide had at-
tained its highest point and was beginning to ebb. The fun-
nel standing upright above the sloop had been covered by
the foam during the tempest with a coating of salt which
glittered in the light of the moon.

This circumstance reminded Gilliatt that the storm had in-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 149

undated the sloop, both witli surf and with rain, and that if
he meant to start in the morning, it would be necessary to bale
it out.

Before leaving to go in quest of crabs, he had ascertained
that there was about six inches of water in the hold. The
scoop which he used for the purpose would, he thought, be
sufficient for throwing the water overboard.

On arriving at the barrier, Gilliatt was horrified to per-
ceive that there were nearly two feet of water in the sloop.
A terrible discovery ! The vessel had sprung a leak.

The water had been gaining gradually during his absence.
Heavily loaded as the sloop was, two feet of water was a
perilous addition. A little more, and she must inevitably
founder. If he had returned but an hour later, he would
probably have found nothing above water but the funnel and
the mast.

There was not a minute to lose. It was absolutely neces-
sary to find the leak, stop it, and then empty the vessel, or at
all events, lighten it. The pumps of the Durande had been
lost in the break-up of the wreck.

To find the leak was the most urgent.

Gilliatt set to work immediately, and without even giving
himself time to dress. He shivered ; but he was no longer
conscious of either hunger or cold.

The water continued to gain in his vessel. Fortunately
there was no wind. The slightest swell would have been
fatal.

The moon went down.

Bent low, and covered with water higher than his waist,
he groped about for a long time.

At last he discovered the leak.

At the critical moment when the sloop swerved, during the
gale, the strong bark had bumped violently upon the rocks.
One of the projections of the Little Douvre had made a frac-
ture in the starboard side of the hull.

The leak, unfortunately, was near the joint of the two
riders, a fact which in the confusion caused by the hurricane

150 TOILERS OF THE SEA

had prevented him perceiving it during his hasty survey in
the height of the storm.

The fracture was alarming on account of its size ; but for-
tunately, although the vessel was sunk lower than usual by
the weight of the water, it was still above the ordinary water-
line.

At the time when the accident occurred, the waves had
rolled heavily into the defile, and had flooded the vessel
through the breach, so she had sunk a few inches under the
additional weight. Even after the subsidence of the water,
the weight had kept the hole still below the surface. Hence
the imminence of the danger.

The depth of water had increased from two to twenty
inches. But if he could succeed in stopping the leak, he
could bail out the sloop ; the hole once stanched, the vessel
would rise to its usual water-line, the fracture would be above
water, and in this position the repair would be easy, or at
least possible. His carpenter's tools, as we have already said,
were still in fair condition.

But meanwhile what uncertainty must he not endure!
What perils, what chances of accidents ! He heard the water
rising inexorably. One shock, and all would be lost ! Per-
haps his endeavours would prove futile even now !

He reproached himself bitterly. He said to himself that
he ought to have discovered the damage immediately. The
six inches of water in the hold ought to have suggested it
to him. He had been stupid enough to attribute these six
inches of water to the rain and surf. He was angry with
himself for having slept and eaten; he blamed himself even
for his weariness, and almost for the storm and the intense
darkness of the night. It all seemed to have been his
fault.

These bitter self-reproaches filled his mind while engaged
in bis labour, but they did not prevent him from giving close
attention to his work.

The leak had been discovered; that was the first step; to
stanch it was the second. That was all it was possible to do

TOILERS OF THE SEA 151

for the present. Carpentering cannot be carried on under
water.

It was a favourable circumstance that the breach in the
hull was in the place between the two chains which held the
funnel fast on the starboard side. The material used in
stopping the leak could be secured by these chains.

Meanwhile the water was gaining. It was now between
two and three feet deep.

It reached above Gilliatt's knees.

CHAPTER VI

DE PROFUNDIS AD ALTUM

GILLIATT had among his store of surplus rigging for
the sloop a large tarpaulin, provided with long lan-
yards at the four corners.

He took this tarpaulin, made fast two corners of it by the
lanyards to the two rings of the funnel chains on the same
side as the leak, and threw it over the gunwale. The tarpau-
lin hung like a sheet between the Little Douvre and the bark,
and sunk in the water. The pressure of the water as it en-
deavoured to enter the hold, kept the tarpaulin close to the
hull. The heavier the pressure the closer the sail adhered.
The water kept it directly over the fracture. The wound in
the bark was stanched.

The tarred canvas formed a barrier between the interior
of the hold and the waves outside. Not a drop of water en-
tered.

The leak was covered, but it was not stopped. It was a
respite only.

Gilliatt took the scoop and began to bale out the sloop.
It was time that she were lightened. The labour warmed
him a little, but his weariness was extreme. He was forced

152 TOILERS OF THE SEA

to acknowledge to himself that he could not complete the work
of emptying the hold. He had scarcely eaten anything, and
he had the humiliation of feeling himself exhausted.

He measured the progress of his work by the sinking of
the level of water below his knees. The fall was slow.

Moreover, the leakage w^as only interrupted ; the evil was
moderated, not repaired. The tarpaulin pushed into the
gap began to bulge inside^ looking as if a fist were under the
canvas, endeavouring to force it through. The canvas, strong
and pitchy, resisted ; but the swelling and the tension in-
creased. It was by no means certain that it would not give
way. The swelling might become a rent at any moment.
The entrance of the water would then begin again.

In such a case, as the crews of vessels in distress know very
well, there is no other remedy than stuffing. The sailors take
everything in the shape of rags they can lay hands upon, —
everything, in fact, which they can make of " service ; " and
with they push the bulging sail-cloth as far as they can into
the hole.

But unfortunately all the rags and tow which Gilliatt had
stored up had been used in his operations, or carried away by
the storm.

If necessary, he might possibly have been able to find some
remains by searching among the rocks. The sloop was suffi-
ciently lightened for him to leave it with safety for a quarter
of an hour ; but how could he make this search without a
light.'' The darkness was complete. There was no longer
any moon, — nothing but the starry sky. He had no dry
tow to serve as a match, no tallow to make a candle, no fire
to light one, no lantern to shelter it from the wind. In the
sloop and among the rocks everything was blurred and indis-
tinct. He could hear the water lapping against the injured
hull, but he could not even see the crack. It was with his
hands that he had ascertained the bulging of the tarpaulin.
In the darkness it was impossible to make any effectual search
for rags of canvas or pieces of tow scattered over the rocks.
Who could find these waifs and stra3^s v'itliout being able to

TOILERS OF THE SEA 153

see his path ? Gilhatt looked sorrowfully at the sky : " All
those stars," he thought, " and yet no light ! "

The water in the hold having diminished, the pressure from
without increased. The bulging of the canvas became
greater and was constantly increasing, like a frightful ab-
scess about to burst. The situation, which had been im-
proved for a short time, began to be threatening.

Some means of stopping it effectually was absolutely neces-
sary. He had nothing left but his clothes, which he had
spread out to dry upon the projecting rocks of the Little
Douvre.

He hastened to fetch them and hung them on the gunwale
of the sloop.

Then he took his tarpaulin overcoat, and kneeling in the
water thrust it into the hole, and swelling the sail outward,
emptied it of water. To the tarpaulin coat he added the
sheepskin, then his Guernsey shirt, and then his jacket. The
hole held them all and more. He had nothing left but his
sailor's trousers, which he took off, and pushed in with the
other ai'ticles. This increased and strengthened the stuffing.

The stopper was made, and it seemed to be sufficient.

These clothes passed partly through the gap, the sail-
cloth outside enveloping them. The sea in its efforts to enter,
pressed against the obstacle, spread it over the gap, and
blocked it. It was a sort of exterior compression.

Inside, only the centre of the bulge having been driven
out, there remained all around the gap and the stuffing just
thrust through, a sort of circular pad formed by the tarpau-
lin, which was rendered still firmer by the irregularities of
the break in which it had become entangled.

The leak was stanched, but nothing could be more precari-
ous. Those sharp splinters which held the tarpaulin might
pierce it, thus making other holes by which the water would
enter; while he would not even perceive it in the dark-
ness.

There was little probability that the stuffing would last until
daylight, Gilhatt's anxiety changed in form; but he felt it

154 TOILERS OF THE SEA

increase all the more rapidly in proportion as he found his
strength failing him.

He had again set to work to bale out the hold, but his
arms, in spite of all his efforts, could scarcely lift a scoopful
of water. He was naked and shivering.

He felt as if the end was at hand.

One possible chance flashed across his mind. There might
be a sail in sight. Some fishing-boat might come to his as-
sistance. The moment had arrived when a help-mate was ab-
solutely necessary. With a man and a lantern, all might yet
be saved. If there were two persons, they might easily bale
the vessel. As the leak was stanched temporarily, as soon as
the vessel could be relieved of her burden, she would rise to
her usual level. The leak would then be above the surface
of the water, so repairs would be practicable, and he would
be able to replace the rags with a piece of plank. If not, it
would be necessary to wait till daylight, — to wait the whole
night long; a delay which might prove ruinous. Gilliatt was
in a fever of haste.

If by chance some ship's lantern should be in sight, Gilliatt
would be able to signal it from the top of the Great Douvre.
The weather was calm ; there was no wind or rolling sea ;
there was a possibility of the figure of a man being observed
moving against the background of the starry sky. A captain
of a ship, or even the master of a fishing-boat, would not be
in the vicinity of the Douvres at night without directing his
glass upon the rock, by way of precaution.

Gilliatt hoped that some one might notice him.

He climbed upon the wreck, grasped the knotted rope, and
climbed to the top of the Great Douvre.

Not a sail was visible in the horizon, nor a single ship's
lantern. The wide expanse, as far as eye could reach, was
deserted.

No assistance was possible, and no resistance was possible.

Gilliatt felt himself without resources, — a feeling which he
had not experienced until then.

A grim fatahty was now his master. In spite of all his

TOILERS OF THE SEA 155

labour, all his success, all his courage, he and his bark, with
its precious burden, were about to become the plaything of
the waves. He had no other means of continuing the strug-
gle. How could he prevent the tide from returning, the
water from rising, the darkness from continuing? The stuf-
fing he had made was his sole dependence. He had exhausted
and stripped himself in constructing and completing it ; he
could neither strengthen nor add to it. The stop-gap was
such that it must rejnain as it was, and any further efforts
would be useless. How would this inert obstacle work.'' It
was this obstacle, not Gilliatt, that would have to sustain the
combat now. The mere pressure of a wave would suffice to
re-open the fracture. It was simply a question of a little
more or less pressure.

Henceforth Gilliatt could neither aid his auxiliary, nor
hinder his adversary. He was now u mere spectator of this
struggle, though it was one of life or death for him. He, who
had maintained the struggle with such rare skill and intelli-
gence, was at the last moment compelled to resign all to a
mere blind resistance.

No trial, no terror that he had yet undergone, could be
compared with this.

From the time he had first taken up his abode upon the
Douvres, he had found himself environed, and as it were pos-
sessed by solitude. This solitude more than surrounded, it
enveloped him. A thousand dangers had menaced him. The
wind was always there, ready to buffet him ; the sea, ready to
roar. There was no stopping that terrible mouth, the wind;
no imprisoning that dread monster, the sea.

And yet he had striven undaunted. He, a solitary man,
had fought hand to hand with the ocean, had wrestled even
with the tempest.

There was no form of misery with which he had not be-
come familiar. He had been compelled to work without tools,
to move vast burdens without aid, to solve problems without
science, to eat and drink without provisions of any kind; to
fiad shelter and sleep.

156 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Upon that solitary rock, a dreary couch, he had been sub-
jected by turns to all the varied and cruel tortures of Nature,
who is oftentimes a kind mother, but quite as often a pitiless
destroyer.

He had conquered his isolation, conquered hunger, con-
quered thirst, conquered cold, conquered fever, conquered la-
bour, conquered sleep. He had encountered a mighty coali-
tion of obstacles formed to bar his progress. After liis priva-
tions, there were the elements to contend with ; after the sea,
the tempest ; after the tempest, the devil-fish ; after the mon-
ster, the spectre.

Ah, the dismal irony of the denouement. Upon this rock,
whence he had thought to depart triumphant, the spectre of
Clubin had arisen to mock him with a hideous smile.

The spectre had cause to sneer, for Gilliatt, too, was ruined.
He, too, like Clubin, Wo»3 in the clutches of death.

Winter, famine, fatigue, the dismemberment of the wreck,
the removal of the machinery, the equinoctial gale, the thun-
der, the sea-monster, were all as nothing compared with this
small fracture in a vessel's side.

One could fight against cold, with fire; against hunger,
with the shell-fish on the rocks ; against thirst, with the rain ;
against the difficulties of his great task, with industry and
energy ; against the sea and the storm, with the breakwater ;
against the devil-fish, with a trusty knife; but against the
terrible leak he had no weapon.

The hurricane had left him this grim farewell, this last
retort, this traitorous thrust, this treacherous side blow of a
vanquished foe. In its flight the tempest had turned and shot
this parting arrow behind it. i

It was possible to contend with the tempest, but how could
he hope to wrestle with the insidious enemy who now attacked
him?

If the leak re-opened, nothing could prevent the sloop from
foundering. It wovild be like the bursting of the ligature of
the artery ; and once under the water with its heavy burden,
no power could raise it. Was his noble struggle, and two

TOILERS OF THE SEA 157

months of herculean labour, to end in naught? To begin
again would be impossible. He had neither forge nor mate-
rials. By dawn, in all probability, he would see his work
swallowed up completely and irrevocably in the gulf.

How terrible, to feel that sombre power beneath him! to
see the ocean snatching his prize from his hands.

His bark ingulfed, there was nothing left for him but to
perish of cold and hunger, like the poor shipwrecked sailor on
" The Man " rock.

For two long months this desperate struggle had been
going on between the wide expanse of ocean, the waves, the
winds, and the lightnings, on one hand, and a man on the
other. On one hand the sea, on the other a human mind ; on
one hand the infinite, on the other a mere atom.

The battle had been fierce, and behold the abortive issue
of those prodigies of valour.

Must this unparalleled heroism end in utter powerlessness,
this formidable struggle end in impotent despair?

Gilliatt gazed wildly about him.

He had no clothing. He stood naked in the midst of that
immensity.

Then, overwhelmed by a consciousness of an unknown but
infinite power, bewildered by this relentless persecution, con-
fronted by the shadows of night and impenetrable darkness,
in the midst of the murmuring waves, the tossing foam, the
roaring surf, beneath the mighty firmament studded with
glittering constellations, and with the great unfathomable
deep around him, he sank down, gave up the struggle, and
throwing himself upon the rock with his face turned upward
to the stars, completely humbled, he lifted his clasped hands
to heaven, and cried aloud : " Have mercy ! "

Crushed to earth by that immensity, he prayed.

He was there alone, in the darkness, upon the rock, in the
open sea, stricken down with exhaustion like one smitten by
lightning, naked like the gladiator in the arena, save that
for an arena he had the vast horizon, instead of wild beasts,
the shadows of darkness, instead of the faces of the crowd.

158 TOILERS OF THE SEA

the eyes of the great Unknown, instead of the Vestals, the
stars, instead of Caesar, God !

His whole being seemed to dissolve in cold, fatigue, power-
lessness, prayer, and darkness, and his eyes closed.

CHAPTER VII

THE APPEAL IS HEARD

SEVERAL hours passed.
The sun rose in a cloudless sky.

Its first ray shone upon a motionless form on the Great
Douvre. It was Gilliatt.

He was still lying stretched out upon the rock.

He was naked, cold, and stiff ; but he did not shiver. His
closed eyelids were wan. It would have been difficult for a
beholder to determine whether the form before him was not a
corpse.

The sun seemed to be gazing down upon him.

If he were not dead, he was so near death that a single cold
blast would have sufficed to extinguish life.

The wind began to blow, warm and animating, — the re-
vivifying breath of spring.

Meanwhile the sun mounted higher in the clear, blue sky;
its light became warmth. It enveloped the slumbering form.

But Gilliatt did not move. If he breathed at all, it was
only with that feeble respiration which would scarcely sully
the surface of a mirror.

The sun continued its ascent ; its rays striking less and less
obliquely upon the naked man. The gentle breeze which had
been merely tepid, became hot.

The rigid and naked body still remained perfectly motion-
less, but the skin was less livid in hue.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 159

The sun, approaching the zenith, shone ahnost perpendicu-
larly upon the plateau of the Douvres. A flood of light de-
scended from the heavens ; the reflection from the glassy sea
increased its splendour; the rock itself imbibed the hot rays
and warmed the sleeper.

A sigh heaved his breast.

He lived.

The sun continued its kindly offices. The wind, which was
already the breath of summer and of noon, approached him
like loving lips that breathed softly upon him.

Gilliatt moved.

The sea was perfectly calm. Its murmur was like the dron-
ing of a nurse beside a sleeping infant. The rock seemed
cradled in the waves.

The sea-birds, who knew that recumbent form, fluttered
around it, — not with their former wild astonishment, but with
a sort of fraternal tenderness. They uttered plaintive cries:
they seemed to be calling to him.

A sea-mew, who no doubt knew him, was tame enough to
approach him. It began to caw gently, as if talking to him.

The sleeper seemed not to hear. The bird hopped upon
his shoulder, and pecked his lips softly.

Gilliatt opened his eyes.

The birds, content and shy, dispersed, chattering wildly.

Gilliatt arose, stretched himself like a roused lion, ran to
the edge of the platform, and looked down into the gulf be-
tween the two Douvres.

The sloop was there, intact ; the stopper had not failed him ;
the sea had probably disturbed it but little.

All was well.

His weariness was forgotten. His strength had returned.
His swoon had ended in a refreshing sleep.

He descended and baled out the sloop, thus raising the
leak above the water-line, dressed himself, ate, drank some
water, and gave thanks.

The gap in the side of the vessel, examined In broad day-
light, was found to require more labour than he had thought.

160 TOILERS OF THE SEA

It was a serious fracture. The entire day would be consumed
in repairing it.

At daybreak the next morning, after removing the barrier
and re-opening the entrance to the gorge, dressed in the tat-
tered clothing which had served to stop the leak, with Clubin's
belt containing the seventy-five thousand francs, around his
waist, standing erect in the sloop, now thoroughly repaired,
beside the machinery he had rescued, with a favourable breeze
and a calm sea, Gilllatt pushed off from the Douvres.

He headed the sloop straight for Guernsey.

Had any one chanced to be on the Douvres at the moment
of the sloop's departure, he would have heard Gilliatt singing,
in an undertone, the air of " Bonnie Dundee."

PART III

DERUCHETTE

BOOK I
NIGHT AND THE MOON

CHAPTER I

THE HARBOR BELL.

THE St. Sampson of the present day is almost a -^iXy ; the
St. Sampson of forty years ago was httle more than a
village.

When the winter was ended and spring had come, the in-
habitants were not long out of bed after sundown. St. Samp-
son was an ancient parish which had long been accustomed to
the sound of the curfew-bell, and which had a traditional
habit of blowing out the candle at an early hour. The people
there went to bed and got up with the sun. These old Nor-
man villages are wonderfully successful with poultry.

The people of St. Sampson, except a few rich families
among the townsfolk, are also a population of quarrymen and
carpenters. The port is a great port for repairs. The quar-
rying of stone and the fashioning of timber go on all day
long; here stands a labourer with his pickaxe, there a work-
11 161

162 TOILERS OF THE SEA

man with his mallet. At night they are ready to drop with
fatigue, and sleep like lead. Heavy labour brings heavy
slumbers.

One evening, in the early part of the month of May, after
watching the crescent moon for some instants through the
trees, and listening to the step of Deruchette walking along
in the cool air in the garden of the Bravees, Mess Lethierry
had returned to his room overlooking the harbour, and had
retired to rest. Douce and Grace were already in bed. The
entire household was asleep with the exception of Deruchette.
The doors and shutters were everywhere closed. The streets
were silent and deserted. Some few lights, like winking eyes
about to close in rest, showed here and there in windows in
the roofs, indicating that the domestics were going to bed.
Nine had already struck in the old Romanesque belfry,
wreathed in ivy, which shares with the church of St. Brelade
at Jersey the peculiarity of having for its date four ones
(IIII), used to signify the year eleven hundred and eleven.

The popularity of Mess Lethierry at St. Sampson had been
founded on his success. His success at an end, his popularity
departed. One might almost imagine that ill-fortune is con-
tagious, and that the unsuccessful have a plague, so rapidly
are they put in quarantine. The young men of well-to-do
families avoided Deruchette. The isolation around the Bi'a-
vecs was so complete that its inmates had not even heard the
news of the great local event which had that day set all St.
Sampson in a ferment. The rector of the parish, the Rev.
Ebenezer Caudray, had become rich. His uncle, the noted
Dean of St. Asaph, had just died in London. The news had
been brought by the mail sloop, the " Cashmere," arrived
from England that very morning, and the mast of which
could be seen in the harbour of St. Peter's Port. The " Cash-
mere " was to sail for Southampton at noon on the morrow,
and would, so rumour said, convey the reverend gentleman,
who had been suddenly summoned to England, to be present
at the official opening of the will, not to speak of other urgent
matters connected with an important inheritance. All day

TOILERS OF THE SEA 163

long St. Sampson had been conversing excitedly upon this
subject. The " Cashmere," the Rev. Ebenezer, his deceased
uncle, his wealth, his speedy departure, his possible preferment
in the future, had formed the foundation cf this perpetual
buzzing. One solitary house, still uninformed on these mat-
ters, had remained unperturbed. This was the Bravees.

Mess Lethierry had thrown himself in his hammock all
dressed as he was.

Since the accident to the Durande, his hammock had been
his only consolation. Every prisoner has the privilege of
stretching himself out on his pallet, and Mess Lethierry was
the prisoner of grief. To go to bed was a truce, a gain in
breathing time, a suspension of thought. He neither slept
nor watched. Strictly speaking, for two months and a half,
or ever since his misfortune had befallen him. Mess Lethierry
had been in a sort of a dream. He had not yet regained pos-
session of his faculties. He was in that cloudy and confused
condition of mind with which those who have undergone over-
whelming afflictions are familiar. His reflections were not
thought, his sleep was not repose. He was not awake by day
or asleep by night. He was up, and then went to rest, — that
was all. When he was in his hammock forgetfulness came to
him. He called that sleeping. Chimeras floated about him,
and within him. A nocturnal cloud, full of confused faces,
flitted through his brain. Sometimes it was the Emperor
Napoleon dictating to him the story of his life ; sometimes
there were several Deruchettes ; strange birds peopled the
trees ; the streets of Lons-le-Saulnier turned into serpents.
Such nightmares as these were brief respites in his despair.
He spent his nights in dreaming, and his days in reverie.

Sometimes he remained all the afternoon at the window of
his room, which overlooked the harbour, with his head droop-
ing, his elbows on the sill, his ears resting on his fists, his back
turned to the whole world, his eyes fixed on tlie old massive
iron ring fastened in the wall of the house, only a few feet
from his window, where he used to moor the Durande. He was
looking at the rust which gathered on the ring.

164 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He was reduced to the mere mechanical habit of living.

The bravest men, when deprived of their most cherished
hope, often come to this. His life had become a void. Life
is a voyage ; the idea is the itinerary. The plan of their
course gone, they stop. Tlie object is lost, the strength of
purpose gone. Fate has a secret discretionary power. It is
able to touch even our mental being with its rod. Despair is
destitution of the soul. Only the greatest minds can resist it.

Mess Lethierry was always meditating, — if absorption can
be called meditation, — in the depths of a sort of cloudy abyss.
Broken words like these sometimes escaped him. " There is
nothing left for me now, but to ask for leave to go."

There was a certain contradiction in that nature, complex
as the sea, of which Mess Lethierry was, so to speak, the prod-
uct. Mess Lethierry's grief did not seek relief in prayer.

To be powerless is almost a comfort under some circum-
stances. In the presence of those two relentless powers — des-
tiny and Nature — it is by his very powerlessness that man
has been led to seek support in prayer.

Man seeks relief from his terror; his anxiety bids him
kneel.

Prayer, that wondrous power peculiar to the soul, is ad-
dressed to the magnanimity of the Invisible; it gazes into
mystery with the very eyes of the grave, and before this po-
tent fixity of regard and supplication, we feel a possible dis-
armament of the Unknown.

The mere possibility of such a thing is a consolation.

But Mess Lethierry prayed not.

In the days when he was happy, God had been a palpable
presence to him. Lethierry addressed him almost familiarly,
pledged his word to him, seemed at times to hold close inter-
course with him. But in the hour of his misfortune, the idea
of God had become eclipsed in his mind, — a phenomenon
which is not infrequent. This almost invariably happens
when the mind has created for itself a deity invested with
human attributes.

In his present frame of mind there was but one thing of

TOILERS OF THE SEA 165

which Lethierry was clearly cognizant, — the smile of Deru-
chette. Everything else was dim and shadowy.

For some time, apparently on account of the loss of the
Durande, and of the blow which it had been to them, this
pleasant smile had been rare. She seemed always thoughtful.
Her bird-like playfulness, her child-like ways, were gone. She
was never seen now in the morning, at the sound of the cannon
which announced daj^break, saluting the rising sun with
" Boom ! Daylight ! Come in, please ! " At times her ex-
pression was very serious, — an unusual thing for that sweet
nature. She sometimes made an effort, however, to laugh be-
fore Mess Lethierry, and to divert him ; but her cheerfulness
diminished from day to day, — grew dim like the wing of an
empaled butterfly. Either through sorrow for her uncle's
sorrow, — for there are griefs which are the reflections of other
griefs, — or for some other reason, she about this time became
very religiously inclined. In the time of the old rector, M.
Jaqueim Herode, she scarcely went to church, as we have al-
ready said, four times a year ; now, on the contrary, she was
assiduous in her attendance at church. She missed no service,
either Sunday or Thursday. Pious souls in the parish noted
this fact with great satisfaction. It is a great blessing when
a girl who runs so many risks in the world turns her thoughts
towards God.

It at least enables the poor parents to feel easy on the sub-
ject of love-making.

In the evening, whenever the weather permitted, she walked
for an hour or two in the garden of the Bravees. She was
almost as quiet there as Mess Lethierry, and almost always
alone. Deruchette went to bed last. This, however, did not
prevent Douce and Grace from watching her a little, with that
instinct for spying which is common to servants. Spying is
such a relaxation after household work.

As for Mess Lethierry, in the abstracted state of his mind,
these little changes in Dervichette's habits escaped him. More-
over, his nature had little in common with the duenna. He
had not even remarked her regular attendance at church. Te-

1G6 TOILERS OF THE SEA

riaclous of his prejudices against the clergy and their sermons,
he would scarcely liave approved such close attendances at the
parish church.

Not that his own moral condition was not undergoing
change however. Sorrow often undergoes a marked change
in its form.

Robust natures, as we have said, are sometimes almost over-
whelmed by sudden great misfortunes ; but not quite. ]\Ianly
characters, such as Lethierry's, experience a reaction in a
given time. Sorrow has many different stages. From utter
despair we rise to dejection; from dejection to grief; from
grief to melancholy. Melanclioly is a twilight state ; suffering
melts into it and becomes a gloomy joy.
Melancholy is the pleasure of being sad.
Such moods were not for Lethierry. Neither the nature of
his temperament nor the character of his misfortune suited
those delicate shades. But at the time of which we speak his
apathy had begun to wear off a little, leaving him no less sad,
however. He was just as inactive, and quite as dull; but he
was no longer overwhelmed. A certain perception of events
and circumstances was returning to him, and he began to
experience something that might be called a return to reaKty.
Thus by day in the great lower room, though he did not
listen to the words of those about him, he heard them. Grace
came one morning, quite exultant, to tell Deruchette that he
had undone the cover of a newspaper.

This half acceptance of realities is in itself a good symptom,
' — a token of convalescence. Great afflictions produce a stu-
por; it is by such little acts that men return to their former
pelves. This improvement, however, is at first only an aggra-
vation of the evil. The dreamy condition of mind in which
the sufferer has lived, served, while it lasted, to blunt his
grief. His sight before was dim. He felt little. Now his
view is clear, nothing escapes him ; and his wounds re-open.
Every detail that he notices serves to remind him of his sor-
row. He lives over everything again in memory ; every recol-
lection is a pang. All kinds of bitter aftertastes lurk in that

TOILERS OF THE SEA 167

return to life. He is better, and yet worse. Such was the
condition of Lethierry. In returning to consciousness, his
sufferings liad become more keen.

It was a sudden shock that first recalled him to a sense of
reality.

One afternoon, between the 15th and 20th of April, a
double-knock at the door of the great lower room of the
Bravees had signalled the arrival of the postman. Douce had
opened the door ; there was a letter.

The letter came from beyond the sea; it was addressed to
Mess Lethierry, and bore the postmark " Lisbon."

Douce had taken the letter to Mess Lethierry, who was
in his room. He took it, placed it mechanically on the table,
and did not look at it.

The letter remained an entire week upon the table without
being opened.

It happened, however, one morning that Douce said to
Mess Lethierry : —

" Shall I brush the dust off your letter, sir.'' "

Lethierry seemed to arouse from his lethargy.

" Ay, ay ! You are right," he said ; and he opened the
letter, and read as follows : —

At Sea, 10th March.
To Mess Lethierry of St. Sampson: —

You will be gratified to receive news of me. I am aboard the
" Tamaulipas," boimd for the port of " No-return." Among tlie crew
is a sailor named Ahier-Tostevin, from Guernsey, who will return, and
will have some facts to communicate to you. I take the opportunity
of our speaking a vessel, the " Hernan Cortes," bound for Lisbon, to
forward you this letter.

You will be astonished to learn that I am an honest man.

As honest as Sieur Clubin.

I am almost sure that you know of certain recent events ere this;
nevertheless, it is, perhaps, not altogether superfluous to send you a
full account of them.

To proceed:

I have returned your money.

Some years ago, I borrowed from you, under rather unfortunate cir-
cumstances, the sum of fifty thousand francs. Before leaving St. Malo
lately, I paid into the hands of your confidential man of business, Sieur
Clubin, on your account, three bank-notes of one thousand pounds each;

168 TOILERS OF THE SEA

making together seventy-five thousand francs. You will no doubt find
this reimbursement sufficient.

Sieur Clubin acted for you, and received your money, in a remark-
ably energetic manner; indeed, he seemed to me singularly zealous.
This is, indeed, my reason for apprising you of the facts.

Your other confidential man of business,

Raisttaine,

Postscript. — Sieur Clubin was in possession of a revolver, which may
explain to your satisfaction the fact of my having no receipt.

One who has touched a torpedo, or a Ley den- jar fully
charged, may form some idea of the effect the reading of
this letter produced on Mess Lethierry.

This common-place looking missive to v.'hich he had at first
paid so little attention, contained a veritable thundei'bolt.

He recognized the writing and the signature. As for the
facts to which the letter referred, he did not understand them
in the least. But the excitement of the event soon set his
mind to working again.

The most potent part of the shock he had received lay In
the mystery of the seventy-five thousand francs intrusted by
Rantaine to Clubin. This was an enigma which taxed Lethi-
erry's brain to the uttermost. Conjecture is a healthy occu-
pation for the mind. Reason is awakened ; logic is called into
play.

For some time past public opinion in Guernsey had been
undergoing a reaction on the subject of Clubin, — the man
who had enjoyed such a high reputation for honour for so
many years, the man so unanimously regarded with esteem.
People had begun to question and to doubt ; there were wagers
for and against. Some new light had been thrown on the
question in singular ways. The character of Clubin began
to become clearer, — that is to say, he began to appear blacker
in the eyes of the world.

A judicial inquiry had taken place at St. Malo, for the
purpose of ascertaining what had become of coast-guardsman
No. 619. Legal perspicacity had got upon a false scent, — a
thing which frequently happens. It had started with the
hypothesis that the man had been enticed away by Zuela, and

TOILERS OF THE SEA 169

had shipped aboard the " Tamaulipas " for Chili. This in-
genious supposition led to a considerable amount of wasted
conjecture. The short-sighted authorities had failed to take
any note of Rantaine ; but as the inquiry progressed, other
clews were developed and the affair became complicated. Clu-
bin, too, became mixed up with the enigma. A coincidence,
perhaps a direct connection, had been found between the de-
parture of the " Tamaulipas " and the loss of the Durande.
At the wine-shop near the Dinan Gate, where Clubin thought
himself entirely unknown, he had been recognized. The
keeper of the wine-shop said that Clubin had bought a bottle
of brandy that night. For whom.'' The gunsmith of St.
Vincent street, too, had talked ; Clubin had purchased a re-
volver of him. For what purpose .f* The landlord of the
Auberge Jean had talked: Clubin had absented himself in
an inexplicable manner. Captain Gertrais-Gaboureau had
talked : Clubin had determined to start, although he had been
M'arned, and knew that he might expect a great fog. The
crew of the Durande had talked. In fact, the collection of
freight had been strangely neglected, and the cargo badly
stowed, — a neglect easy to comprehend, if the captain had
determined to wreck the ship. The Guernsey passenger, too,
had talked: Clubin had evidently believed that he had run
upon the Hanways. The Torteval people had talked : Clubin
had visited that neighbourhood a few days before the loss of
the Durande, and had been seen walking in the direction of
Pleinmont, near the Hanways. He had a travelling-bag
with him. " He had set out with it, and come back with-
out it." The birds'-nesters had talked; their story might be
connected with Clubin's disappearance, — that is, if the lads'
supposed ghosts were in reality smugglers. Finally, the
haunted house of Pleinmont itself had spoken. Persons who
were determined to get information had climbed up and
entered the windows, and had found inside, what? The very
travelling-bag which had been seen in Sieur Clubin's pos-
session. The authorities of the Douzaine of Torteval had
taken possession of the bag and had opened it. It was found

170 TOILERS OF THE SEA

to contain provisions, a telescope, a chronometer, a man's
clothing, and linen marked with Clubin's initials. All this,
according to the gossips of St. Malo and Guernsey, began to
look more and more like a case of fraud. Obscure hints were
brought together; there seemed to have been a singular dis-
regard of advice on Clubin's part ; a willingness to encounter
the dangers of the fog ; a suspected negligence in the stowage
of the cargo. Then there was the mysterious bottle of
brandy; a drunken helmsman; a substitution of the captain
for the helmsman ; a management of the rudder, that was, to
say the least, very unskilful. The heroism of remaining be-
hind upon the wreck began to look like knavery. Besides,
Clubin had evidently been deceived as to the rock he was on.
If he had really intended to wreck the vessel, it was easy to
understand the choice of the Hanways, as the shore could
easily be reached by swimming, and he could conceal himself
in the haunted house while awaiting an opportunity for flight.
The travelling-bag, that suspicious preparation, completed the
proof. By what link this affair became connected with the
aff'air of the disappearance of the coast-guardsman nobody
knew. People imagined some connection, and that was all.
They had a glimpse in their minds of look-out-man. No. 619,
alongside of the mysterious Clubin, — quite a tragic drama.
Perhaps Clubin was not an actor in it, but his presence was
visible in the side scenes.

The supposition of a wilful destruction of the Durande
did not explain everything however. There was a revolver
in the story, with no part as yet assigned to it. The revolver
was probably connected with the other affair.

The scent of the public is keen and true. Its instinct
excels in these piecemeal discoveries of truth. Still, amid
these facts, which seemed to point pretty clearly to a case of
barratry, there were many uncertainties.

Everything was consistent, everything coherent; but a
reason was lacking.

People do not wreck vessels merely for the pleasure of
wrecking them. Men do not run all these risks of fog, rocks,

TOILERS OF THE SEA 171

swimming, concealment, and flight without an object. What
could have been Clubin's object?

The act seemed evident, but the motive was puzzling.

Hence a doubt in many minds. Where there is no motive,
it is natural to infer that there was no act.

The missing link was important. The letter from Ran-
taine seemed to supply it.

This letter furnished a motive for Clubin's supposed crime :
seventy-five thousand francs to be appropriated.

Rantaine was the Dues ex machina. He had descended
from the clouds with a lantern in his hand. His letter threw
a light upon the aifair. It explained everything, and even
promised a witness in the person of Ahier-Tostevin.

The part the revolver had played in the affair was now
apparent.

Rantaine's letter explained the mystery.

There could be no possible palliation of Clubin's crime.
He had premeditated the shipwreck ; the preparations dis-
covered in the haunted house were conclusive proofs of
that.

Even supposing him innocent, and admitting the wreck to
have been accidental, would he not, at the last moment, when
he determined to sacrifice himself with the vessel, have in-
trusted the seventy-five thousand francs to the men who es-
caped in the long-boat? The evidence was remarkably com-
plete. But what had become of Clubin? He had doubtless
become a victim of his blunder. He had probably perished
upon the Douvres.

These numerous surmises, which really were not far from
the truth, had been engrossing Mess Lethierry's mind for
several days. The letter from Rantaine had done him tlie
service of setting him to thinking. At first he was over-
whelmed with surprise ; then he made an effort to reflect. He
made another effort more difficult still, — that of inquiry. He
was induced to listen, and even engage in conversation. At
the end of a week, he had become, to a certain degree, himself
again ; his thoughts had regained their coherence, and he was

172 TOILERS OF THE SEA

almost restored. He had emerged from his confused and
troubled state.

Even if Mess Lethierry had ever entertained any hope of
recovering his money, Rantaine's letter destroyed all chance
of that.

It added to the catastrophe of the Durande this new loss
of seventy-five thousand francs. It put him in possession of
that amount just so far as to make him sensible of its loss.
The letter revealed the full extent of his ruin.

After this, he experienced a new and poignant misery.
When he began to take an interest in his household, to try
and determine what it was to be in the future, and how he
was to set things in order, — matters of which he had taken
no heed for two months past, — these trifling cares wounded
him like a thousand tiny pin-points, worse in the aggregate
than the old despair. A sorrow is doubly burdensome Avhich
has to be endured in each particular, and while one is dis-
puting inch by inch with fate for ground already lost. Ruin
is endurable in the mass, but not in the dust and fragments of
the fallen edifice. The great fact may overwhelm, but the
details torture.

Humiliation tends to aggravate the blow. A second
catastrophe follows the first, with even more repulsive fea-
tures. You descend one degree nearer to annihilation. The
winding-sheet becomes changed to sordid rags.

No thought is more bitter than that of one's gradual fall
from a social position.

To be ruined does not seem to be such a terrible thing. A
violent shock, a cruel turn of fortune's wheel, an overwhelming
catastrophe, — be it so. We submit, and all is over. You
are ruined ; you are dead. No ; you are still living. On tlic
morrow you know it only to well. How,? By a thousand
pin-pricks ? Yonder passer-by omits to bow to you ; the
tradesmen's bills rain down upon you ; and yonder stands one
of your enemies, smiling malevolently. Perhaps he is really
thinking of Arnal's last pun ; but it is all the same to 3'ou.
The pun would not have seemed so inimitable to him but for

TOILERS OF THE SEA 173

your ruin. You read your own sudden insignificance even in
looks of indifference. Friends who used to dine at your table
become of the opinion that three courses were an extravagance.
Your faults are patent to the eyes of everybody ; ingratitude
having nothing more to expect, proclaims itself openly ; every
idiot predicted your misfortunes. The malicious tear you to
pieces ; those w ho are even more malicious profess to pity you.
And then come a hundred paltry details. Nausea succeeds
to grief. You have been wont to indulge in wine ; you must
now drink cider. Two servants, — two ! Why, one will be
too many. It will be necessary to discharge this one, and get
rid of that one. Flowers in your garden are superfluous ; you
should plant it with potatoes. You used to make presents of
your fruits to friends ; you must send them to market here-
after. As to the poor, it will be absurd to think of giving any-
thing to them. Are you not poor yourself .? And then there
is the painful question of dress. To have to deny your wife
a ribbon, what torture ! To have to refuse a dress to one who
has made you a gift of her beauty ; to haggle over such mat-
ters, like a miser ! Perhaps she will say to you, " What ! rob
my garden of its flowers, and now refuse me one for my bon-
net ! " Ah me ! to have to condemn her to shabby dresses. The
family table is silent. You fancy that those seated around it
think harshly of you. Beloved faces have become clouded.
This is what is meant by falling fortunes. It is to die daily.
To be struck down is like a blast from a furnace ; to decay like
this is like being burned by inches.

An overwhelming blow is a sort of Waterloo, a slow decay,
a St. Helena. Destiny, in the guise of Wellington, still has
some dignity ; but how sordid it appears in the shape of Hud-
son Lowe. Fate then becomes a paltry huckster. We find
the man of Campo Formio quarrelling about a pair of stock-
ings ; we see that dwarfing of Napoleon which degrades Eng-
land even more.

Waterloo and St. Helena ! Reduced to humbler propor-
tions, every ruined man has passed through those two phases.

On the evening which we have mentioned, and which was

174 TOILERS OF THE SEA

one of the first evenings in May, Lethierry, leaving Deruchette
to walk alone by moonlight in the garden, had gone to bed
more depressed than ever.

All these sordid and repulsive details connected with
pecuniary misfortunes ; all these petty cares, which are at
first merely tiresome, but subsequently harassing, were re-
volving in his mind. A dull load of misery ! Mess Lethierry
felt that his fall was irremediable. What could he do?
What would become of them? What privations would he be
compelled to impose on Deruchette? Whom should he dis-
charge,— Douce or Grace? Would they have to sell the
Bravees? Would they not be compelled to leave the island?
To be nothing where he had been everything, — it was a ter-
rible fall indeed !

And to know that the good old times had gone forever!
To recall those j ourneys to and fro, uniting France with these
numerous islands ; the Tuesday's departure, the Friday's re-
turn, the crowd on the quay, the large cargoes, the industry,
the prosperity, that proud direct navigation, that machinery
embodying the will of man, that all-powerful boiler! The
steamboat is really only the compass perfected, inasmuch as
the needle indicates the direct course, and the steam-vessel
follows it. One suggests, the other executes. Where was she
now, his Durande, that mistress of the seas, that queen who
had made him a king? To have been so long the leading man
on the island, a successful man too, a man who had revolu-
tionized navigation ; and then to have to give up everything,
— to abdicate I To cease to exist, to become a by-word, a
laughing stock ! To become a thing of the past, after having
so long represented the future. To be degraded to an object
of pity to fools, to witness the triumph of routine, obstinac}',
conservatism, selfishness, ignorance ! To see the old barbarous
sailing cutters crawling to and fro upon the sea ; to see old
prejudices revive again; to have wasted a whole lifetime; to
have been a shining light, and then suffer this eclipse. All,
what a fine sight it was upon the waves, that noble funnel,
that huge cylinder, that pillar with its column of smoke, — a

TOILERS OF THE SEA 175

column grander than that on the Place Vendome; for on that
there was only a figure of a man, while on this stood Progress.
The ocean was subdued ; it was certainty upon the open sea.
And had all this been witnessed in that little island, in that
little harbour, in that little town of St. Sampson? Yes; it
had been witnessed. And could it be, that having seen it, it
had all vanished to be seen no more.''

This series of regrets tortured Lethierry. There is such
a thing as a mental sobbing. Never, perhaps, had he felt
his misfortunes more acutely. A sort of numbness follows
this acute suffering. Under this burden of sorow, he grad-
ually sank into a doze.

For about two hours he remained in this state, feverish,
sleeping a little, dreaming a good deal. Such torpor is ac-
companied with a feverish action of the brain, which is in-
expressibly wearisome. Towards the middle of the night, a
little before or a little after midnight, he shook off his leth-
argy, aroused himself, and opened his eyes. His window
was directly in front of his hammock. He saw something
extraordinary.

A form stood in front of his window, — a marvellous
form. It was the funnel of a steam-vessel.

Mess Lethierry started, and sat upright in bed. The
hammock oscillated like a bough in a tempest. Lethierry
stared.

A vision filled the window-frame. There was the harbour
flooded with moonlight, and in the glitter, close to his
house, stood out, tall and round and black, a magnificent
object.

The funnel of a steamboat !

Lethierry sprang out of his hammock, ran to the window,
lifted the sash, leaned out, and recognized it.

It was the smoke-pipe of the Durande he saw. It stood in
the old place.

Four chains supported it, made fast to the bulwarks of a
vessel, the irregular outlines of which he could dimly dis-
tinguish beneath the funnel.

176 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Lethierry recoiled, turned his back to the window, and
dropped in a sitting posture into his hammock again.
Then he returned, and once again beheld the vision.
An instant afterwards, or in about the time occupied by
a flash of Mghtning, he was out on the quay, with a lantern
in his hand.

A large sloop laden with some big unwieldy object, out
of which rose the smoke-stack he had seen from the window
of the Bravees, was made fast to the mooring-ring of the
Durande. The bows of the sloop extended beyond the corner
of the house, and were level with the quay.
There was no one aboard.

The vessel was of peculiar shape. Any Guernsey man
would have recognized it. It was the old Dutch sloop.

Lethierry jumped aboard, and ran forward to the mass
which he saw beyond the mast.

The boiler was there, entire, complete, intact, standing
square and firm upon its cast-iron flooring. Not a rivet
was missing; the axle of the paddle-wheels had been lifted
and made fast near the boiler ; the pump was in place ; nothing
was lacking.

Lethierry examined the machinery.
The lantern and the moon helped him in his scrutiny.
He went over every part of the machinery.
He noted the two cases on the sides of the vessel. He
examined the axle of the wheels.

He went into the little cabin ; it was empty.
He returned to the engine, and felt it, looked into the boiler,
and knelt down to examine it inside.

He placed his lantern inside the furnace, where the light,
illuminating all the machinery, produced almost the illusion
of an engine-room with its fire.

Then he burst into a wild laugh, sprang to his feet, and
with his eyes fixed on the engine, and his arms outstretched
towards the funnel, he cried aloud, " Help, help ! "

The harbour bell was on the quay, a few yards away.
He ran to it, seized the rope, and began to pull it.
violently.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 177

CHAPTER II

THE HARBOUR BELL AGAIN

GILLIATT, after a passage that was uneventful but
rather slow on account of the heavy cargo he had
aboard, reached St. Sampson after dark, and at nearer ten
than nine o'clock.

He had calculated the time. The half-flood had arrived.
There was plenty of water, and the moon was shining; so
he was able to enter the port without difficulty.

The little harbour was silent. A few vessels were moored
there, with their sails brailed up to the yards, the yards on
the caps, and without lanterns. At the far end a few others
were visible, high and dry in the careenage, where they were
undergoing repairs, — large hulls dismasted and stripped,
with their planking open at various parts and looking like
huge dead beetles lying on their backs with their legs in the
air.

As soon as he had passed the mouth of the harbour, Gil-
liatt examined the port and the quay. There was no light
to be seen either at the Bravees or elsewhere. The place was
deserted, save, perhaps, by some one going or returning from
the parsonage; i.or was it possible to be sui'e of this even; for
the night blurred every outline, and the moonlight always
gives to obj ects a vague appearance. ^he distance added
to the indistinctness. The parsonage at that time was situ-
ated on the other side of the harbour, where a shipyard now
stands.

Gilliatt approached the Bravees quietly, and made the
sloop fast to the ring of the Durande, under Mess Lethierry's
window. Then he leaped over the bulwarks to the shore.

Leaving the sloop behind him at the quay, he turned the

corner of tlie house, passed up a little narrow street, then

along anotlicr, did not even notice the pathway which branched
12

178 TOILERS OF THE SEA

off leading to tlie Bu de la Rue, and in a few minutes found
himself at that corner of the wall where in June there were
wild mallows with pink flowers, as well as holly, ivy, and
nettles. Many a time seated on a stone, behind the bushes, on
summer days, he had watched here for hours, even for whole
months through a gap in the wall the garden of the Bravees
and the two windows of a little room seen through the branches
of the trees. The stone was thei-e still, and the bushes, the
low place in the wall, and the garden, as quiet and dark as
ever. Like an animal returning to its lair, gliding rather
than walking, he made his way in. Once seated there, he
made no sound, but looked around, and beheld again the
garden, the pathways, the flower-beds, the house, the two
windows of the chamber. The moon flooded the scene with
lier silvery light. Gilliatt scarcely dared to breathe, and did
all he could to prevent it.

He seemed to be gazing on a vision of paradise, and was
afraid that it would vanish. It seemed almost impossible
that these things could be really before his eyes ; and if they
were, it could only be with that imminent danger of melting
into air which belongs to things divine. A breath, and the
vision would fade away. He shuddered at the thought.

Before him, not far off, on the side of one of the paths
in the garden, was a wooden bench painted green. The
reader will remember this seat.

Gilliatt looked up at the two windows. He thought of
the slumber of one who was possibly in that room. Be-
hind that wall she was no doubt sleeping. He wished him-
self elsewhere, yet would sooner have died than go away. He
pictured her lying there, her bosom rising softly with her
gentle breathing. It was she, — that beauteous vision, that
creature of spotless purity whose image haunted him day and
night. She was there ! He thought of her so far removed,
and yet so near as to be almost within reach of his ecstasy.
He thought of that fair being so long and ardently desired,
so distant, so impalpable, with closed eyelids, and face resting
on her hand; of the mystery of sleep in its relations with

TOILERS OF THE SEA 179

that pure spirit, of what dreams niiglit come to one who was
herself a dream. He dared not think heyond, and yet he did.
He ventured on those famiharities which a lover's fancy
prompts ; the thought of how much of the woman there
might be in this angelic being disturbed his thoughts. The
darkness of night emboldens timid imaginations to take these
furtive glances. He was vexed with himself, feeling on re-
litction as if it were profanity to think of her so boldly ; yet
still constrained, in spite of himself, he tremblingly gazed into
the invisible. He shuddered almost with a sense of pain as
he pictured her room, a skirt hanging on a chair, a mantle
fallen on the carpet, a belt unbuckled, a handkerchief. He
imagined her corset with its lacing trailing on the ground,
her stockings, her little shoes. His soul was among the stars.

The stars are made for the human heart of a poor man
like Gilliatt no less than for that of the rich and great.
There is a certain degree of passion by which every man be-
comes enveloped in a celestial light. With a rough and
primitive nature, this truth is even more applicable. An
uncultivated mind is especially susceptible to such fancies.

Delight is a fulness which overflows like any other. To see
those windows was almost too much happiness for Gilliatt.

Suddenly, he beheld the object of this thoughts before
him.

From the branches of a clump of bushes, already densely
covered with foliage, issued with spectral slowness a celestial
figure, a divine face.

Gilliatt felt his strength failing him. It was Deruchette.

Deruchette approached, then paused, walked back a few
yards, stopped again, then returned and seated herself upon
the wooden bench. The moon shone brightly through the
branches, a few clouds floated among the pale stars ; the sea
murmured to the shadows in an undertone, the town was
sleeping, a thin haze was rising from the horizon, the melan-
choly was profound. Deruchette inclined her head, with tliose
thoughtful e^'es which gaze intently yet see nothing. She
had nothing on her head but a little cap which showed the

180 TOILERS OF THE SEA

beginning of her hair upon her delicate neck. As she sat
twisting one of her ribbon strings of her cap mechanically
around her finger the hall light made her hands seem like
those of a statue; her dress was of one of those shades that
look white at night: the trees stirred as if they felt the en-
chantment which she shed around her. The tip of one foot
was visible. Her lowered eyelids had that vague contraction
which suggests a tear checked in its course, or a thought
suppressed. There was a charming indecision in the move-
ments of her arms, which had no support to lean on; a sort
of floating grace mingled wath every posture ; the folds of her
dress were exquisite ; her face, which might inspire adoration,
was meditative, like portraits of the Virgin. It was terrible to
think how near she was : Gilliatt could hear her breathe.

A nightingale was singing in the distance. The soft whis-
pering of the breezes among the branches only seemed to in-
tensify the silence of the night. Deruchette, beautiful, divine,
looked in the dim light like a creation from those rays and
from the perfumes in the air. That wide-spread enchantment
seemed to concentrate and embody itself mysteriously in her ;
she became its living manifestation. She seemed the out-
blossoming of all that shadow and silence.

But the shadow and silence which floated so lightly about
ner weighed heavily on Gilliatt. He was bewildered; what
he experienced is not to be told in words. Emotion is always
new, and the word is always enough. Hence the impossibility
of expressing it. Joy is sometimes overwhelming. To see
Deruchette, to see her herself, to see her dress, her cap, her
ribbon, which she twined around her finger, — was it possible
to imagine it.? Was it possible to be thus near her; to hear
her breathe? She breathed ! then the stars might breathe also.
Gilliatt felt a thrill through him. He was the most miserable
and yet the happiest of men. He knew not what to do. His
dehrious joy at seeing her annihilated him. Was it indeed
Deruchette there, and he so near? His thoughts, bewildered
and yet intent, were fascinated by that figure as by a dazzling
jewel. He gazed upon her neck — her hair. He did not

TOILERS OF THE SEA 181

even say to himself that all this would soon belong to him,
that before long, — to-morrow, perhaps, — he would have the
right to take off that cap, to unknot that ribbon. He was
not guilty of the audacity of even thinking of such a thing.
Touching in fancy is almost like touching with the hand.
Love was to Gilliatt like honey to the bear, — an exquisite
dream. He thought confusedly ; he knew not what possessed
him. The nightingale sang on. He felt as if he were
breathing his very life out.

The idea of rising, of jumping over the wall, of speak-
ing to Deruchette, never once occurred to him. If it had, he
would have turned and fled. If anything resembling a
thought had begun to dawn in his mind, it was this : that
Deruchette was there, that he asked nothing more, and that
eternity had begun.

A noise aroused them both, her from her reverie, him from
his ecstasy.

Some one was walking in the garden though it was im-
possible to see who was approaching on account of the trees.
It was certainly the footstep of a man they heard.

Deruchette raised her eyes.

The sound came nearer, then ceased. Tlie person walking
had stopped. He must have been quite near. The path be-
side which the bench stood, wound between two chmips of
trees. The stranger was there in the alley between the trees,
a few yards from the seat.

Accident had so placed the branches that Deruchette could
see the new-comer, but Gilliatt could not.

The moon cast on the ground beyond the trees a shadow
which reached to the garden seat.

Gilliatt could see this shadow.

He looked at Deruchette.

She was quite pale; her mouth was partly open, as with
a suppressed cry of surprise. She half arose from the bench,
and sank back on it again. There was in her attitude a sort
of fascination mingled with a desire to fly. Her surprise was
enchantment mingled with timidity. She had a smile on her

182 TOILERS OF THE SEA

lips, with a fulness like tears in her eyes. She seemed trans-
figured by that presence, as if the being whom she saw before
her did not belong to earth. The reflection of an angel was
in her look.

The stranger, who was to Gilllatt only a shadow, spoke.
A voice issued from the trees, softer than the voice of a
Avoman, though it was the voice of a man. Gilliatt heard
these words : —

" I see you, mademoiselle, every Sunday and every Thurs-
da}^ They tell me that you were not in the habit of coming
so often formerly. I beg your pardon for repeating the re-
mark. I have never spoken to you ; it was my duty. I speak
to you to-day, for it is still my duty. It is right that I speak
to you first. The " Cashmere," sails to-morrow. This is
why I have come. You walk every evening in your garden.
It would be wrong of me to know your habits so well, if I
had not the thought that I have. Mademoiselle, you are
poor ; since his morning I have become rich. Will you have
me for your husband.''

Deruchette clasped her two hands imploringly, and gazed
at the speaker, silent, with fixed eyes, and trembling from
head to foot.

The voice continued, —

" I love you. God does not wish man to silence the voice
of his heart. He has promised him eternity with the inten-
tion that he should not be alone. There is but one woman on
earth for me. It is you. I think of you as of a prayer.
My faith is in God, and my hope is in you. You are my life,
and already my supreme happiness."

" Sir," said Deruchette, " there is no one in the house to
answer ! "

The voice rose again : —

" Yes, I have encouraged this dream. Heaven has not for-
bidden us to dream. You are like an angel in my eyes. I
love you deeply, mademoiselle. To me you are holy in-
nocence personified. I know it is an hour when your house-
hold have retired to rest, but I could not choose my time.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 183

Do you remember that passage of the Bible which some one
read before us; it was the twenty-fifth chapter of Genesis.
I have thought of it often since. M. Herode said to me,
' You must have a rich wife.' I rephed, ' No, I want a poor
wife.' I say this to you, mademoiselle, without venturing to
approach you ; I will step even farther back if it be your
wish that my shadow should not touch your feet. Your will
is my law. You will come to me if such is your will. I love
and wait. You are the living form of a benediction."

" I did not know, sir, that any one noticed me on Sundays
and Thursdays," stammered Deruchette.

The voice continued, —

" We are powerless against it. The whole Law is love.
Marriage is Canaan ; you are to me the promised land of
beauty."

Deruchette replied, " I do not mean to do wrong any more
than persons who are much more strict."

The voice continued, —

" God manifests his will in the flowers, in the light of
dawn, and in the gentle springtime ; love, too, is of his or-
daining. You are beautiful in this holy shadow of night.
This garden has been tended by you ; in its perfumes there is
something of your breath. The affinities of our souls do not
depend on us. They cannot be counted with our sins. You
were there, that was all. I was there, that was all. I did
nothing but feel that I loved you. Sometimes my eyes rested
upon you. I was wrong, but what could I do? It was
through looking at 3fou that it all happened. I could not
restrain my gaze. There are mysterious impulses which are
beyond our control. The heart is the noblest of all temples.
To have your presence in my home, — that is the terrestrial
paradise for which I long. Say, will you be mine.'^ As long
as I was poor, I spoke not. I know your age. You are
twenty-one ; I am twenty-six. I go to-morrow ; if you refuse
me, I return no more. Oh, be my betrothed ; will you not ?
]\Iore than once have my ej^es, in spite of myself, addressed
that question to you. I love you ; answer me. I will speak

184 TOILERS OF THE SEA

to your uncle as soon as he is able to receive me ; but I turn
first to you. To Rebecca I plead for Rebecca, — unless you
love me not."

Deruchette hung her head, and murmured, —

" Oh, I adore him ! "

The words were spoken in a voice so low that only Gilliatt
heard them.

She remained with her head lowered, as if by shading her
face she hoped to conceal her thoughts.

There was a pause. Not a leaf stirred. It was one of
those solemn and peaceful moments when inanimate objects
appear to share the slumber of living creatures, and night
seems to be listening to the beating of Nature's heart. In
the midst of that retirement, like a harmony making the
silence more complete, rose the wild murmur of the sea.

The voice was heard again.

" Mademoiselle ! "

Deruchette started.

Again the voice spoke.

" You are silent."

" What would you have me say ? "

" I wait for your reply."

" God has heard it," said Deruchette.

Then the voice became almost sonorous, and at the same
time softer than before, and these words issued from the
leaves as from a burning bush : —

" You are my betrothed. Then come to me. Let the
blue sky, with all its stars, witness this taking of my soul to
thine; and let our first embrace be mingled with that firma-
ment."

Deruchette arose and remained an instant motionless, look-
ing straight before her, doubtless into another's eyes; then,
with slow steps, with head erect, her arms drooping, but with
the fingers of her hands wide apartj like one who leans on some
unseen support, she moved towards the trees, and out of
sight.

A moment afterwards, instead of one shadow upon the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 185

gravelled walk, tliere were two ; then they intermingled. Gil-
liatt saw at his feet the embrace of those two shadows.

There are moments when we are entirely unconscious of
the flight of time. These two enraptured lovers, who were
ignorant of the presence of a witness, and saw him not; this
witness of their joy who could not see them, but who knew
of their presence, — how long did they remain in this sort of
trance? It would be impossible to say. Suddenly a noise
burst forth at a distance. A voice was heard crying " Help ! "
and the harbour bell began to ring. It is probable that in
their celestial transports of delight they heard no echo of the
tumult.

The bell continued to ring. Any one who sought Gil-
liatt then at the corner of the wall would have failed to
find him.

BOOK II
GRATITUDE AND DESPOTISM

CHAPTER I

JOY MINGLED WITH ANGUISH

MESS LETHIERRY pulled the bell furiously, then
stopped abruptly. A man had just turned the corner
of the quay. It was Gilliatt.

Lethierry ran towards him, or rather flung himself upon
him, seized his hand, and looked him in the face for a moment
without uttering a word. It was the silence of an explosion
struggling to find a vent.

Then pulling and shaking and hugging him with all his
might, he compelled him to enter the lower room of the
Bravees, pushed back with his heel the door which had re-
mained half opened, sat down, or sank into a chair beside
a great table lighted by the moon, the reflection of which
seemed to impart a strange pallor to Gilliatt's face, and with
a voice of mingled laughter and tears, cried : —

" Ah, my son ! my player of the bagpipe ! I knew that
it was you. The sloop, parbleu! Tell me the story. You
went there, then. Why, they would have burned you a hun-
dred years ago ! It is magic ! There isn't a screw missing.
I have looked at everything already, examined everything,
and handled everything. I guessed that the paddles were in
the two cases. And here you are once more ! I looked in the
little cabin for you. I rang the bell. I wanted to see you.

186

TOILERS OF THE SEA 187

I said to myself, ' Where is he ? ' I could wait no longer.
You must admit that wonderful things do come to pass. You
have brought me back to life again. Tonnerre! you are an
angel ! Yes, yes ; it is my engine ! Nobody will believe it ;
people will see it, and say, ' It can't be true.' Not a tap,
not a pin is missing. The feed-pipe has not budged an inch.
It is incredible that there should have been no more damage.
We have only to put on a little oil. But how did you ac-
complish it.'' To think that the Durande will be moving
again. The axle of the wheels must have been taken to pieces
by some watchmaker. Give me your word of honour that I
am not crazy."

He sprang to his feet, breathed a moment, and con-
tinued : —

" Swear it, I say ! What a change. I had to pinch my-
self to be certain I was not dreaming. You are my child,
you are my son, you are my Providence ! Brave lad ! to go
and fetch my good old engine ! And in the open sea among
those awful rocks ! I have seen some strange things in my
life, but nothing to equal this. I have known Parisians who
were positive demons, but I'd defy them to have done this.
It beats the Bastille. I have seen gauchos ploughing in the
Pampas, with a crooked branch of a tree for a plow and a
bundle of thorn-bushes for a harrow, dragged by a leathern
strap ; they get harvests of wheat that way, with grains as big
as hazel-nuts. But that is a trifle compared with your feats.
You have performed a miracle, — a real one. Ah, gredin!
let me hug you. How they will gossip in St. Sampson. I
shall set to work at once to rebuild the boat. It is astonishino;
that the crank is all right. Gentlemen, he has been to the
Douvres : I say, to the Douvres ! He went alone to the
Douvres ! I defy you to find a worse spot. Do you know,
have they told you, that it's proved that Clubin sent the
Durande to the bottom to swindle me out of money which had
been intrusted to him for me. He made Tangrouille drunk.
It's a long story. I'll tell you all about his piratical tricks,
some day. I, stupid idiot, had confidence in Clubin. But he

188 TOILERS OF THE SEA

trapped himself, the villain, for he couldn't have got away.
There is a God above, my boy ! We'll begin to re-build the
Durande at once, Gilliatt. We'll have her twenty feet longer.
They build them longer now than they did. I'll buy the wood
from Dantzic and Bremen. Now I have got the machinery,
they will give me credit again. They'll have confidence now."

Mess Lethierry stopped, turned his eyes devoutly heaven-
ward, and muttered, " Yes, there is a power on high ! "

Then he placed the middle finger of his right hand between
his two eyebrows, and tapped with his nail there, — an action
which indicates an important project passing through the
mind, and continued : —

" Nevertheless, to begin again, on a grand scale, a little
ready money would have been useful. Ah, if I only had my
three bank-notes, — the seventy-five thousand francs that
scoundrel Rantaine returned, and that villain Clubin stole."

Gilliatt silently felt in his pocket, and drew out something
which he placed before Mess Lethierry. It was the leather
belt that he had brought back. He opened it, and spread
it out on the table ; on the inside the word " Clubin " could
be deciphered even in the light of the moon. He then took
out of the pocket of the belt a box, and out of the box three
pieces of paper, which he unfolded and handed to Lethierry.

Lethierry examined them. It was light enough to see the
figure " 1000," and the word " tJiousand " was also perfectly
visible. Mess Lethierry took the three notes, laid them on
the table one after the other, looked at them, looked at Gil-
liatt, stood for a moment dumb ; and then began again, like
an eruption after an explosion : —

" These too ! You are a marvel. My bank-notes ! all
three — of a thousand pounds each. My seventy-five thou-
sand francs. Why, you must have gone down to the infernal
regions. It is Clubin's belt. Pardieu! I can read his vile
name. Gilliatt has brought back engine and money too.
There will be something to put in the papers now. I will buy
some timber of the finest quality. I guess how it was ; you
found his miserable carcass mouldering away in some corner.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 189

We'll have some Dantzic pine and Bremen oak ; we'll have a
first-rate planking, — oak within and pine without. In old
times they didn't build so well, but their work lasted longer;
the wood was better seasoned, because thej did not build so
much. We'll build the hull of elm perhaps. Elm is good
for the parts in the water. To be sometimes dry, and some-
times wet, rots the timbers ; elm needs to be always wet ; it's a
wood that feeds upon water. What a splendid Durande we'll
build. The lawyers will not trouble me again. I shall want
no more credit. I have some mone}?^ of my own. Did any-
body ever see a man like Gilliatt ? I was struck all of a heap,
— I was a dead man ! He comes and sets me up again as
firm as ever ! And all the while I never once thought about
him, — he had gone clean out of my mind ; but I recollect
everything now. Poor lad ! Ah, by the way, you know you
are to marry Deruchette."

Gilliatt leaned back against the wall, like on who staggers,
and said in a tone that was very low but distinct : —

" No."

Mess Lethierry started.

"How, no!"

" I do not love her," Gilliatt replied.

Mess Lethierry went to the window, opened and reclosed
it, picked up the three bank-notes, folded them, placed them
the iron box on top of them, scratched his head, seized Clubin's
belt, flung it violently against the wall, and exclaimed : —

" You must be mad ! "

He thrust his fists into his pocket, and exclaimed :

" You don't love Deruchette ? What ! was it at me, then,
that you used to play the bagpipe? "

Gilliatt, still supporting himself by the wall, turned as
pale as death. As he became paler. Lethierry became
redder.

" Here 's an Idiot for you ! He does n't love Deruchette,
Very good ; make up your mind to love her, for she shall
never marry any one but you. A devilish pretty story that ;
and you think that I believe you ! If there is anything really

190 TOILERS OF THE SEA

the matter with you, send for a doctor ; but don't talk non-
sense. You can't have had time to quarrel, or get out of
temper with her. It is true that lovers are great fools some-
times. Come now, what are your reasons.? If you have any,
tell me. People don't make such geese of themselves without
some reason. But I have a piece of cotton in my ears; per-
haps I didn't understand. Repeat what you said."

Gilliatt replied, —

"I said. No!"

" You said. No. He sticks to it, the lunatic. You must be
crazy. You said. No. Here's a stupidity beyond anything
ever heard of. Why, people have had their heads shaved for
much less than that. What ! you don't like Deruchette ? Oh,
then, it was out of affection for the old man that you did all
these things .P It was for the sake of papa that you went to
the Douvres, that you endured cold and heat, and almost died
of hunger and thirst, and ate limpets off the rocks, and had
the fog, the rain, and the wind for your bedroom, and brought
me back my machinery, just as you might bring a pretty
woman her little canary that had escaped from its cage. And
that tempest we had three days ago. Do you think I don't
remember that-f^ You must have had a fine time of it ! It was
in the midst of all this misery, alongside of my old craft, that
you shaped, and cut, and turned, and twisted, and dragged
about, and filed, and sawed, and carpentered, and schemed,
and performed more miracles there by yourself than all the
saints in paradise. Ah, you annoyed me enough once with
your bagpipe. They call it a biniou in Brittany. Always
the same tune, too, silly fellow. And yet you don't love
Deruchette.'' I don't know what is the matter with you. I
recollect it all now. I was there in the corner ; Deruchette
said, * He shall be my husband ; ' and so you shall. You
don't love her ! Either you must be mad, or else I am mad.
And you stand there, and won't say a word. I tell you you
are not at liberty to do all the things you have done, and then
say, ' I don't love Deruchette.' People don't do other people
services in order to put them in a passion. Well^ if you

TOILERS OF THE SEA 191

don't marry her, she shall remain single all her life. In the
first place, I need you. You must be the captain of the Du-
rande. Do you imagine I mean to part with you like this?
No, no, my brave boy ; I won't let you off ! I have got you
now ; I'm not even going to listen to you. Where can I find
a sailor like you.^* You are the man I want. But why don't
you speak.'' "

Meanwhile the harbour bell had aroused the household and
the neighbourhood. Douce and Grace had risen, and now en-
tered the lower room, silent and astonished. Grace had a can-
dle in her hand. A group of neighbours, townspeople, sail-
ors, and labourers, who had rushed out of their houses, were
outside on the quay, gazing in wonder at the funnel of the
Durande and the sloop. Some, hearing Lethierry's voice in
the lower room, began to slip in through the half -open door.
Between the faces of two worthy old women appeared that of
Sieur Landoys, who seemed to have a happy faculty of al-
ways being where he wanted to be.

Men feel a satisfaction in having witnesses of their joy.
The sort of scattered support which a crowd gives, pleases
them at such times ; they seem to draw new life from it. Mess
Lethierry suddenly perceived that there were people around
him ; and he welcomed the audience at once.

" So you are here, my friends ! I am very glad to see you.
You know the news? That man has been there, and brought
it back. How d' ye do, Sieur Landoys ? When I woke up
just now, the first thing I spied was the smoke-stack. It
was under my window. There's not a nail missing. They
rave about Napoleon's exploits ; but I think more of this than
of the battle of Austerlitz. You have just left your beds,
my good friends. The Durande caught you napping.
While you are putting on your night-caps and blowing out
your candles there are others working like heroes. We are a
set of cowards and do-nothings ; we sit at home rubbing our
rheumatic limbs ; but happily that does not prevent there be-
ing some men of another stamp. The man of the Bu de la
Rue has arrived from the Douvres. He has fished up the Du-

192 TOILERS OF THE SEA

rande from the bottom of the sea ; and fished up my money
out of Clubin's pocket, from a still greater depth. But how
did you contrive to do it? All the powers of darkness were
against you, the wind and the sea, the sea and the wind. It
must be true that you are a magician. Those who say so are
not so stupid after all. The Durande is back again. The
tempests may rage now ; this cuts the ground from under
their feet. My friends, I can inform you that there was no
shipwreck after all. I have examined all the machinery. It
is as good as new, — perfect. The valves move as easily as
rollers. You would think they were made yesterday. You
know that the waste water is carried away by a pipe inside an-
other pipe, through which the water passes to the boilers ; this
is to economize heat. Well ; the two pipes are there j ust as
good as new. So is the entire engine, in fact. She is all
there, paddle-wheels and all. Ah, he shall marry her ! "

" Marry the engine.'* " asked Sieur Landoys.

" No, the girl ; yes, the engine, — both of them. He shall
be my double son-in-law. He shall be her captain. Good-
day, Captain Gilliatt ; for there will soon be a captain of the
Durande. We are going to do a thundering business again.
There will be trade and passengers and big cargoes of oxen
and sheep. I wouldn't exchange St. Sampson for London
now. And there stands the author of all this good fortune.
It is a strange adventure, I can tell you. You will read about
it on Saturday in old Mauger's ' Gazette.' What's the mean-
ing of these louis-d'ors here.'' "

For Mess Lethierry had just noticed that there was some
gold in the box that lay on the notes. He seized it, opened
and emptied it into the palm of his hand, and put the handful
of guineas on the table.

" For the poor, Sieur Landoys. Give those sovereigns to
the constable of St. Sampson from me. You recollect Ran-
taine's letter. I showed it to you. Very well ; I've got the
bank-notes. Now we can buy some oak and fir, and go to car-
pentering. Look you ! Do you remember the gale three days
ago, — that hurricane of wind and rain .'' Gilliatt endured all

u

TOILERS OF THE SEA 193

that out on the Douvres. That didn't prevent his taking the
wreck to pieces, as I might take my watch. Thanks to him,
I am on my legs again. Old ' Lethierry's galley ' is going
to run again, ladies and gentlemen. A nut-shell with a cou-
ple of wheels and a funnel. I always had that idea. I used
to say to myself, I will certainly do it some day. That was
a long time ago. The idea came in my head one day in
Paris, at the coffee-house on the corner of the Rue Christine
and the Rue Dauphine, while I was reading a paper that con-
tained an account of the new invention. Do you know that
Gilliatt would think nothing of putting that engine at Marly
in his pocket and walking off with it.'' He is wrought-iron,
that man ; tempered steel ; a sailor that can't be beat, an ex-
cellent smith, an extraordinary fellow, much cleverer than the
Prince of Hohenlohe. He is what I call a man of brain.
We are children in comparison with him. We may think
ourselves sea-wolves, but there is the sea-lion ! Hurrah for
Gilliatt ! I do not know how he managed it. He certainly
must be the very devil! And how can I do otherwise than
give him Deruchette? "

Deruchette had been In the room several minutes. She had
not spoken or moved since she entered. She had glided in
like a shadow and sat down almost unperceived just back of
where Mess Lethierry was standing, loquacious, excited, joy-
ful, gesticulating wildly, and talking in a loud voice. A
little while afterwards another silent apparition entered. A
man attired in black, with a white cravat, holding his hat in
his hand, appeared in the doorway. There were now several
candles in the group, which had gradually Increased in num-
ber. These lights were near the man attired In black. His
profile and youtliful and pleasing complexion showed itself
against the dark background with the clearness of an en-
graving on a medal. He leaned his shoulder against the
frame of the door, and held his left hand to his forehead, —
an attitude of unstudied grace, which made his brow look even
broader than it really was by reason of the smallness of his

hand. There was an expression of anguish in his contracted
13

194 TOILERS OF THE SEA

lips, as he looked on and listened with profound attention.
The by-standers recognizing M. Caudray, the rector of the
parish, had stepped back to allow him to pass ; but he re-
mained upon the threshold. There was hesitation in his pos-
ture, but decision in his eyes, which now and then met those
of Deruchette. With regard to Gilliatt, whether by chance
or design, he was in shadow, and could not be seen distinctly.

At first Mess Lethierry did not observe Caudray, but he
saw Deruchette. He went to her and kissed her affectionately
on the forehead, pointing at the same time towards the dark
corner where Gilliatt was standing.

" Deruchette," he said, " we are rich again ; and there is
your future husband."

Deruchette raised her head, and looked towards the dusky
corner, in evident bewilderment.

" The marriage will take place immediately, to-morrow, if
possible," Mess Lethierry continued. " We will have a spe-
cial license ; the formalities here are not very troublesome ; the
dean can do what he pleases ; people are married before they
have time to turn round. It is not as it is in France, where
you must have bans, and publications, and delays, and all
that fuss. You will be able to boast of being the wife of a
brave man. No one can say he is not. I thought so from
the day when I saw him come back from Herm with the little
cannon. But now he comes back from the Douvres with hi?
fortune and mine, and the fortune of this country. A man
of whom the world will have plenty to say some day. You
said you would marry him, and you shall marry him ; and
you will have little children, and I will be a grandfather, and
you will have the good fortune to be the wife of a noble fel-
low, who can work and who can be of use to his fellow-men, —
a surprising fellow, worth a hundred others ; a man who can
rescue other people's inventions, a providence ! At all events,
you will not have married, like so many other silly girls about
here, a soldier or a priest, — that is, a man who kills or a man
who lies. But what are you doing there, Gilliatt.? Nobody
can see you. Douce, Grace; everybody, bring a light, I say.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 195

Show up my son-in-law for me. I betroth you to each other,
my children ; here stands 3'our husband, and here is my son, —
Gilliatt of the Bu de la Rue, this noble fellow, this splendid
sailor. I will have no other son-in-law, and you no other hus-
band; I pledge my word to that once more in God's name.
Ah, you are here. Monsieur the Cure. You must marry these
young people for me."

Lethierry's eye had just lighted on Caudray.

Douce and Grace had done as they were directed. Two
candles placed on a neighbouring table illumined Gilliatt from
head to foot.

*' There's a fine fellow for you," said JNIess Lethierry.

Gilliatt's appearance was appalling.

He was in the same condition in which he had that morn-
ing set sail from the rocks, — in rags, his bare elbows showing
through his sleeves, his beard long, his hair rough and wild,
his eyes bloodshot, his skin peeling, his hands covered with
wounds, his feet naked. Some of the blisters left by the devil-
fish were still visible upon his arms.

Lethierry gazed at him admiringly, nevertheless.

" This is my son-in-law," he said. " See how he has strug-
gled with the sea. He's in rags, but what shoulders and
hands ! There's a fine fellow for you ! "

Grace ran to Deruchette and supported her head. She had
fainted.

CHAPTER II

THE LEATHER TRUNK

BY daybreak all St. Sampson was up and out and the peo-
ple of St. Peter's Port began to flock there. The resur-
rection of the Durande caused a commotion in the island
equal to that caused by the miracle of Salette in the south of
France. There was a crowd on the quay staring at tlie fun-

196 TOILERS OF THE SEA

ncl standing erect in the sloop. They were anxious to see and
handle the machinery ; but Lethierry, after making a new and
triumphant survey of the whole by daylight, had placed two
sailors aboard with instructions to prevent any one from ap-
proaching it. The smoke-stack, however, furnished sufficient
food for contemplation. The crowd gaped with astonish-
ment. They talked of nothing but Gilliatt. They remarked
on his nickname of " Wicked Gilliatt ; " and their admiring
comments generally ended with the remark, " It is not pleas-
ant to have people on the island who can do things like
that."

Mess Lethierry was seen from outside the house, seated at
a table before the window, writing, with one eye on the paper
and another on the sloop. He was so completely absorbed
that he had only stopped once to call Douce and ask after
Deruchette. " Mademoiselle has risen, and has gone out,"
Douce replied. " She is wise to go out for a little air," an-
swered Lethierry. " She was a little faint last night, owing
to the heat. There was a crowd in the room. This, and her
surprise and joy, and the windows being all closed, overcame
her. She will have a husband to be proud of." Then he
resumed his writing. He had already finished and sealed two
letters, addressed to the most important ship-builders at Bre-
men. He soon finished a third.

A sound upon the quay caused him to look up. He leaned
out of the window, and saw coming up the path which led
from the Bu de la Rue, a boy pushing a wheel-barrow. The
lad was going towards St. Peter's Port. In the barrow was a
portmanteau of brown leather, studded with brass nails.

" Where are you going, my lad? " shouted Mess LethieiTy.

The boy stopped, and replied, —

" To the ' Cashmere.' "

"What for?"

" To take this trunk aboard."

" Very good ; you can take these three letters too."

Mess Lethierry opened his table drawer, took out a piece
of string, tied the three letters which he had just written to-

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 197

gether, and threw the packet to the boy, who caught it between
his hands.

" Tell the captain of the ' Cashmere ' they are my letters,
and to take good care of them. They are for Germany, —
Bremen via London."

" I can't speak to the captain. Mess Lethierry."

"Why not.?"

" The ' Cashmere ' is not at the quay."

" Ah ! "

" She is in the roads."

" Ay, true ; on account of the tide."

" I can only speak to the man who takes the things aboard."

" You will tell him, then, to attend to the letters."

" Very well, Mess Lethierry."

" At what time does the ' Cashmere ' sail.? "

" At twelve."

" The tide will be coming in then."

" But the wind is favourable," answered the lad.

" Boy," said Mess Lethierry, pointing with his forefinger
to the engine in the sloop, " do 3'ou see that ? There is some-
thing that laughs at winds and tides."

The boy put the letters in his pocket, picked up his barrow
again, and went on towards the town. Mess Lethierry called
" Douce ! Grace ! "

Grace opened the door a little way.

"What is it, Mess.?"

" Come in and wait a moment."

Mess Lethierry took a sheet of paper, and began to write.
If Grace, standing behind him, had been curious, and had
leaned forward to see what he was writing, she might have
read as follows : —

" I have written to Bremen for the lumber, I have appointments
all the morning with carpenters for the estimate. The rebuilding will
go on fast. You must go to the Deanery for a licence yourself. It
is my wish that the marriage should take place as soon as possible, — ■
immediately would be better. I am busy about the Durande. Do you
busy yourself about Deruchette"

198 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He dated it, and signed " Lethieri'y." He did not take
the trouble to seal it, but merely folded it, and handed it to
Grace, saying, —

" Take that to Gilliatt."

" To the Bu de la Rue? "

" To the Bu de la Rue."

1 ■

BOOK III
THE DEPARTURE OF THE CASHMERE

CHAPTER I

THE HAVELET NEAR THE CHURCH

WHEN there is a crowd at St. Sampson, St. Peter's Port
is deserted. An object of curiosity at any given
place is like an air-pvimp. News travels fast in small places.
Going to see the funnel of the Durande under Mess Lethierry's
window had been, since sunrise, the business of the Guernsey
folks. Every other event was eclipsed by this. The death
of the dean of St. Asaph was forgotten, together with the
interest in the Rev. Mr. Caudray, his suddenly acquired
wealth, and his intended departure on the " Cashmere." The
machinery of the Durande brought back from the Douvres
rocks was the topic of the day. People were incredulous.
The shipwreck had appeared extraordinary, the salvage
seemed impossible. Everybody hastened to assure himself of
the truth by the help of his own eyes. Business of every kind
was suspended. Long processions of towns-folk with their
families, from the " Vesin " up to the " Mess," men and
women, gentlemen, mothers with children, infants with dolls,
were coming by every road or pathway to see " the thing to
be seen " at the Bravees, and turning their backs upon St.
Peter's Port. Many shops at St. Peter's Port were closed.
In the Commercial Arcade there was an absolute stagnation in
buying and selling. The Durande engrossed everybody's at-

199

200 TOILERS OF THE SEA

tention. Not a single shopkeeper had made a sale that morn-
ing, except a jeweller, who marvelled much at having sold a
wedding-ring to " a man who seemed to be in a great hurry,
and who asked where the dean's house was." The shops that
remained open were centres of gossip, where loungers dis-
cussed the miraculous salvage. There was not a promenader
on the Hyvreuse, which is known in these days, nobody knows
why, as Cambridge Park ; no one was visible on High Street,
then called the Grande Rue ; nor in Smith Street, then known
as the Rue des Forges, nor in Hauteville. Even the Espla-
nade was deserted. One might suppose it was Sunday.
A visit from a royal personage to review the militia at the
Ancresse could not have drained the town more completely.
All this hubbub about a " nobody " like Gilliatt, caused a
good deal of shrugging of the shoulders among persons of
grave and correct habits.

The church of St. Peter's Port, with its three gable ends, its
transept and steeple, stands near the water's edge at the end
of the harbour, and nearly on the landing-place itself, where
it welcomes those who arrive, and bids the departing " God-
speed." This edifice is the most prominent feature in the
long line of buildings on the sea-front of the town.

It is both the parish church of St. Peter's Port and the
Deanery of the whole island. Its officiating minister is the
surrogate of the bishop, a clergyman invested with full
powers.

The harbour of St. Peter's Port, a very fine and large
port at the present day was at that epoch, and even up
to ten years ago, much smaller than the harbour of St.
Sampson. It was enclosed both on the right and left side
by massive walls which curved until they almost met again
at the mouth of the harbour, where a little white lighthouse
stood. Under this lighthouse a narrow opening, still fur-
nished with two rings for the chain with which it was
customary to close the passage in ancient times, formed the
only entrance for vessels. The harbour of St. Peter's Port
might be compared to the claws of a huge lobster opened a

TOILERS OF THE SEA 201

little way. These odd pincers tore a scrap of sea from old
ocean and tried to compel it to remain calm. But during
easterly winds the waves rolled heavily against the narrow en-
trance, the harbour was rough, and it was advisable not to
enter it. This having been the case on the " Cashmere's "
arrival, the vessel had anchored in the roads.

The vessels, during easterly winds, preferred this course,
which also saved them the port dues. At such times the
boatmen of the town, a hardy race of mariners whom the
ncv/ harbour had thrown out of employment, came in their
boats to fetch passengers from the landing-place or at sta-
tions on the shore, and carried them with their luggage, often
in heavy seas, but always without accident, to the vessels about
to sail. The east wind blows off the shore, and is very
favourable for the passage to England; the vessel at such
times rolls, but does not pitch.

When a vessel happened to be in the port, everybody
embarked from the quay. When it was in the roads they
took their choice, and embarked from any point on the coast.
In every creek or inlet there was a boat for hire. The
Havelet was one of these creeks. The little harbour (for
that is the signification of the word) was near the town, but
was such a lonely place that it seemed a long way off. This
seclusion was due to the shelter afforded by the high cliffs of
Fort St. George, which overlooked this retired inlet. The
Havelet was accessible by several paths. The most direct
was along the water's edge. This path had the advantage
of taking one from the town to the church in five minutes,
and the disadvantage of being covered by the sea twice a
day. The other paths were more or less abrupt, and led
into the creek through gaps in the steep rocks. Even in
broad daylight it was dusk in the Havelet. Huge walls of
granite hemmed it in on three sides, and thick bushes and
brambles cast a sort of soft twilight upon the rocks and
waves below. No spot could be more peaceful than this in
calm weather, nor more tumultuous during heavy seas. Tlie
ends of some of the branches there were always wet with the

202 TOILERS OF THE SEA

foam. In the springtime, the place was full of flowers, of
birds' nests, of perfmnes, of butterflies, and bees. Thanks
to recent improvements, this romantic nook no longer exists.
Fine straight lines have taken the place of these wild fea-
tures ; masonry, quays, and little gardens have made their
appearance; terraces have become the rage, and modern taste
has finally subdued the eccentricities of the cliff and the
irregularities of the rocks below.

CHAPTER II

DESPAIR CONFRONTS DESPAIR

IT was a little before ten o'clock in the morning. The
crowd at St. Sampson was apparently increasing. The
multitude, feverish with curiosity, was moving towards the
north ; and the Havelet, which lies to the southward was more
deserted than ever.

Notwithstanding this, there was a boat there and a boat-
man. In the boat was a travelling-bag. The boatman
seemed to be waiting for some one.

The " Cashmere " was visible at anchor outside the har-
bour, and as she did not start till midday there was as yet
no movement aboard.

Any one passing along the cliffs overhead might have
heard the murmur of conversation in the Havelet, and if
he had leaned over the overhanging cliff might have seen,
some distance from the boat, in a nook among the rocks and
bushes, where the eye of the boatman could not reach them,
a man and a woman. It was Caudray and Deruchette.

These quiet nooks on the sea-shore, the favourite haunts
of lady bathers, are not always so solitary as is believed.
One is sometimes observed and watched there. Those who
seek shelter and solitude in them may easily be followed

TOILERS OF THE SEA 203

through the thick bushes; and, thanks to the multipHcity
and entanglement of the paths, the granite and the shrubs
which favour the stolen interview, may also favour the wit-
ness.

Caudraj and Deruchette stood face to face, looking into
each other's e3^es, and holding each other by the hand.
Deruchette was speaking. Caudray was silent. A tear that
had gathered upon his eye-lash hung there and did not fall.

Grief and profound emotion were imprinted on his strong,
intellectual countenance. A painful resignation was there
too, — a resignation hostile to faith, though springing from
it. Upon this face which had seemed so angelic until now,
there was a stern almost bitter expression. He who had hith-
erto meditated only on doctrine, had begun to meditate on
Fate, — an unhealthy occupation for a priest. Faith dis-
solves under its action. Nothing disturbs the religious mind
more than that bending under the weight of the unknown.
Life seems a perpetual succession of misfortunes to which
man is forced to submit. We never know from what side
the sudden blow will come. Misery and happiness enter or
make their exit like unexpected guests. Their laws, their
orbit, their principle of gravitation, are beyond man's ken.
Virtue does not lead to happiness, nor crime to retribution:
conscience has one logic, fate another; and neither coincide.
Nothing is foreseen. We live as we can, — from hand to
mouth, as it were. Conscience is the straight line, life is the
whirlwind which creates above man's head black chaos or blue
sky as the case may be. Fate does not practise the art of
gradations. Her wheel turns so fast sometimes that we
can scarcely distinguish the interval between one revolution
and another, or the link between yesterday and to-day.
Caudray was a believer whose faith did not exclude reason, and
whose priestly training did not shut him out from passion.
The religions which impose celibacy on the priesthood know
what they are about. Nothing is more destructive to the
individuality of a priest than love. All sorts of clouds seemed
to darken Caudray's soul.

204 TOILERS OF THE SEA

He had looked too long into Deruchette's ej^es.

These two beings evidently worshipped each other.

There was in Caudray's eye the mute adoration of de-
spair.

Deruchette spoke : —

" You must not leave me. I cannot bear it. I thought
I could bid you farewell. I cannot. Why did you come
yesterday? You should not have come if you were going so
soon. I never spoke to you. I loved you, but knew it not.
That day, when M. Herode read the story of Rebecca to us,
and when your eyes met mine, my cheeks were like fire, and
I thought, ' Oh, how Rebecca must have blushed ! ' And yet,
if any one had told me yesterday that I loved you, I should
have laughed at them. It is this that makes our love seem so
terrible. It appears almost like an act of treachery, I was
not on my guard. I went to church, I saw you, I thought
everybody there was like mj^self . I am not reproaching you ;
you did nothing to make me love you ; you did nothing but
look at me ; it is not your fault if you look at people ; and yet
it made me adore you. I did not even suspect it. When
you took up the book it was a flood of light; when others
took it, it was only a book. You raised your eyes sometimes ;
you spoke of archangels. Ah, you were my archangel!
What you said penetrated my mind at once. Before you
came I do not know whether I even believed in God. Since
I have known you, I have learned to pray. I used to say
to Douce, dress me quickly, lest I should be late at service;
and I hastened to the church. I did not know the cause.
I said to myself, ' How devout I am becoming ! ' It is from
you that I have learned that I do not go to church for God's
service. It is true; I went for 3'our sake. You spoke so
well, and when you raised your hands to heaven, you seemed
to hold my heart within your two white hands. I was foolish,
but I did not know it. Shall I tell you where you did wrong ."^
It was in coming to me in the garden; it was in speaking
CO me. If you had said nothing, I should have knov.n noth-
ing. If you had gone away i should, perhaps, only have

TOILERS OF THE SEA 205

been sad, but now I should die. Now I know that I love you,
you cannot leave me. Of what are you thinking? You
do n.ot seem to listen to me."

" You heard what was said last night," Caudray re-
sponded.

"Ah me ! "

" What can I do against that ? "

They were silent for a moment. Caudray continued :

" There is but one thing left for me to do, — depart."

" And me to die. Oh, how I wish there was no sea,
but only sky. It seems to me as if that would settle all,
and that cur departure would be the same. It was wrong
to speak to me; oh, why did you speak to me? Do not
go! What will become of me? I tell you I shall die. You
will be far away when I am in my grave. Oh, my heart will
break ! I am very wretched ; yet my uncle is not unkind."

It was the first time in her life that Deruchette had
ever said " my uncle." Until then she had always said " my
father."

Caudray stepped back, and made a sign to the boat-
man. Deruchette heard the sound of the boat-hook on the
shingle, and the step of the man on the gunwhale of the
boat.

" No ! no ! " cried Deruchette.

" It must be, Deruchette," replied Caudray.

" No ! never ! For the sake of an engine, impossible !
Did you see that horrible man last night? You cannot
leave me thus. You are wise; surely, you can find a way
out of this trouble. It is impossible that you bade me come
here this morning with the idea of leaving me. I have never
done anything to deserve this ; you can have no cause to
reproach me. Is it by that vessel you intend to sail? I
will not let you go. You shall not leave me ! Heaven does
not open thus to close so soon. I know you will remain.
Besides, it is not yet time. Oh, how I love you ! "

And pressing close to him, she interlaced the fingers of
both her hands behind his neck, as if partly to make a bond

206 TOILERS OF THE SEA

of her two arms for detaining him, and partly, with clasped
hands, to pray.

But he put her gently from him in spite of her determined
resistance.

Deruchette sank down upon a projecting rock covered with
ivy. As she did so, she unconsciously pushed the sleeve of
her dress up to the elbow, showing her beautiful bare arm.
There was a strangely haggard look in her eyes. The boat
was approaching.

Caudray took her head between his hands. The maiden
had the air of a widow, and the youth that of a grand-
father.

He touched her hair with a sort of reverent care, fixed
his eyes upon her for some moments, then kissed her tend-
erly but solemnly on the forehead, and in accents trembling
with anguish, and which plainly revealed the struggle in his
soul, he uttered the word which has so often resounded in
the depths of the human heart, " Farewell ! "

Deruchette burst into loud sobs.

At this moment they heard a voice near them, which said
solemnly and deliberately : —

" Why do you not marry .'' "

Caudray raised his head. Deruchette looked up.

Gilliatt stood before them.

He had approached by a side path.

He did not look like the same man they had seen the night
before. He had arranged his hair, shaved off his beard, put
on his shoes and stockings, and a white shirt, with a broad
collar turned over sailor fashion. He wore a sailor's cos-
tume, but every article was new. He had a gold ring on his
little finger. He seemed perfectly calm.

His sunburnt skin had become pale.

They gazed at him astonished. Though so changed,
Deruchette recognized him. But the words he had spoken
were so foreign to what was passing in their minds at that
moment, that they left no distinct impression.

Gilliatt spoke again.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 207

"Why should you say farewell? Become man and wife,
and go together."

Deruchette started. A nervous trembling shook her from
head to foot.

" Miss Lethierry is of age," Gilliatt continued. " It de-
pends entirely upon herself. Her uncle is only her uncle.
You love each other — "

" How came you here? " Deruchette interrupted in a gentle
voice.

" Make yourselves one," repeated Gilliatt.

Deruchette began to have some idea of the meaning of
his words.

" My poor uncle ! " she stammered out.

" If the marriage was still to take place he would refuse,"
said Gilliatt. " When it is over he will consent. Besides,
you are going to leave Guernsey. When you return he will
forgive you."

" Besides, he is thinking of nothing just now but the re-
building of his boat," Gilliatt added, Avith a slight touch of
bitterness. " This will occupy his mind during your absence.
The Durande will console him."

" I cannot," said Deruchette, in a state of stupor which
was not without its gleam of joy. " I cannot leave him un-
happy."

" It will be only for a short time," answered Gilliatt.

Caudray and Deruchette had been, as it were, bewildered.
They began partially to recover themselves now\ The mean-
ing of Gilliatt's words grew plainer as their surprise dimin-
ished. There was still a slight doubt in their minds, but
they were not inclined to resist. We yield easily to those
who come to save us. Objections to a return into paradise
are weak. There was something in the attitude of Deruchette,
as she leaned imperceptibly upon h/^r lover, which seemed to
make common cause with Gilliatt's words. The strangeness
of this man's presence, and of his utterances, which, in the
mind of Deruchette in particular, created intense astonish-
ment, was a thing quite apart. He said to them, " Become

208 TOILERS OF THE SEA

man and wife ! " This was clear ; if there was any respon-
sibiHty, he assumed it. Deruchette had a vague feehng that
he, for many reasons, had a right to decide her fate. Cau-
dray murmured thoughtfully, —

" True, an uncle is not a father."

His resolution was weakened by this sudden and fortunate
turn in affairs. The scruples of the clergyman melted in
the flame, in his love for Deruchette.

Gilliatt's tone became abrupt and harsh, and one could
detect a feverish pulsation in it.

" There must be no delay," he said curtly. " The ' Cash-
mere ' sails in two hours. You have just time, but that is
all. Come."

Caudray surveyed him attentively, then suddenly ex-
claimed,—

" I recognize you. It was you who saved my life."

" I think not," Gilliatt replied.

" Yonder," said Caudray, " at the extremity of the
Banques."

I do not know the place," said Gilliatt.
It was on the very day I arrived here."

" Let us lose no time," interrupted Gilliatt.

" And if I am not mistaken you are the man we saw last
night."

" Possibly."

" What is your name ? "

Gilliatt raised his voice : —

" Boatman ! wait here for us. We shall return soon. You
asked me. Miss Lethierry, how I came to be here. The answer
is very simple. I followed you. You are twenty-one. In
this country, when persons are of age, and depend only on
themselves, they can be married when they please. Let us
take the path along the beach. It is passable ; the tide will
not rise till noon. But we must lose no time. Come with mc."

Deruchette and Caudray seemed to consult each other by
a glance. They were standing close together, motionlfss.
They were intoxicated with joy, but there is a strange hesi-

TOILERS OF THE SEA 209

tatlon sometimes on the very threshold of happiness. They
understood, as it were, without understanding.

" His name is Gilhatt," whispered Deruchette.

Gilhatt interrupted them with a tone of authority.

" What do you Hnger for.'' " he asked. " I tell you to
follow me."

"Whither.?" asked Caudray.

" There ! "

And Gilliatt pointed toward the spire of the church.

Gilliatt walked on ahead, and they followed him. His step
was firm, but they walked unsteadily.

As they approached the church, a dawning smile became
visible on the pure and beautiful countenances of the two
lovers. In the hollow eyes of Gilliatt there was the dark-
ness of despair.

The beholder might have imagined that he saw a spec-
tre leading two souls to paradise.

Caudray and Deruchette scarcely realized 'what had hap-
pened.

The interposition of this man was like the branch clutched
at by the drowning. They followed their guide with the
docility of despair, leaning on the first comer. Those who
feel themselves near death easily accept the accident which
seems to save. Deruchette, being most ignorant of life, was
more confident. Caudray was thoughtful. Deruchette was
of age, it is true. The English formalities of marriage are
simple, especially in primitive regions, where the clergyman
has almost a discretionary power; but would the dean con-
sent to celebrate the marriage without even inquiring whether
the uncle consented.'' This was the question. Nevertheless,
they would soon learn. At all events, the attempt would
afford them a respite.

But who was this man? And if it was really he whom

Lethierry had declared should be his son-in-law the night

before, what could be the meaning of his actions? The very

obstacle itself seemed to have become a kind providence.

Caudray yielded; but his yielding was only the hasty and
14

210 TOILERS OF THE SEA

tacit assent of a man who feels himself saved from despair.

The pathway was uneven and sometimes wet and difficult
to pass. Caudray, absorbed in thought, did not observe the
occasional pools of water or the heaps of gravel. But from
time to time Gilliatt turned and said to him, " Take heed of
those stones. Give her your hand."

CHAPTER III

THE FORETHOUGHT OF SELF-SACRIFICE

THE clock struck ten as they entered the church. By
reason of the early hour, and also on account of the
deserted condition of the town that day, the church was
empty.

At the farther end, however, near the table which in the
reformed church fills the place of an altar, there were three
persons, — the dean, his curate, and the registrar. The dean,
who was the Reverend Jaquemin Herode, was seated: the
curate and the registrar stood beside him.

An open Bible lay on the table.

Beside the dean, upon a credence-table, was another book.
It was the parish register. That, too, was open, and an
observant eye might have detected a freshly written page
on which the ink was not yet dry. A pen and writing ma-
terials lay beside the register.

The Reverend Jaquemin Herode rose on perceiving
Caudray.

" I have been expecting you," he said. " All is ready."

The dean, in fact, was attired in his clerical robes.

Caudray glanced at Gilliatt.

The Reverend Doctor added, " I am at your service,
brother ; " and bowed.

It was a bow which turned neither to right nor left. It

TOILERS OF THE SEA 211

was evident from the direction of the dean's glance that he
did not recognize the existence of any one but Caudray,
for Caudray was a clergyman and a gentleman. Neither
Deruchette, who stood a little to one side, nor Gilliatt, who
was in the rear, were included in the salutation. In his look
was a sort of tacit understanding in which Caudray alone was
included. The observance of these little niceties constitutes
an important feature in the maintenance of order and the
preservation of society.

The dean, with a graceful and dignified urbanity, con-
tinued : —

" I congratulate you, my colleague, from a double point
of view. You have lost your uncle, and are about to take
a wife; you are blessed with riches on the one hand, and
happiness on the other. Moreover, thanks to the boat which
they are about to rebuild. Mess Lethierry, too, will be rich,
— which is as it should be. Miss Lethierry was born in
this parish ; I have verified the date of her birth in the regis-
ter. She is of age, and her own mistress. Her uncle, too,
who is her only relative, consents. You are anxious to be
united immediately on account of your approaching depar-
ture.

" This I can understand ; but it being the marriage of the
rector of the parish, I should have been gratified to have
seen it attended with a little more solemnity. I will consult
your wishes by not detaining you longer than necessary. The
essentials will be soon complied with. The form is already
drawn up in the register, and only the names remain to be filled
in. By the provisions of the law and custom, the marriage can
be celebrated immediately after the issue of the license. The
declaration necessary for the license has been duly made. I
will hold myself responsible for a slight irregularity, inasmuch
as the apphcation for a license ought to have been registered
seven days in advance; but I yield to necessity and the ur-
gency of your departure. Be it so, then. I will proceed
with the ceremony. My curate will be the witness for the
bridegroom; as regards the witness for the bride — "

212 TOILERS OF THE SEA

The dean turned towards Gilliatt. Gilliatt made a move-
ment of his head.

" That is sufficient," said the dean.

Caudray remained motionless ; Deruchette was happy, but
equally poAverless to move.

" Nevertheless," continued the dean, " there is .still one ob-
stacle."

Deruchette started.

The dean continued : —

" The representative here present of Mess Lethierry ap-
plied for the license for you and signed the declaration on the
register." And with the thumb of his left hand the dean
pointed to Gilliatt, which prevented the necessity of pronounc-
ing his name. " The messenger from Mess Lethierry," he
added, " informed me this morning that being too much oc-
cupied to come in person, Mess Lethierry desired that the mar-
riage should take place immediately. This desire ex-
pressed verbally, is not sufficient. In consequence of the
slight irregularity attending the issue of the license, which
I take upon myself, I cannot proceed so hastily without mak-
ing a personal inquiry of Mess Lethierry, unless some one
can produce his signature. However great my desire to serve
you, I cannot be satisfied with a mere verbal message. I must
have some written authority."

" That need not delay us," said Gilliatt, handing a paper
to the dean. The dean took it, scanned it hastily, seemed
to pass over some lines as unimportant, and read aloud:
" Go to the dean for the license. I wish the marriage to take
place as soon as possible. Immediately would be better."

He placed the paper on the table, and proceeded : —

" It bears Lethierry's signature. It would have been more
respectful to have addressed it to me. But as it is a ques-
tion of serving a colleague, I ask no more."

Caudray glanced again at Gilliatt. There are moments
when mind and mind comprehend each other. Caudray felt
that there was some deception but he had not the strength,
perhaps he had not even the desire, to reveal it. Whether

TOILERS OF THE SEA 213

from obedience to a latent heroism which he but imperfectly
divined, or whether from a deadening of the conscience,
arising from the suddenness with which happiness had been
placed within his reach, he uttered not a word.

The dean took the pen, and aided by the clerk, filled up
the blanks on the page of the register ; then rose, and by
a gesture invited Caudray and Deruchette to approach the
table.

The ceremony was begun.

It was a strange moment. Caudray and Deruchette stood
side by side before the minister.

One who has ever dreamed of a marriage in which he him-
self was chief actor, may conceive of the feeling which they
experienced.

Gilliatt stood at a little distance in the shadow of the pil-
lars.

Deruchette, on rising that morning, unspeakably wretched
and despairing, and thinking only of death and the wind-
ing-sheet, had dressed herself in white. The attire, which had
been associated in her mind with the grave, was well suited
to her nuptials. A white dress is all that is necessary for a
bride.

Her face was radiant with happiness. Never had she
appeared more beautiful. Her features were remarkable for
prettiness rather than beauty. Their only fault, if fault it
be, lay in a certain excess of grace. Deruchette in repose, —
that is, neither disturbed by passion nor grief, — was grace-
ful above all.

A face like this transfigured is our Ideal of the Virgin.
Deruchette, touched by sorrow and love, seemed to have
caught that nobler and more holy expression. It makes the
difference between the field daisy and the lily.

The tears had scarcely dried upon her cheeks ; one per-
haps still lingered in the midst of her smiles. Traces of tears
indistinctly visible form a pleasing but touching accompani-
ment of joy.

The dean, standing near the table, placed his hand upon

214. TOILERS OF THE SEA

the open book, and asked in a distinct voice whether they
knew of any impediment to their union.

There was no reply.

Caudray and Deruchette advanced a step or two towards
the table.

" Joseph Ebenezer, wilt thou have this woman to be thy
wedded wife? " asked the dean.

Caudray replied, " I will."

" Durande Deruchette, wilt thou have this man to be thy
wedded husband.'' " the dean continued.

Deruchette, in an agony of soul, springing from her very
excess of happiness, murmured rather than uttered :

" I will."

Then followed the beautiful form of the Anglican mar-
riage service.

The dean looked around, and in the dim light of the church,
uttered the solemn words:

" Who giveth this woman to be married to this man ? "

Gilliatt answered, "I do ! "

There was an interval of silence. Caudray and Deruchette
felt a vague sense of oppression in spite of their joy.

The dean placed Deruchette's right hand in Caudray's ;
and Caudray repeated after him : —

" I take thee, Durande Deruchette, to be my wedded wife
for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in
health, to love and to cherish till death do us part ; and thereto
I plight thee my troth."

The dean then placed Caudray's right hand in that of
Deruchette, and Deruchette said after him : —

" I take thee to be my wedded husband for better for
worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love,
cherish, and obey, till death do us part; and thereto I plight
thee my troth."

" Where is the ring?" asked the dean.

The question took them by surprise. Caudray had no ring ;
but Gilliatt removed the gold ring which he wore upon his
little finger. It was doubtless the wedding-ring which had

TOILERS OF THE SEA 215

been sold that morning by the jeweller in the Commercial
Arcade.

The dean laid the ring on the Bible ; then handed it to
Caudray, who took Deruchette's little trembling hand, slipped
the ring on her fourth finger, and said :

" With this ring I thee wed ! "

" In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost," continued the dean.

" Amen," said his curate.

Then the dean said, " Let us pray."

Caudray and Deruchette turned towards the table, and
knelt down.

Gilliatt, standing near, inclined his head.

They knelt before God ; he was bending beneath the burden
of his fate.

h

CHAPTER IV

*' FOR YOUR WIFE : WHEN YOU MARRY "

AS they left the church they could see the " Cashmere "
making preparations for departure.

" You are in time," said Gilliatt.

They again took the path leading to the Havelet.

Caudray and Deruchette went first; Gilliatt, this time,
walking behind them. They were like two somnambulists.
Their bewilderment had not passed away, but only changed
in form. They took no heed of where they were going, or of
what they did. They hurried on mechanically, scarcely con-
scious of the existence of anything, — feeling that they were
united forever, but scarcely able to connect two ideas in their
minds. In ecstasy like theirs it is as impossible to think as
it is to swim in a torrent. In the midst of their trouble and
despair they had been raised to the seventh heaven of delight.

216 TOILERS OF THE SEA

They were in Elysium. The}' did not speak, but their souls
were absorbed in sweet communion.

The footsteps of Gilliatt behind them reminded them of
his presence now and then. They were deeply moved, but
could find no words. Such excess of emotion results in stupor ;
theirs was delightful but overwhelming. The}'^ were man and
wife: every other idea was secondary to that. Gilliatt had
done them an inestimable kindness ; that was all that they
could grasp. In their secret hearts, they thanked him fer-
vently, profoundly, Deruchette felt that there was some mys-
tery to be explained later, but not now. Meanwhile they
accepted their unexplained happiness. They submitted to the
decision of this determined man who made them happy as if
he had a right to do it. To question him, to talk with him,
seemed impossible. Too many impressions were rushing upon
them at once for that. Their mental absorption was par-
donable.

Events sometimes succeed each other with the rapidity
of hailstones. Their effect is overpowering; they deaden the
senses and render incidents incomprehensible even to those
whom they chiefly concern. We become scarcely conscious of
our own adventures ; we are overwhelmed without guessing the
cause, or crowned with happiness without realizing it. For
some hours Deruchette had been subjected to every kind of
emotion : first, surprise and delight at meeting Caudray in the
garden ; then horror at the monster whom her uncle had pre-
sented to her as her husband ; then anguish when the angel of
her dreams spread his wings and seemed about to depart;
and now joy, such joy as she had never known before, founded
on an inexplicable enigma, — the restoration of her lover by
the very monster who had so horrified her.

Gilliatt, her evil destiny of last night, to-day became
her saviour ! She could not explain it satisfactorily to her
own mind. It was evident that Gilliatt had devoted the en-
tire morning to preparing the way for their marriage. He
had done everything; he had answered for Mess Lethierry,
seen the dean, obtained the licence, signed the necessary

TOILERS OF THE SEA 217

declaration, and thus the marriage had been rendered pos-
sible. But Deruchette did not understand it. Even if she
had, she would not have comprehended the reasons.

She could do nothing but close her eyes, and gratefully
yield herself up to the guidance of this good spirit. There
was no time for explanations, and expressions of gratitude
seemed too insignificant.

The little power of thought which they retained was
scarcely more than sufficient to guide them on their way, to
enable them to distinguish the sea from the land, and the
" Cashmere " from any other vessel.

In a few minutes they reached the little landing.

Caudray entered the boat first. As Deruchette was about
to follow, she felt some one pluck her gently by the sleeve.
It was Gilliatt who had placed a finger upon a fold of her
dress.

" Madam," he said, " you are starting on a journey very
unexpectedly. It has struck me that you will have need of
dresses and linen. You will find a trunk aboard the ' Cash-
mere,' containing a lady's clothing. It came to me from my
mother. It was intended for my wife if I should ever marry.
Permit me to ask 3^our acceptance of it."

Deruchette, partially aroused from her dream, turned to-
wards him. In a voice that was scarcely audible, Gilliatt con-
tinued : —

" I do not wish to detain you, madam, but I feel that I
ought to give you some explanation. On the day of the
misfortune, you were sitting in the lower room; you uttered
certain words. It is not at all strange that you have forgot-
ten them. We cannot be expected to remember every word
we speak. Mess Lethierry was in great trouble. It was cer-
tainly a noble vessel, and one that did good service. The mis-
fortune was recent ; there was a great excitement. There are
things which one naturally forgets. It was only a vessel
wrecked among the rocks; one cannot be always thinking of
an accident. But what I wished to tell you was that as it was
said that no one would go, I went. They said it was impos-

218 TOILERS OF THE SEA

sible ; but it was not. I thank you for listening to me a mo-
ment. You can understand, madam, that if I went there, it
was not with the thought of displeasing you. This is a thing,
besides, of old date. I know that you are in haste. If there
was time, if we could talk about tliis, you might perhaps re-
member. But this is all useless now. The history of it goes
back to a day when there was snow upon the ground. And
then on one occasion, as I passed you, I thought you looked
kindly on me. That is how it all happened. With regard to
last night, I had not had time to go to my home. I came
from my labour ; I was all torn and ragged ; I startled you,
and you fainted. I was to blame ; people do not go like that
to strangers' houses; I ask your forgiveness. That is about
all I wanted to say. You are about to sail. You will have
fine weather ; the wind is in the east. Farewell. You will not
blame me for troubling you with these things. This is the
last minute, 3^ou know."

" I am thinking of the trunk you spoke of," replied Deru-
chette. " Why do you not keep it for your wife, when you
marry ? "

" It is not likely that I shall ever marry, madam," replied
Gilliatt.

" That would be a pity," said Deruchette ; " you are so
good. Thank you."

And Deruchette smiled. Gilliatt returned her smile. Then
he assisted her into the boat.

In less than a quarter of an hour Caudray and Deru-
chette were aboard the " Cashmere."

TOILERS OF THE SEA 219

CHAPTER V

THE GREAT TOMB

GILLIATT walked swiftly along the beach, passed hastily
through St. Peter's Port, and then hurried towards St.
Sampson by way of the shore. In his anxiety to avoid people
he knew, he shunned the highways now crowded with pedes-
trians excited over his great achievement.

For a long time, as the reader knows, he had had a way
of traversing the country in every direction without being
seen by any one. He knew all the by-paths, and preferred
lonely and circuitous routes ; he had the shy habits of a wild
beast who knows that he is disliked, and keeps at a distance.
When quite a child, he had been quick to feel how little wel-
come men showed in their faces at his approach, and he had
gradually contracted that habit of holding himself aloof
which had since become an instinct.

He passed the Esplanade, then the Salerie. Now and then
he turned and looked behind him at the " Cashmere " in tlie
roads, which had just set sail. There was very little wind,
and Gilliatt moved faster than the vessel as he walked with
downcast eyes among the rocks on the water's edge. The tide
was beginning to rise.

Suddenly he paused, and, turning his back upon the sea,

contemplated for some minutes a clump of oaks beyond the

rocks that hid the road to Vale. They were the oaks at the

spot called the Basses Maisons. It was there that Deruchette

lonce wrote the name of Gilliatt in the snow. Many a day had

[passed since that snow had melted away.

He continued on his way.

The day was beautiful, — more beautiful than any that

|had been seen that year. It was one of those spring days

when May suddenly pours forth all its beauty, and when Na-

tture seems to have no thought but to rejoice and be happy.

220 TOILERS OF THE SEA

Amid the many murmurs from forest and village, from the sea
and the air, a sound of cooing could be distinguished. The
first butterflies of the year were resting on the early roses.
Everything in Nature seemed new, — the grass, the mosses, the
leaves, the perfumes, even the rays of light. The sun shone
as if it had never shone before. The pebbles seemed bathed
in coolness. Birds but lately fledged sang from the trees, or
fluttered among the boughs in their attempts to use their
new-found wings. There was a combined chattering of gold-
finches, pewits, tomtits, woodpeckers, bullfinches, and thrushes.
Lilacs, lilies of the valley, daphnes, and melilots mingled their
hues in the thickets. A beautiful aquatic plant peculiar to
Guernsey covered with an emerald green the pools where the
kingfishers and the water-wagtails, which make such graceful
little nests, came down to bathe. Through every opening in
the branches appeared the deep blue sky. A few wanton
clouds chased each other along the azure sky, with the undu-
lating grace of nymphs. The ear seemed to catch the sound
of kisses wafted from invisible lips. Every old wall had its
bunch of gillyflowers like a bridegroom. The plum-trees and
laburnums were in bloom ; their white and yellow blossoms
gleamed through the interlacing boughs. The spring had
showered all her gold and silver on the woods. The new
shoots and leaves were green and fresh. Calls of welcome were
in the air; the approaching summer opened her hospitable
doors for birds coming from afar. It was the time of the
arrival of the swallows. Clumps of furze-bushes bordered the
steep sides of the roads until it should be time for the haw-
thorn. The pretty and the beautiful reigned side by side;
the magnificent and the graceful, the great and the small.
No note in the grand concert of Nature was lost. Microscopic
beauties took their place in the vast universal plan in which
everything was as distinguishable as if seen in limpid water.
Everywhere a divine fulness, a mysterious sense of expansion,
suggested the unseen workings of the moving sap. Glittering
things glittered more than ever; loving natures seemed to
become more tender. There was a hymn in the flowers, and a

J

I

TOILERS OF THE SEA 221

radiance in the sounds of the air. The widely diffused har-
mony of Nature burst forth on every side. All things that
felt the dawn of life invited others to put forth shoots. A
movement coming from below, and also from above, stirred
vaguely every heart susceptible to the powerful though covert
influence of germination. The flower gave promise of the
fruit ; young maidens dreamed of love. It was Nature's uni-
versal bridal. It was sunny and bright and warm ; through
the hedges in the meadows children could be seen laughing and
playing games. The apple, peach, cherry, and pear trees
filled the orchards with their masses of white and pink blos-
soms. In the fields were primroses, cowslips, milfoil, daff^o-
dils, daisies, speedwell, hyacinths, St. John's wort, violets, blue
borage and yellow irises, together with those beautiful little
pink star-shaped flowers which are always found in large
patches, and which are consequently called " companions."
Insects covered with golden scales glided between the stones.
The flowering houseleek covered the thatched roofs with pur-
ple bloom ; and the bees were abroad, mingling their humming
with the murmurs from the sea.

When Gilliatt reached St. Sampson, the water had not yet
risen at the farther end of the harbour, and he was able to
cross it dry-shod and unobserved, behind the hulls of several
vessels drawn up for repairs. A number of flat stones placed
at regular distances were of great assistance to him in cross-
ing. He was not noticed. The crowd was at the other end
of the port near the narrow entrance, by the Bravees. There,
his name was in everybody's mouth. They were, in fact, talk-
ing so much about him that no one paid attention to him. He
passed, protected to some extent by the very commotion he
had caused.

He saw the sloop lying where he had moored it, with the
funnel standing between its four chains, the movements of
carpenters at work, and confused outlines of figures passing
to and fro ; and he could distinguish the loud and cherry voice
of Mess Lethierry giving orders.

He threaded the narrow alleys behind the Bravees. There

222 TOILERS OF THE SEA

was no one else there. Public curiosity was concentrated on
the front of the house. He chose the footpath that skirted the
low wall of the garden, but stopped at the angle where the
wild mallow grew. He saw once more the big stone where he
used to spend his time, — the wooden bench where Deruchette
was wont to sit, and glanced again at the path where he had
seen the shadow of two forms which had vanished from his
gaze forever.

He soon went on his way, climbed the hill of Vale Castle,
descended it, and directed his steps towards the Bu de la Rue.

The Houmet-Paradis was a solitude.

His house was exactly as he had left it that morning after
dressing himself to go to St. Peter's Port.

A window was open, through which his bagpipe might
have been seen hanging to a nail upon the wall. Upon the
table was the little Bible given to him as a token of gratitude
by the stranger whom he now knew as Caudray.

The key was in the door. He approached, placed his hand
upon it, turned it twice in the lock, then put it in his pocket,
and departed.

He did not walk in the direction of the town, but towards
the sea.

He crossed the garden diagonally, taking the shortest cut
without regard to the beds, but taking care not to tread upon
the plants which he had placed there because he heard that
they were favourites with Deruchette.

.He climbed the parapet, and let himself down upon the
rocks below. Going straight on, he began to follow the long
ridge which connected the Bu de la Rue with the huge granite
obelisk rising perpendicularly out of the sea, and known as
the Beast's Horn.

The famous Gild-Holm-'Ur seat was on this rock.

He strode from rock to rock like a giant striding over
mountain peaks. To make long strides over a ridge of
jagged rocks is like walking on the ridge of a roof.

A fisherwoman with dredge-nets, who had been wading bare-
footed among the pools of sea- water, and had just regained

TOILERS OF THE SEA 223

the shore, called out to him, " Take care ! The tide is coming

in."

But he hastened on.

Having reached the big rock on the point, — the Horn,
which rises like a pinnacle out of the sea, — he stopped. It
was the extreme end of the promontory.

He looked around.

Out at sea were a few fishing-boats at anchor. From time
to time, little rivulets of silver streamed from them in the
sun, — it was the water running from the nets. Tlie " Cash-
mere " was not yet off St. Sampson. She had set her main-
topsail, and was between Herm and Jethou.

Gilliatt walked around to the other side of the rock, and
came up under the Gild-Holm-'Ur seat, at the foot of the
steep stairs where he had helped Caudray down less than three
months before. He ascended.

Most of the steps were already under water. Only two or
three were still dry. He mounted them.

The steps led up to the Gild-Holm-'Ur. He reached the
niche, gazed at it for a moment, pressed his hand on his eyes,
and let it glide gently from one eyelid to the other, — a ges-
ture by which he seemed to obliterate the memory of the past,
— then sat down in the hollow, with the perpendicular wall
behind him and the ocean at his feet.

The " Cashmere " at that moment was passing the great
round sea-washed tower, defended by one serjeant and a
cannon, which marks half the distance between Herm and St.
Peter's Port.

A few flowers waved among the crevices in the rock above
Gilliatt's head. The sea was blue as far as ©ye could reach.
The wind came from the east ; there was a little surf in the
direction of the island of Sark, of which only the western end
is visible from Guernsey. In the distance one could dimly
discern the coast of France like a line of mist, and the long
strip of yellow sand at Carteret. Now and then a white
butterfly fluttered by. Buttei-flies frequently fly out to sea.

The breeze was scarcely perceptible. The blue expanse

224 TOILERS OF THE SEA

above as well as below was perfectly tranquil. Not a rlppk
agitated those serpent-like lines of more or less intense azure
which indicate the contour of the reefs below.

The " Cashmere," making but slight progress, had set her
topsail and studdingsails to catch the breeze. All her canvas
was spread, but the wind being a side one, her studdingsails
only compelled her to hug the Guernsey coast more closely.

She had passed the St. Sampson beacon, and was off the
hill of Vale Castle. The moment was fast approaching when
she would round Bu de la Rue Point.

Gilliatt watched her approach.

The air and sea were still. The tide rose not In waves,
but by an imperceptible swell. The level of the water crept
upwards, without any palpitation. The subdued murmur
from the open sea was soft as the breathing of a child.

In the direction of the harbour of St. Sampson, the sound
of carpenters' hammers could be faintly heard. The car-
penters were probably at work constructing the tackle, gear,
and apparatus for removing the engine from the sloop.

The sounds, however, scarcely reached Gilliatt by reason of
the mass of granite at his back.

The " Cashmere " approached with the slowness of a phan-
tom ship.

Gilliatt watched it intently.

Suddenly a touch and a sensation of cold caused him to
look down. The sea had reached his feet.

He lowered his eyes, then raised them again.

The " Cashmere " was quite near now.

The side of the rock in which the rains had hollowed out
the Gild-Holm-'Ur seat was so completely vertical, and there
was so much water at its base, that in calm weather vessels
were able to pass within a few cables' lengths of it without
danger.

The " Cashmere " was abreast of the rock. It rose straight
upwards as if it had grown out of the water ; or like the
lengthening out of a shadow.

The rigging stood out darkly against the sky and in the

TOILERS OF THE SEA 225

magnificent expanse of the sea. The tall sails, passing for a
moment between the beholder and the sun, became illumined
with a singular glory and transparency. The water mur-
mured softly, but no sound attended the majestic passing of
the vessel. The deck was as plainly visible to Gilliatt as if he
had been standing upon it.

The " Cashmere " almost grazed the rock.

The steersman was at the helm, a cabin-boy was climbing
the shrouds, a few passengers were leaning over the bulwarks
contemplating the beauty of the scene, the captain was smok-
ing ; but Gilliatt saw nothing of all this.

There was a nook on deck on which the broad sunlight fell.
It was on this corner that Gilliatt's eyes were fixed. In the
sunlight there, sat Deruchette and Caudray. They were sit-
ting together side by side, like two birds, warming themselves
in the noonday sun, upon one of those covered seats with a
little awning which well-ordered packet-boats provided for
passengers, and which were marked " For ladies only," when
they happened to be on an English vessel. Deruchette's head
was resting on Caudray's shoulder; his arm was around her
waist; they held each other's hands with their fingers inter-
woven. A celestial light beamed on these two beautiful and
innocent faces, one so virginal, the other so heavenly in ex-
pression. Their chaste embrace was indicative at the same
time of their earthly union and their purity of soul. The
seat was a sort of alcove, almost a nest; at the same time it
formed a sort of halo around them, — the tender aureole of
love melting into a cloud.

The silence was like the silence of heaven.

Caudray's gaze was fixed in rapt contemplation. Deru-
chette's lips moved; and in that perfect silence, as the wind
carried the vessel near shore, and it glided within a few feet
of the Gild-Holm-'Ur, Gilliatt heard the soft and musical
voice of Deruchette exclaiming:

" Look yonder ! It seems as if there were a man upon the
rock."

The vessel passed on,

1.5

226 • TOILERS OF THE SEA

Leaving the promontory of the Bu de la Rue behind her,
the " Cashmere " ghdcd out upon the broad expanse. In less
than a quarter of an hour, her masts and sails formed upon
the water merely a sort of white obelisk rapidly diminishing
in size. Gilliatt felt that the Avater had reached his knees.

He watched the vessel speeding on her way.

The breeze freshened. He could see the " Cashmere " run
out her lower studdingsails and her staysails in order to take
advantage of the rising wind. She was already' out of the
waters of Guernsey. Gilliatt followed the vessel with his
eyes. The waves had reached his waist.

The tide was rising. Time was passing.

The sea-mews and cormorants circled excitedly around him,
as if trying to warn him of his danger. Perhaps some of his
old companions of the Douvres were among them and had
recognized him.

An hour passed.

The wind from the sea was scarcely felt in the roads ; but
the outlines of the " Cashmere " were rapidly fading in the
distance. The sloop, according to all appearance, was sailing
fast. It was already nearly off the Caskets.

But there was no foam around the Gild-Holm-'Ur ; no
wave beat against its granite sides. The water rose peace-
fully. It was nearly up to Gilliatt's shoulders.

Another hour passed.

The " Cashmere " was beyond the waters of Alderney. The
Ortachs concealed it from view for a moment ; it passed be-
hind the rocks and emerged again as from an eclipse. The
sloop was hastening northward. It was only a white speck
now glittering in the sunlight.

The birds were still hovering over Gilliatt, uttering short,
shrill cries.

Only his head was visible now. The tide was nearly at
the flood.

Gilliatt was still watching the " Cashmere."

Evening was approaching. Behind him, in the roads, a
few fishing-boats were returning home.

TOILERS OF THE SEA 227

Gilliatt's eyes remained fixed upon the vessel in the distant
horizon.

Their expression resembled nothing earthly. A strange
lustre ehone in their calm yet tragic depths. There was in
them the knowledge of hopes never to be realized; the calm
but sorrowful acceptance of an end widely different from
his dreams ; the solemn acceptance of an accomplished fact.
.The flight of a star might be followed by such a gaze. By
degrees the shadow of approaching death began to darken
them, though they were still riveted upon that point in
space. The wide water around the Gild-Holm-'Ur and the
vast gathering twilight closed in upon them at the same in-
stant.

The " Cashmere," now scarcely perceptible, had become
a mere spot in the thin haze. Gradually, this spot grew
paler. Then it dwindled still more. Then it disappeared
altogether.

As the vessel vanished from sight in the horizon, the head
of Gilliatt disappeared beneath the water. Nothing was
visible now but the sea.

THE END

BUG-JARGAL

BUG-JARGAL

PROLOGUE

WHEN it came to the turn of Captain Leopold d'Au-
verney, he gazed around him with surprise, and hur-
riedly assured his comrades that he did not remember any
incident in his life that was worthy of repetition.

" But, Captain d'Auverney," objected Lieutenant Henri,
" you have — at least report says so — travelled much, and
seen a good deal of the world ; have you not been to the An-
tilles, to Africa, and to Italy? and above all, you have been
in Spain. But see, here is 3'our lame dog come back again ! "

D'Auverney started, let fall the cigar that he was smok-
ing, and turned quickly to the tent door, at which an enor-
mous dog appeared, limping towards him.

In another instant the dog was licking his feet, wagging
his tail, whining, and gambolling as well as he was able ; and
by every means testifying his delight at finding his master ;
and at last, as if he felt that he had done all that could be
required of a dog, he curled himself up peaceably before his
master's seat.

Captain d'Auverney was much moved, but he strove to
conceal his feelings, and mechanically caressed the dog with
one hand, while with the other he played with the chin-strap
of his shako, murmuring from time to time, " So here you are
once again, Rask, here you are ! " Then, as if suddenly
recollecting himself, he exclaimed aloud, " But who has
brought him back ? "

" By your leave, Captain — "

2 BUG-JARGAL

For the last few seconds Sergeant Thaddeus had been
standing at the door of the tent, the curtain of which he was
holding back with his left hand, while his right was thrust
into the bosom of his great-coat. Tears were in his eyes as
he contemplated the meeting of the dog and his master, and
at last, unable to keep silence any longer, he risked the
words, " By your leave, Captain."

D'Auverney raised his eyes.

" Why, it is you, Thaddeus? and how the deuce have you
been able — eh.'' Poor dog, poor Rask! I thouglit that you
were in the English camp. Where did you find him, Ser-
geant.'' "

" Thanks be to Heaven, Captain, you see me as happy as
your little nephew used to be when you let him off his Latin
lesson."

" But tell me, where did you find him? "

" I did not find him. Captain ; I went to look for him."

Captain d'Auverney rose, and offered his hand to the
sergeant, but the latter still kept his in the bosom of his
coat.

" Well, you see, it was — at least, Captain, since poor
Rask was lost, I noticed that you were like a man beside
himself; so when I saw that he did not come to me in the
evening, according to his custom, for his share of my ration
bread, — which made old Thaddeus weep like a child ; I, who
before that had only wept twice in my life, the first time
when — yes, the day when — " and the sergeant cast a sad
look upon his captain. " Well, the second was when that
scamp Balthazar, the corporal of the Seventh half brigade,
persuaded me to peel a bunch of onions."

" It seems to me, Thaddeus," cried Henri, with a laugh,
" that you avoid telling us what was the first occasion upon
which you shed tears."

" It was doubtless, old comrade," said the captain kindly,
as he patted Rask's head, " when you answered the roll-call
as Tour d'Auvergne, the first grenadier of France."

" No, no. Captain ; if Sergeant Thaddeus wept, it was

BUG-JARGAL 3

when he gave the order to fire on Bug-Jargal, otherwise
called Pierrot."

A cloud gathered on the countenance of D'Auverney, then
he again endeavoured to clasp the sergeant's hand; but in
spite of the honour that was attempted to be conferred on
him, the old man still kept his hand hidden under his coat.

" Yes, Captain," continued Thaddeus, drawing back a step
or two, while D'Auverney fixed his eyes upon him with a
strange and sorrowful expression, — " yes, I wept for him
that day, and he well deserved it. He was black, it is true,
but gunpowder is black also ; and — and — "

The good sergeant would fain have followed out his
strange comparison, for there was evidently something in
the idea that pleased him; but he utterly failed to put his
thoughts into words, and after having attacked his idea on
every side, as a general would a fortified place, and failed,
he raised the siege, and without noticing the smiles of his
officers, he continued : —

" Tell me, Captain, do you recollect how that poor negro
arrived all out of breath, at the moment when his ten com-
rades were waiting on the spot? We had had to tie them,
though. It was I who commanded the party ; and with his
own hands he untied them, and took their place, although
they did all that they could to dissuade him ; but he was in-
flexible. Ah, what a man he was ; you might as well have
tried to move Gibraltar! And then. Captain, he drew him-
self up as if he were going to enter a ball-room, and this
jdog, who knew well enough what was coming, flew at my
throat — "

" Generally, Thaddeus, at this point of your story you
pat Rask," interrupted the captain ; " see how he looks at
you."

" You are right, sir," replied Thaddeus, with an air of
embarrassment ; " he does look at me, poor fellow ; but the old
woman Malajuda told me it was unlucky to pat a dog with
the left hand, and — "

"And why not with your right, pray.'*" asked D'Au-

4 BUG-JARGAL

verney, for the first time noticing the sergeant's pallor, and
the hand reposing in his bosom.

The sergeant's discomfort appeared to increase. " By
your leave, Captain, it is because — well, you have got a
lame dog, and now there is a chance of your having a one-
handed sergeant."

" A one-handed sergeant ! What do you mean ? Let me
see 3'our arm. One hand ! Great heavens ! "

D'Auverney trembled, as the sergeant slowly withdrew his
hand from his bosom, and showed it enveloped in a blood-
stained handkerchief.

" This is terrible," exclaimed D'Auverne}^, carefully un-
doing the bandage. " But tell me, old comrade, how this
happened."

" As for that, the thing is simple enough. I told you how
I had noticed your grief since those confounded English had
taken away your dog, — poor Rask, Bug's dog. I made up
my mind to-day to bring him back, even if it cost me my
life, so that you might eat a good supper. After having told
Mathelet, your bat man, to get out and brush your full-dress
uniform, as we are to go into action to-morrow, I crept
quietly out of camp, armed only with my sabre, and crouched
under the hedges until I neared the English camp. I had
not passed the first trench when I saw a whole crowd of red
soldiers. I crept on quietly to see what they were doing, and
in the midst of them I perceived Rask tied to a tree ; while
two of the milords, stripped to here, were knocking each
other about with their fists, until their bones sounded like
the big drum of the regiment. They were fighting for your
dog. But when Rask caught sight of me, he gave such a
bound that the rope broke, and in the twinkling of an eye the
rogue was after me. I did not stop to explain, but off* I ran,
with all the English at my heels. A regular hail of balls
whistled past my ears. Rask barked, but they could not
hear him for their shouts of ' French dog ! French dog ! '
just as if Rask was not of the pure St. Domingo breed. In
spite of all I crushed through the thicket, and had almost

BUG-JARGAL 5

got clean away when two red coats confronted me. My sabre
accounted for one, and would have rid me of the other had his
pistol not unluckily had a bullet in it. My right arm suf-
fered ; but ' French dog ' leapt at his throat, as if he were
an old acquaintance. Down fell the Englishman, for the
embrace was so tight that he was strangled in a moment, —
and here we both are. My only regret is that I did not get
my wound in to-morrow's battle."

" Thaddeus, Thaddeus ! " exclaimed the captain in tones of
reproach ; " were you mad enough to expose your life thus
for a dog.'' "

" It was not for a dog, it was for Rask."
D'Auverney's face softened as Thaddeus added : " For
Rask, for Bug's dog."

" Enough, enough, old comrade ! " cried the captain, dash-
ing his hand across his eyes ; " come, lean on me, and I will
lead you to the hospital."

Thaddeus essayed to decline the honour, but in vain ; and
as they left the tent the dog got up and followed them.

This little drama had excited the curiosity of the specta-
tors to the highest degree. Captain Leopold d'Auverney was
one of those men who, in whatever position the chances of na-
ture and society may place them, always inspire a mingled
feeling of interest and respect. At the first glimpse there
was nothing striking in him, — his manner was reserved, and
his look cold. The tropical sun, though it had browned his
cheek, had not imparted to him that vivacity of speech and
gesture which among the Creoles is united to an easy care-
lessness of demeanour, in itself full of charm.

D'Auverney spoke little, listened less, but showed himself
ready to act at any moment. Always the first in the saddle,
and the last to return to camp, he seemed to seek a refuge
from his thoughts in bodily fatigue. These thoughts, which
had marked his brow with many a premature wrinkle, were
not of the kind that you can get rid of by confiding them to
a friend; nor could they be discussed in idle conversation.
Leopold d'Auverney, whose body the hardships of war could

6 BUG-JARGAL

not subdue, seemed to experience a sense of insurmountable
fatigue in what is termed the conflict of the feelings. He
avoided argument as much as he sought warfare. If at any
time he allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion, he
would utter a few words full of common-sense and reason,
and then at the moment of triumph over his antagonist he
would stop short, and muttering " What good is it.? "' would
saunter off^ to the commanding officer to glean what informa-
tion he could regarding the enemy's movements. His com-
rades forgave his cold, reserved, and silent habits, because
upon every occasion they had found him kind, gentle, and
benevolent. He had saved many a life at the risk of his own,
and they well knew that though his mouth was rarely opened,
yet his purse was never closed when a comrade had need of
his assistance.

D'Auverney was young; many would have guessed him at
thirty years of age, but they would have been wrong, for he
was some years under it. Although he had for a long period
fought in the ranks of the Republican army, yet all were in
ignorance of his former life. The only one to whom he
seemed ever to open his heart was Sergeant Thaddeus, who
had joined the regiment with him, and would at times speak
vaguely of sad events in his early life. It was known that
D'Auverney had undergone great misfortunes in America ;
that he had been married in St. Domingo, and that his wife
and all his family had perished in those terrible massacres
which had marked the Republican invasion of that magnifi-
cent colony. At the time of which we write, misfortunes of
this kind were so general that any one could sympathize with,
and feel pity for, such suff^erers.

D'Auverney, therefore, was pitied less for his misfortunes
than for the manner in which they had been brought about.
Beneath his icy mask of indifference the traces of the incur-
ably wounded spirit could be at times perceived. When he
went into action his calmness returned, and in the fight he
behaved as if he sought for the rank of general ; while after
victory he was as gentle and unassuming as if the position

BUG-JARGAL 7

of a private soldier would have satisfied his ambition. His
comrades, seeing him thus despise honour and promotion,
could not understand what it was that lighted up his counte-
nance with a ray of hope when the action commenced, and
they did not for a moment divine that the prize D'Auverney
was striving to gain was simply — death.

The Representatives of the People, in one of their mis-
sions to the army, had appointed him a Chief of Brigade on
the field of battle ; but he had declined the honour upon learn-
ing that it would remove him from his old comrade Sergeant
Thaddeus. Some days afterwards, having returned from a
dangerous expedition safe and sound, contrary to the general
expectation and his own hopes, he was heard to regret the
rank that he had refused. " For," said he, " since the
enemy's guns always spare me, perhaps the guillotine, which
ever strikes down those it has raised, would in time have
claimed me."

Such was the character of the man upon whom the conver-
sation turned as soon as he had left the tent.

" I would wager," cried Lieutenant Henri, wiping a splash
of mud off his boot which the dog had left as he passed him,
— " I would wager that the captain would not exchange the
broken paw of his dog for the ten baskets of Madeira that
we caught a glimpse of in the general's wagon."

" Bah ! " cried Paschal the aide-de-camp, " that would be
a bad bargain: the baskets are empty by now, and thirty
empty bottles would be a poor price for a dog's paw ; why,
you might make a good bell-handle out of it."

They all laughed at the grave manner in which Paschal
pronounced these words, with the exception of a young officer
of Hussars named Alfred, who remarked, —

" I do not see any subject for chaff' in this matter, gentle-
men. This sergeant and dog, who are always at D'Auver-
ney's heels ever since I have known him, seem to me more
the objects of sympathy than raillery, and interest me
greatly."

Paschal, annoyed that his wit had missed fire, interrupted

8 BUG-JARGAL

him : " It certainly is a most sentimental scene ; a lost dog
found, and a broken arm — "

" Captain Paschal," said Henri , throwing an empty bottle
outside the tent, " you are wrong ; this Bug, otherwise called
Pierrot, excites my curiosity greatly."

At this moment D'Auverney returned, and sat down with-
out uttering a word. His manner was still sad, but his face
was more calm ; he seemed not to have heard what was said.
Rask, who had followed him, lay down at his feet, but kept
a watchful eye on his master's comrades.

" Pass your glass, Captain D'Auverney, and taste this."

" Oh, thank you," replied the captain, evidently imagining
that he was answering a question, " the wound is not danger-
ous ; there is no bone broken."

The respect which all felt for D'Auverney prevented a
burst of laughter at this reply.

" Since your mind is at rest regarding Thaddeus's wound,"
said Henri, " and, as you may remember, we entered into an
agreement to pass away the hours of bivouac by relating to
one another our adventures, will you carry out your promise
by telling us the history of your lame dog, and of Bug, —
otherwise called Pierrot, that regular Gibraltar of a man ? "

To this request, which was put in a semi-jocular tone,
D'Auverney at last yielded.

" I will do what you ask, gentlemen," said he ; " but you
must only expect a very simple tale, in which I play an ex-
tremely second-rate part. If the affection that exists be-
tween Thaddeus, Rask, and myself leads you to expect any-
thing very wonderful, I fear that you will be greatly disap-
pointed. However, I will begin."

For a moment D'Auverney relapsed into thought, as
though he wished to recall past events which had long since
been replaced in his memory by the acts of his later years ;
but at last, in a low voice and with frequent pauses, he began
his tale.

CHAPTER I

I WAS born in France, but at an early age I was sent to
St. Domingo, to the care of an uncle, to whose daughter
it had been arranged between our parents that I was to be
married. My uncle was one of the wealthiest colonists, and
possessed a magnificent house and extensive plantations in
the Plains of Acul, near Fort Galifet. The position of the
estate, which no doubt you wonder at my describing so mi-
nutely, was one of the causes of all our disasters, and the
eventual total ruin of our whole family.

Eight hundred negro slaves cultivated the enormous do-
mains of my uncle. Sad as the position of a slave is, my
uncle's hardness of heart added much to the unhappiness of
those who had the misfortune to be his property. My uncle
was one of the happily small number of planters from whpm
despotic power had taken away the gentler feelings of human-
ity. He was accustomed to see his most trifling command
unhesitatingly obeyed, and the slightest delay on the part
of his slaves in carrying it out was punished with the harshest
severity ; while the intercession either of my cousin or of my-
self too often merely led to an increase of the punishment,
and we were only too often obliged to rest satisfied by secretly
assuaging the injuries which we were powerless to prevent.

Among the multitude of his slaves, one only had found
favour in my uncle's sight ; this was a half-caste Spanish
dwarf, who had been given him by Lord Effingham, the Gov-
ernor of Jamaica. My uncle, who had for many years re-
sided in Brazil, and had adopted the luxurious habits of the
Portuguese, loved to surround himself with an establishment
that was in keeping with his wealth. In order that nothing
should be wanting, he had made the slave presented to him
by Lord Effingham his fool, in imitation of the feudal lords

9

10 BUG-JARGAL

who had jesters attached to their households. I must say
that the slave amply fulfilled all the required conditions.

Habibrah, for that was the half-caste's name, was one of
those strangely formed, or rather deformed, beings who
would be looked upon as monsters if their very hideousness
did not cause a laugh. This ill-featured dwarf was short
and fat, and moved with wondrous activity upon a pair of
slender limbs, which, when he sat down, bent under him like
the legs of a spider. His enormous head, covered with a
mass of red curly wool, was stuck between his shoulders,
while his ears were so large that Habibrah's comrades were
in the habit of saying that he used them to wipe his eyes
when he wept. On his face there was always a grin, which
was continually changing its character, and which caused his
ugliness to be of an ever-varying description. My uncle was
fond of him, because of his extreme hideousness and his inex-
tinguishable gayety. Habibrah Avas his only favourite, and
led a life of ease, while the other slaves were overwhelmed with
work. The sole duties of the jester were to carry a large fan,
made of the feathers of the bird of paradise, to keep away
the sandflies and the mosquitoes from his master. At meal-
times he sat upon a reed mat at his master's feet, who fed
him with tit-bits from his own plate. Habibrah appeared to
appreciate all these acts of kindness, and at the slightest sign
from my uncle he would run to him with the agility of a
monkey and the docility of a dog.

I had imbibed a prejudice against my uncle's favourite
slave. There was something crawling in his seryility ; for
though outdoor slavery does not dishonour, domestic service
too often debases. I felt a sentiment of pity for those slaves
who toiled in the scorching sun, with scarcely a vestige of
clothing to hide their chains ; but I despised this idle serf,
with his garments ornamented with gold lace and adorned
with bells. Besides the dwarf never made use of his influence
■with his master to ameliorate the condition of his fellow-suf-
ferers ; on the contrary, I heard him once, when he thought
that he and his master were alone, urge him to increase his

BUG-JARGAL 11

severity towards his ill-fated comrades. The other slaves,
however, did not appear to look upon him with any feelings
of anger or rancour, but treated him with a timid kind of re-
spect; and when, dressed in all the splendour of laced gar-
ments and a tall pointed cap ornamented with bells, and
quaint symbols traced upon it in red ink, he walked past
their huts, I have heard them murmur in accents of awe,
" He is an obi " (sorcerer).

These details, to which I now draw your attention, occu-
pied my mind but little then. I had given myself up entirely
to the emotion of a pure love, in which nothing else could
mingle, — a love which was returned me with passion by the
girl to whom I was betrothed, — and I gave little heed to
anything that was not Marie. Accustomed from youth to
look upon her as the future companion of my life, there was
a curious mixture of the love of a brother for a sister,
mingled with the passionate adoration of a betrothed lover.

Few men have spent their earlier years more happily than
I have done, or have felt their souls expand into life in the
midst of a delicious climate and all the luxuries which wealth
could procure, with perfect happiness in the present and the
brightest hopes for the future. No man, as I said before,
could have spent his earlier years more happily —

[D'Auverney paused for a moment, as if these thoughts of
by-gone happiness had stifled his voice, and then added:]

And no one could have passed his later ones in more pro-
found misery and affliction.

CHAPTER II

IN the midst of these blind Illusions and hopes, my twen-
tieth birthday approached. It was now the month of
August, 1791, and my uncle had decided that this should be
the date of my marriage with Marie. You can well under-
stand that the thoughts of happiness, now so near, absorbed

12 BUG-JARGAL

all my faculties, and how little notice I took of the political
crisis which was then felt throughout the colony. I will not,
therefore, speak of the Count de Pernier, or of M. de
Blanchelande, nor of the tragical death of the unfortunate
Colonel de Marchiste; nor will I attempt to describe the jeal-
ousies of the Provincial House of Assembly of the North, and
the Colonial Assembly (which afterwards called itself the
General Assembly, declaring that the word " Colonial " had
a ring of slavery in it). For my own part, I sided with
neither; but if I did espouse any cause, it was in favour of
Cap, near which town my home was situate, in opposition to
Port au Prince.

Only once did I mix myself up in the question of the day.
It was on the occasion of the disastrous decree of the 15th of
May, 1791, by which the National Assembly of France ad-
mitted free men of colour to enjo3'^ the same political privi-
leges as the whites. At a ball given by the Governor of Cap,
many of the younger colonists spoke in impassioned terms of
this law, which levelled so cruel a blow at the instincts of
supremacy assumed by the whites, with perhaps too little
foundation. I had, as yet, taken no part in the conversation,
when I saw approaching the group a wealthy planter, whose
doubtful descent caused him to be received merely upon suf-
ferance by the white society. I stepped in front of him, and
in a haughty voice I exclaimed, " Pass on, sir ! pass on ! or
you may hear words which would certainly be disagreeable
to those with mixed blood in their veins." He was so enraged
at this insinuation that he challenged me. We fought, and
each was slightly wounded. I confess that I was in the
wrong to have thus provoked him, and it is probable that I
should not have done so on a mere question of colour; but I
had for some time past noticed that he had had the audacity
to pay certain attentions to my cousin, and had danced with
her the very night upon which I had insulted him.

However, as time went on, and the date so ardently desired
approached, I was a perfect stranger to the state of political
ferment in which those around me lived ; and I never perceived

BUG-JARGAL 13

the frightful cloud which already almost obscured the hori-
zon, and which promised a storm that would sweep all before
it. No one at that time thought seriously of a revolt among
the slaves, — a class too much despised to be feared ; but be-
tween the whites and the free mulattoes there was sufficient
hatred to cause an outbreak at any moment, which might en-
tail the most disastrous consequences.

During the first days of August a strange incident oc-
curred, which threw a slight shade of uneasiness over the sun-
shine of my happiness.

CHAPTER III

ON the banks of a little river which flowed through my
uncle's estate was a small rustic pavilion in the midst
of a clump of trees. Marie was in the habit of coming here
every day to enjoy the sea breeze, which blows regularly in
St. Domingo, even during the hottest months of the year,
from sunrise until evening. Each morning it was my pleas-
ant task to adorn this charming retreat with the sweetest
flowers that I could gather.

One morning Marie came running to me in a great state
of alarm. Upon entering her leafy retreat she had perceived,
with surprise and terror, all the flowers which I had arranged
in the morning thrown upon the ground and trampled under
foot, and a bunch of wild marigolds, freshly gathered, placed
upon her accustomed seat. She had hardly recovered from
her terror, when, in the adjoining coppice, she heard the
sound of a guitar, and a voice, which was not mine, com-
menced singing a Spanish song; but in her excitement she
had been unable to catch the meaning of the words, though
she could hear her own name frequently repeated. Then she
had taken to flight, and had come to me full of this strange
and surprising event.

14 BUG-JARGAL

This recital filled me with jealousy and Indignation. My
first suspicions pointed to the mulatto with whom I had
fought ; but even in the midst of my perplexity I resolved
to do nothing rashly. I soothed Marie's fears as best I could,
and promised to watch over her without ceasing, until the
marriage tie would give me the right of never leaving her.

Believing that the intruder whose insolence had so alarmed
INIarie would not content himself with what he had already
done, I concealed myself that very evening near the portion
of the house in which my betrothed's chamber was situated.

Hidden among the tall stalks of the sugar-cane, and armed
with a dagger, I waited ; and I did not wait in vain. To-
wards the middle of the night my attention was suddenly at-
tracted by the notes of a guitar under the very window of
the room in which Marie reposed. Furious with rage, with
my dagger clutched firmly in my hand, I rushed in the direc-
tion of the sound, crushing beneath my feet the brittle stalks
of the sugar-canes. All of a sudden I felt myself seized and
thrown upon my back with what appeared to be superhuman
force ; my dagger was wrenched from my grasp, and I saw
its point shining above me ; at the same moment I could per-
ceive a pair of eyes and a double row of white teeth gleaming
through the darkness, while a voice, in accents of concentrated
rage, muttered, " Te tengo, te tengo!" (I have you, I have
you).

More astonished than frightened, I struggled vainly with
my formidable antagonist, and already the point of the dag-
ger had pierced my clothes, when Marie, whom the sound of
the guitar and the noise of the struggle had aroused, appeared
suddenly at her window. She recognized my voice, saw the
gleam of the knife, and uttered a cry of terror and affright.
This cry seemed to paralyze the hand of my opponent. He
stopped as if petrified ; but still, as though undecided, he kept
the point of the dagger pressed upon my chest. Then he
suddenly exclaimed in French, " No, I cannot ; she would
weep too much," and, casting away the weapon, rose to his
feet, and in an instant disappeared in the canes ; and before

BUG-JARGAL 15

I could rise, bruised and shaken from the struggle, no sound
and no sign remained of the presence or the flight of my
adversary.

It was some time before I could recover my scattered facul-
ties. I was more furious than ever with my unknown rival,
and was overcome with a feeling of shame at being indebted
to him for my life. " After all, however," I thought, " it is
to Marie that I owe it ; for it was the sound of her voice that
caused him to drop his dagger."

And yet I could not hide from myself that there was some-
thing noble in the sentiment which had caused my unknown
rival to spare me. But who could he be.'' One supposition
after another rose in my mind, all to be discarded in turn.
It could not be the mulatto planter to whom my suspicions
had first been directed. He was not endowed with such mus-
cular power ; nor was it his voice. The man with whom I had
struggled was naked to the waist ; slaves alone went about
half -clothed in this manner. But this could not be a slave;
the feeling which had caused him to throw away the dagger
would not have been found in the bosom of a slave, — and
besides, my whole soul revolted at the idea of having a slave
for a rival. What was to be done,'' I determined to wait
and watch.

CHAPTER IV

MARIE had awakened her old nurse, whom she looked
upon almost in the light of the mother who had died
in giving her birth, and with them I remained for the rest
of the night, and in tlie morning informed my uncle of the
mysterious occurrence. His surprise was extreme, but, like
me, his pride would not permit him to believe that a slave
would venture to raise his eyes to his daughter. The nurse
received the strictest orders from my uncle never to leave
Marie alone for a moment ; but as the sittings of the Pro-

16 BUG-JARGAL

vincial Assembly, the threatening aspect of the affairs of the
colony, and the superintendence of the plantation allowed
him but little leisure, he authorized me to accompany his
daughter whenever she left the house, until the celebration
of our nuptials ; and at the same time, presuming that the
daring lover must be lurking in the neighbourhood, he ordered
the boundaries of the plantation to be more strictly guarded
than ever.

After all these precautions had been taken, I determined
to put the matter to further proof. I returned to the sum-
mer-house by the river, and repairing the destruction of the
evening before, I placed a quantity of fresh flowers in their
accustomed place.

When the time arrived at which Marie usually sought the
sweet shades of this sequestered spot, I loaded my rifle and
proposed to escort her thither. The old nurse followed a few
steps behind.

Marie, to whom I had said nothing about my having set the
place to rights, entered the summer-house the first. " See,
Leopold," said she, " my nest is in the same condition in
which I left it yesterday ; here are your flowers thrown about
in disorder and trampled to pieces, and there is that odious
bouquet which does not appear at all faded since yesterday ;
indeed, it looks as if it had been freshly gathered."

I was speechless with rage and surprise. There was my
morning's work utterly ruined, and the wild flowers, at whose
freshness Marie was so much astonished, had insolently
usurped the place of the roses that I had strewn all over the
place.

" Calm yourself," said Marie, who noticed my agitation ;
" this insolent intruder will come here no more ; let us put
all thoughts of him on one side, as I do this nasty bunch of
flowers."

I did not care to undeceive her, and to tell her that he had
returned ; yet I was pleased to see the air of innocent indig-
nation with which she crushed the flowers under her foot.
Hoping that the day would again come when I should meet

BUG-JARGAL 17

my mysterious rival face to face, I made her sit down between
her nurse and myself.

Scarcely had we done so when Marie put her finger on my
lips : a sound, deadened by the breeze and the rippling of the
stream, had struck upon her ear. I listened ; it was the notes
of a guitar, the same melody that had filled me with fury on
the preceding evening. I made a movement to start from
my seat, but a gesture of Marie's detained me.

" Leopold," whispered she, " restrain yourself ; he is going
to sing, and we shall learn who he is."

As she spoke, a few more notes were struck on the guitar,
and then from the depths of the wood came the plaintive
melody of a Spanish song, every word of which has remained
deeply engraved on my memory : —

Why dost thou fear me and fly me?

Say, has my music no charms?
Do you not know that I love you?

Why, then, these causeless alarms?

Maria !

When I perceive your slight figure

Glide through the cocoanut grove.
Sometimes I think 't is a spirit

Come to reply to my love.

Maria !

Sweeter your voice to mine ears

Than the l)irds' song in the sky
That, from the kingdom I've lost.

Over the wide ocean fly,

Maria !

Far away, once I was king.

Noble and powerful and free;
All I would gladly give up

For a word, for a gesture from thee,

Maria !

Tall and upright as a palm.

Sweet in j'our young lover's eyes
As the soft shade of the tree

Mirrored in cool water lies.

Maria I

18 BUG-JARGAL

But know j'ou not that the storm
Comes and uproots the fair tree?

Jealousy comes like that storm.
Bringing destruction to thee,

Maria !

Tremble, Hispaniola's daughter,
Lest all should fade and decay;

And vainly you look for the arm
To bear you in safety away.

Maria !

Why, then, repulse my fond love?

Black I am, while you are white;
Night and the day, when united.

Bring forth the beautiful light.

Maria !

CHAPTER V

A PROLONGED quavering note upon the guitar, like
a sob, concluded the song.

I was beside myself with rage. King ! black ! slave ! A
thousand incoherent ideas were awakened b3^ this extraor-
dinary and mysterious song. A maddening desire to finish
for once and all with this unknown being, who dared to mingle
the name of Marie with songs of love and menace, took pos-
session of me. I grasped my rifle convulsively and rushed
from the summer-house. Marie stretched out her arms to
detain me, but I was already in the thicket from which the
voice appeared to have come. I searched the little wood thor-
oughly, I beat the bushes with the barrel of my rifle, I crept
behind the trunks of the large trees, and walked through the
high grass.

Nothing, nothing, always nothing! This fruitless search
added fuel to the fire of my anger. Was this insolent rival
always to escape from me like a supernatural being. ? Was
I never to be able to find out who he was, or to meet him ? At
this moment the tinkling of bells roused me from my revery.

BUG-JARGAL 19

I turned sliarply round, tlie dwarf Ilabibrah was at my side.

" Good-day, master," said lie, with a sidelong glance full
of triumphant malice at the anxiety which was imprinted on
my face.

" Tell me," exclaimed I, roughly, " have you seen any one
about here.'' "

" No one except yourself, senor mio," answered he, calmly.

" Did you hear no voice .'' " continued I.

The slave remained silent as though seeking for an evasive
reply.

M}^ passion burst forth. " Quick, quick ! " I exclaimed.
" Answer me quickly, wretch! did you hear a voice.? "

He fixed his eyes boldly upon mine ; they were small and
round, and gleamed like those of a wild cat.

" What do you mean by a voice, master.? There are voices
everywhere, — the voice of the birds, the voice of the stream,
the voice of the wind in the trees — "

I shook him roughly. " IMiserable buffoon ! " I cried,
" cease your quibbling, or you shall hear another voice from
the barrel of my rifle. Answer at once; did you hear a man
singing a Spanish song.? "

" Yes, senor," answered he, calmly. " Listen, and I will
tell you all about it. I was walking on the outskirts of the
wood listening to what the silver bells of my gorra [cap]
were telling me, when the wind brought to my ears some
Spanish words,— the first language that I heard when my
age could have been counted by months, and my mother car-
ried me slung at her back in a hammock of red and yellow
wool. I love the language ; it recalls to me the time when I
was little M'ithout being a dwarf, — a little child, and not a
buffoon ; and so I listened to the song."

" Is that all you have to say.? " cried I, impatiently.
" Yes, handsome master ; but if you like I can tell you
who the man was who sang."

I felt inclined to clasp him in my arms. " Oh, speak ! "
I exclaimed ; " speak ! Here is my purse, and ten others
fuller than that shall be yours if you will tell me his name."

20 BUG-JARGAL

He took the purse, opened it, and smiled. " Ton purses
fuller than this," murmured he ; " that will make a fine heap
of good gold coins. But do not be impatient, young master,
I am going to tell you all. Do you remember the last verse
of his song, — something about ' I am black, and you are
white, and the union of the two produces the beautiful light? '
Well, if this song is true, Habibrah, your humble slave, was
born of a negress and a white, and must be more beautiful
than you, master. I am the offspring of day and night,
therefore I am more beautiful than a white man, and — "

He accompanied this rhapsody with bursts of laughter.

" Enough of buffoonery," cried I ; " tell me who was sing-
ing in the wood ! "

" Certainly, master ; the man who sang such buffooneries,
as you rightly term them, could only have been — a fool like
me ! Have I not gained my ten purses ? "

I raised my hand to chastise his insolence, when a wild
shriek rang through the wood from the direction of the sum-
mer-house. It was Marie's voice. Like an arrow I darted
to the spot, wondering what fresh misfortune could be in
store for us, and in a few moments arrived, out of breath, at
the door of the pavilion. A terrible spectacle presented itself
to my eyes.

An enormous alligator, whose body was half concealed by
the reeds and water plants, had thrust his monstrous head
through one of the leafy sides of the summer-house ; his
hideous, widely-opened mouth threatened a young negro of
colossal height, who with one arm sustained Marie's fainting
form, while with the other he had plunged the iron portion
of a hoe between the sharp and pointed teeth of the monster.
The reptile struggled fiercely against the bold and courageous
hand that held him at bay.

As I appeared at the door, Marie uttered a cry of joy,
and extricating herself from the support of the negrok, threw
herself into my arms with, " I am saved ! I am saved ! "

At the movement and exclamations of Marie the negro
turned abruptly round, crossed his arms on his breast, and

BUG-JARGAL 21

casting a look of infinite sorrow upon my betrothed, remained
immovable, taking no heed of the alligator, which, having
freed itself from the hoe, was advancing on him in a threat-
ening manner. There would have been a speedy end of the
courageous negro had I not rapidly placed Marie on the
knees of her nurse (who, more dead than alive, was gazing
upon the scene), and coming close to the monster, discharged
my carbine into its yawning mouth. The huge reptile stag-
gered back, its bleeding jaws opened and shut convulsively,
its eyes closed; and after one or two unvailing efforts it
rolled over upon its back, with its scaly feet stiffening in the
air. It was dead.

The negro whose life I had so happny preserved turned his
head, and saw the last convulsive struggles of the monster;
then he fixed his eyes upon Marie, who had again cast herself
into my arms, and in accents of the deepest despair, he ex-
claimed in Spanish, "Why did you kill him?" and without
waiting for a reply leaped into the tliicket and disappeared.

CHAPTER VI

THE terrible scene, its singular conclusion, the extraor-
dinary mental emotions of every kind which had ac-
companied and followed my vain researches in the wood, had
made my brain whirl. Marie was still stupefied with the
danger that she had so narrowly escaped, and some time
elapsed before we could frame coherent words, or express our-
selves otherwise than by looks and clasping of the hands.

At last I broke the silence : " Come, Marie, let us leave
this ; some fatality seems attached to the place."

She rose eagerly, as if she had only been waiting for my
permission to do so, and leaning upon my arm, we quitted
the pavilion. 1 asked her how it had happened that succour
had so opportunely arrived when the danger was so imminent.

I

22 BUG-JARGAL

and if she knew who the slave was who had come to her as«
sistance ; for that it was a slave, was shown by his coarse linen
trousers, — a dress only worn by that unhappy class.

" The man," replied IMarie, " is no doubt one of my father's
negroes, who was at work in the vicinity when the appearance
of the alligator made me scream ; and my cry must have
warned him of my danger. All I know is, that he rushed
out of the wood and came to my help."

" From which side did he come.^ " asked I. ^

" From the opposite side from which the song came, and
into which you had just gone."

This statement upset the conclusion that I had been draw-
ing from the Spanish words that the negro had addressed to
me, and from the song in the same language by my unknown
rival. But yet there was a crowd of other similarities. This
negro of great height and powerful muscular development
might well have been the adversary with whom I had strug-
gled on the preceding night. In that case his half-clothed
person would furnish a striking proof. The singer in the
wood had said, " I am black," — a further proof. He had
declared himself to be a king, and this one was only a slave;
but I recollected that in my brief examination I had been
surprised at the noble appearance of his features, though of
course accompanied by the characteristic signs of the African
race.

The more that I thought of his appearance, the nobleness
of his deportment, and his magnificent proportions, I felt that
there might be some truth in his statement that he had been
a king. But then came the crushing blow to my pride: if
he had dared to gaze with an eye of affection upon Marie, if he
had made her the object of his serenades, — Jie, a negro and a
slave, — what punishment could be sufficiently severe for his
presumption.'' With these thoughts all my indecision re-
turned again, and again my anger increased against the mys-
terious unknown. But at the moment that these ideas filled
my brain, Marie dissipated them entirely by exclaiming, in
her gentle voice, —

BUG-JARGAL 23

" My Leopold, we must seek oiii this brave negro, and pay
him the debt of gratitude that we owe him ; for without him
I should have been lost, for you would have arrived too late."

These few words had a decisive effect. The}- did not alter
my determination to seek out the slave, but they entirely
altered the design with which I sought him ; for it was to
recompense and not to punish him that I was now eager.

My uncle learned from me that he owed his daughter's life
to the courage of one of his slaves, and he promised me his
liberty as soon as I could find him out.

CHAPTER VII

UP to that time my feelings had restrained me from going
into those portions of the plantation where the slaves
were at work ; it had been too painful for me to see so much
suffering which I was powerless to alleviate. But on the day
after the events had taken place which I liave just narrated,
upon my uncle asking me to accompany him on his tour of
inspection, I accepted his proposal with eagerness, hoping to
meet among the labourers the preserver of my much-beloved
Marie.

I had the opportunity in this visit of seeing how great a
power the master exercises over his slaves, but at the same
time I could perceive at what a cost this power was bought ,•
for though at the presence of my uncle all redoubled their
efforts, I could perceive that there was as much hatred as
terror in the looks that they furtively cast upon him.

Irascible by temperament, my uncle seemed vexed at being
unable to discover any object upon which to vent his wrath,
until Habibrah the buffoon, who Avas ever at his heels, pointed
out to him a young negro, who, overcome by heat and fatigue,
had fallen asleep under a clump of date-trees. My uncle
stepped quickly up to him, shook him violently, and in angry
tones ordered him to resume his work.

24 BUG-JARGAL

The terrified slave rose to his feet, and in so doing disclosed
a Bengal rose-tree upon which he had accidentally lain, and
which my uncle prized highly. The shrub was entirely de-
stroyed.

At this the master, already irritated at what he called the
idleness of his slave, became furious. Foaming with rage, he
unhooked from his belt the whip with wire-plated thongs,
which he always carried with him on his rounds, and raised
his arm to strike the negro who had fallen at his feet.

The whip did not fall. I shall, as long as I live, never
forget that moment. A powerful grasp arrested the hand
of the angry planter, and a negro (it was the very one that
I was in search of) exclaimed, " Punish me, for I have
offended you ; but do not hurt my brother, who has but broken
your rose-tree."

This unexpected interposition from the man to whom I
owed Marie's safety, his manner, his look, and the haughty
tone of his voice, struck me with surprise. But his generous
intervention, far from causing my uncle to blush for his
causeless anger, only increased the rage of the incensed
master, and turned his anger upon the new comer.

Exasperated to the highest pitch, my uncle disengaged his
arm from the grasp of the tall negro, and pouring out a
volley of threats, again raised the whip to strike the first
victim of his anger. This time, however, it was torn from
his hand, and the negro, breaking the handle studded with
iron nails as you would break a straw, cast it upon the ground
and trampled upon the instrument of degrading punishment.

I was motionless with surprise ; my uncle with rage, for
it was an unheard-of thing for him to find his authority thus
contemned. His eyes appeared ready to start from their
sockets, and his lips quivered with passion.

The negro gazed upon him calmly, and then, with a dig-
nified air, he offered him an axe that he held in his hand.
" White man," said he, " if you wish to strike me, at least
take this axe."

My uncle, beside himself with rage, would certainly have

BUG-JARGAL 25

complied with the request, for he stretched out his hand to
grasp the dangerous weapon ; but I in my turn interfered,
and seizing the axe threw it into the well of a sugar-mill which
was close at hand.

" What have you done ? " asked my uncle, angrily.

" I have saved you," answered I, " from the unhappiness
of striking the preserver of your daughter. It is to this
slave that you owe Marie; it is the negro to whom you have
promised liberty."

It was an unfortunate moment in which to remind my uncle
of his promise. My words could not soothe the wounded
dignity of the planter.

" His liberty ! " replied he, savagely. " Yes, he has de-
served that an end should be put to his slavery. His liberty
indeed ! we shall see what sort of liberty the members of a
court-martial will accord him."

These menacing words chilled my blood. In vain did
Marie later join her entreaties to mine. The negro whose
negligence had been the cause of this scene was punished
with a severe flogging, while his defender was thrown into
the dungeons of Fort Galifet, under the terrible accusation
of having assaulted a white man. For a slave who did this,
the punishment was invariably death.

CHAPTER VIII

YOU may judge, gentlemen, how much all these circum-
stances excited my curiosity and interest. I made
every inquiry regarding the prisoner, and some strange par-
ticulars came to my knowledge. I learned that all his com-
rades displayed the greatest respect for the young negro.
Slave as he was, he had but to make a sign to be implicitly
obeyed. He was not born upon the estate, nor did any one
know his father or mother: all that was known of him was
that some years ago a slave ship had brought him to St.

26 BUG-JARGAL

Domingo. This circumstance rendered the influence which he
exercised over the slaves the more extraordinary, for as a
rule the negroes born upon the island profess the greatest
contempt for the Congos, — a term which they apply to all
slaves brought direct from Africa.

Although he seemed a prey to deep dejection, his enormous
strength, combined with his great skill, rendered him very
valuable in the plantation. He could turn more quickly, and
for a longer period, than a horse the wheels of the sugar-
mills, and often in a single day performed the work of ten
of his companions to save them from the punishment to which
their negligence or incapacity had rendered them liable. For
this reason he was adored by the slaves ; but the respect that
they paid him was of an entirely different character from
the superstitious dread with which they looked upon Habi-
brah the Jester.

What was more strange than all was the modesty and gen-
tleness with which he treated his equals, in contrast to the
pride and haughtiness which he displayed to the negroes who
acted as overseers. These privileged slaves, the intermediary
links in the chain of servitude, too often exceed the little brief
authority that is delegated to them, and find a cruel pleasure
in overwhelming those beneath them with work. Not one
of them, however, had ever dared to inflict any species of pun-
ishment on him, for had they done so, twenty negroes would
have stepped forward to take his place, while he would have
looked gravely on, as though he considered that they were
merely performing a duty. The strange being was known
throughout the negro quarter as Pierrot.

BUG-JARGAL 27

CHAPTER IX

THE whole of these circumstances took a firm hold upon
my youthful imagination. Marie, inspired by com-
passion and gratitude, applauded my enthusiasm, and Pierrot
excited our interest so much that I determined to visit him
and offer him my services in extricating him from his per-
ilous position. As the nephew of one of the richest colonists
in the Cap, I was, in spite of my youth, a captain in the
Acul Militia. This regiment, and a detachment of the Yel-
low Dragoons, had charge of Fort Galifet ; the detachment
was commanded by a non-commissioned officer, to whose
brother I had once had the good fortune to render an im-
portant service, and who therefore was entirely devoted to
me.

[Here the listeners at once pronounced the name of Thad-
deus.]

You are right, gentlemen, and as you may well believe, I
had not much trouble in penetrating to the cell in which the
negro was confined. As a captain in the militia, I had of
course the right to visit the fort ; but to evade the suspicions
of my uncle, whose rage was still unabated, I took care to
go there at the time of his noon-day siesta. All the soldiers
too, except those on guard, were asleep, and guided by Thad-
deus I came to the door of the cell. He opened it for me,
and then discreetly retired.

The negi"o was seated on the ground, for on account of his
height he could not stand upright. He was not alone; an
enormous dog was crouched at his feet, which rose with a
growl, and moved toward me.

" Rask ! " cried the negro.

The dog ceased growling and again lay down at his mas-
ter's feet, and began eating some coarse food.

I was in uniform, and the daylight that came through the

28 BUG-JARGAL

loophole in the wall of the cell was so feeble that Pierrot could
not recognize my features.

" I am ready," said he, in a clear voice.

" I thought," remarked I, surprised at the ease with which
he moved, " that you were in irons."

He kicked something that jingled.

" Irons ; oh, I broke them ! "

There was something in the tone in which he uttered these
words that seemed to say, " I was not born to wear fetters."

I continued : " I did not know that they had permitted
you to have a dog with you."

" They did not allow it ; I brought him in."

I was more and more astonished. Three bolts closed the
door on the outside, the loop hole was scarcely six inches in
width, and had two iron bars across it.

He seemed to divine my thoughts, and rising as nearly
erect as the low roof would permit, he pulled out with ease a
large stone placed under the loop-hole, removed the iron bars,
and displayed an opening sufficiently large to permit two
men to pass through. This opening looked upon a grove of
bananas and cocoa-nut trees which covered the hill upon which
the fort was built.

Surprise rendered me dumb ; at that moment a ray of light
fell on my face. The prisoner started as if he had acciden-
tally trodden upon a snake, and his head struck against the
ceiling of the cell. A strange mixture of opposing feelings
passed over his face, — hatred, kindness, and astonishment
being all mingled together; but recovering himself with an
eifoa't, his face once more became cold and calm, and he gazed
upon me as if I was entirely unknown to him.

" I can live two days more without eating," said he.

I saw how thin he had become, and made a movement of
horror.

He continued : " My dog will only eat from my hand, and
had I not enlarged the loop-hole, poor Rask would have died
of hunger. It is better that he should live, for I know that
I am condemned to death."

I

BUG-JARGAL 29

" No," said I ; " no, you shall not die of hunger."

He misunderstood me. " Very well," answered he, with
a bitter smile, " I could have lived two days yet without food,
but I am ready: to-day is as good as to-morrow. Do not
hurt Rask."

Then I understood what he meant when he said " I am
ready." Accused of a crime the punishment for which was
death, he believed that I had come to announce his immediate
execution ; and yet this man endowed with herculean strength,
with all the avenues of escape open to him, had in a calm
and childlike manner repeated, " I am ready ! "

" Do not hurt Rask," said he, once more.

I could restrain myself no longer. " What ! " I exclaimed,
" not only do you take me for your executioner, but you think
so meanly of my humanity that you believe I would injure
this poor dog, who has never done me any harm ! "

His manner softened, and there was a slight tremor in his
voice as he offered me his hand, saying, " White man, par-
don me; but I love my dog, and your race have cruelly in-
jured me."

I embraced him, I clasped his hand, I did m}'^ best to un-
deceive him. " Do you not know me? " asked I.

" I know that you are white, and that a negro is nothing
in the eyes of men of your colour; besides, you have injured
me."

" In what manner.'' " exclaimed I, in surprise.

" Have you not twice saved my life ? "

This strange accusation made me smile; he perceived it,
and smiled bitterly : " Yes, I know it too well : once you
saved my life from an alligator, and once from a planter;
and what is worse, I am denied the right to hate you. I am
very unhappy."

The strangeness of his language and of his ideas surprised
me no longer ; it was in harmony with himself. " I owe more
to you than you can owe to me. I owe you the life of Marie,
— of my betrothed."

He started as though he had received some terrible shock.

30 BUG-JARGAL

" Marie ! " repeated he in stifled tones, and his face fell in
his hands, which trembled violently, while his bosom rose and
fell with heavy sighs.

I must confess that once again my suspicions were aroused ;
but this time there were no feelings of anger or jealous3^
I was too near my happiness, and he was trembling upon the
brink of death, so that I could not for a moment look upon
him as a rival ; and even had I done so, his forlorn condition
would have excited ni}^ compassion and sympathy.

At last he raised his head. " Go," said he ; " do not thank
me." After a pause he added, " And yet my rank is as
lofty as your own."

These last words roused my curiosity. I urged him to tell
me of his position and his sufferings ; but he maintained an
obstinate silence.

My proceedings, however, had touched his heart, and my
entreaties appeared to have vanquished his distaste for life.
He left his cell, and in a short time returned with some ba-
nanas and a large cocoa-nut ; then he reclosed the opening
and began to eat. As we conversed, I remarked that he
spoke French and Spanish with equal facility, and that his
education had not been entirely neglected. He knew many
Spanish songs, which he sang with great feeling. Altogether
he was a mystery that I endeavoured in vain to solve, for
he would give me no key to the i"iddle. At last, with regret,
I was compelled to leave him, after having xirged on my
faithful Thaddeus to permit him every possible indulgence.

CHAPTER X

EVERY day at the same hour I visited him. His posi-
tion rendered me very uneasy, for in spite of all our
prayers, my uncle obstinately refused to withdraw his com-
plaint. I did not conceal my fears from Pierrot, who how-
ever Kstened to them with indifference.

BUG-JARGAL 31

Often Rask would come in with a large palm-leaf tied
round his neck. His master would take it off, read some lines
traced upon it in an unknown language, and then tear it up.
I had ceased to question him in any matters connected with
himself.

One day as I entered he took no notice of me; he was
seated with his back to the door of the cell, and was whistling
in melancholy mood the Spanish air, " Yo que soy contra-
bandista " (''A smuggler am I "). When he had completed
it, he turned sharply round to me, and exclaimed : " Brother,
if you ever doubt me, promise that you will cast aside all
suspicion on hearing me sing this air."

His look was earnest, and I promised what he asked, with-
out noticing the words upon which he laid so much stress,
" If you ever doubt me." He took the empty half of a cocoa-
nut which he had brought in on the da}^ of my first visit, and
had preserved ever since, filled it with palm wine, begged
me to put my lips to it, and then drank it off at a draught.
From that day he always called me brother.

And now I began to cherish a hope of saving Pierrot's life.
My uncle's anger had cooled down a little. The preparations
for the festivities connected witlj his daughter's wedding hud
caused his feelings to flow in gentle channels. Marie joined
her entreaties to mine. Each day I pointed out to him that
Pierrot had had no desire to insult him but had merely inter-
posed to prevent him from committing an act of perhaps too
great severity ; that the negro had at the risk of his life saved
Marie from the alligator ; and besides, Pierrot was the strong-
est of all his slaves (for now I sought to save his life, not to
obtain his liberty) ; that he was able to do the work of ten men,
and that his single arm was sufficient to put the rollers of a
sugar-mill in motion. My uncle listened to me calmly, and
once or twice hinted that he might not follow up his com-
plaint.

I did not say a word to the negro of the change that had
taken place, hoping that I sliould soon be the messenger to
announce to liira his restoration to liberty. What astonished

32 BUG-JARGAL

me greatly was, that' though he beheved that he was under
sentence of death, he made no effort to avail himself of the
means of escape that lay in his power. I spoke to him of
this.

" I am forced to remain," said he, simply, " or they would
think that I was afraid."

CHAPTER XI

ONE morning Marie came to me radiant with happiness;
upon her gentle face was a sweeter expression than
even the joys of pure love could produce, for written upon it
was the knowledge of a good deed.

" Listen," said she. " In three days we shall be married.
We shall soon — "

I interrupted her.

" Do not say soon, Marie, when there is yet an interval of
three days."

She blushed and smiled. " Do not be foolish, Leopold,"
replied she. " An idea has struck me which has made me
very happy. You know that yesterday I went to town with
my father to buy all sorts of things for our wedding. I only
care for jewels because you say that they become me; I would
give all my pearls for a single flower from the bouquet which
that odious man with the marigolds destroyed. But that is not
what I meant to say. My father wished to buy me every-
thing that I admired ; and among other things there was a has-
quina of Chinese satin embroidered with flowers, which I ad-
mired. It was very expensive. My father noticed that the
dress had attracted my attention. As we were returning
home, I begged him to promise me a boon after the manner
of the knights of old: you know how he delights to be com-
pared with them. He vowed on his honour that he would
grant me whatever I asked, thinking of course that it was

BUG-JARGAL 33

the hcisquina of Chinese satin ; but no, it is Pierrot's pardon
that I will ask for as ni}^ nuptial present."

I could not refrain from embracing her tenderly. My
uncle's wcrd was sacred, and while Marie ran to him to claim
its fulfilment, I hastened to Fort Galifet to convey the glad
news to Pierrot.

"Brother," exclaimed I, as I entered, "rejoice! your life
is safe ; Marie has obtained it as a wedding present from her
father."

The slave shuddered.

" Marie — wedding — my life ! What reference have
these things to one another ? "

" It is very simple," answered I. " Marie, whose life you
saved, is to be married — "

" To whom.'' " exclaimed the negro, a terrible change com-
ing over his face.

" Did you not know that she was to be married to me ? "

His features relaxed. " Ah, yes," he replied ; " and when
is the marriage to take place ? "
On August the 22d."

On August the 22d ! Are you mad ? " cried he, with ter-
ror painted in his countenance.

He stopped abruptly ; I looked at him with astonishment.
After a short pause he clasped my hand : " Brother," said
he, " I owe you so much that I must give you a warning.
Trust to me ; take up your residence in Cap, and get married
before the 22d."

In vain I entreated him to explain his mysterious words.

" Farewell," said he, in solemn tones ; " I have perhaps
said too much, but I hate ingratitude even more than per-
jury."

I left the prison a prey to feelings of great uneasiness ;
but all these were soon effaced by the thoughts of my ap-
proaching happiness.

That very day my uncle withdrew his charge, and I re-
turned to the fort to release Pierrot. Thaddeus, on hearing
the noise accompanied me to the prisoner's cell ; but he was
3

34 BUG-JARGAL

gone ! Rask alone remained, and came up to me wagging
his tail. To his neck was fastened a palm-leaf, upon which
were written these words : " Thanks ; for the third time you
have saved my life. Do not forget your promise, friend ; "
while underneath, in lieu of signature were the words : " Yo
que soy contrabandista."

Thaddeus was even more astonished than I was, for he was
ignorant of the enlargement of the loop-hole, and firmly be-
lieved that the negro had changed himself into a dog. I
allowed him to remain in this belief, contenting myself with
making him promise to say nothing of what he had seen. I
wished to take Rask home with me, but on leaving the fort
he plunged into a thicket and disappeared.

CHAPTER XII

MY uncle was furiously enraged at the escape of the ne-
gro. He ordered a diligent search to be made for him,
and wrote to the governor placing Pierrot entirely at his dis-
posal should he be re-taken.

The 22d of August arrived. My union with Marie was
celebrated with every species of rejoicing at the parish church
of Acul. How happily did that day commence from which
all our misfortunes were to date! I was intoxicated with
my happiness, and Pierrot and his mysterious warning were
entirely banished from my thoughts.

At last the day came to a close, and my wife had retired to
her apartments, but for a time duty forbade me joining her
there. My position as a captain of the militia required me that
evening to make the round of the guards posted about Acul.
This nightly precaution was absolutely necessary owing to
the disturbed state of the colony, caused by occasional out-
breaks among the negroes, which, however, had been promptly
repressed. My uncle was the first to recall me to the recollec-

BUG-JARGAL 35

tion of mj duty. I had no option but to yield, and, putting
on my uniform, I went out. I visited the first few guards
without discovering any cause of alarm; but towards mid-
night, as half buried in my own thoughts I was patrolling
the shores of the bay, I perceived upon the horizon a ruddy
light in the direction of Limonade and St. Louis du Morin.
At first my escort attributed it to some accidental conflagra-
tion ; but in a few moments the flames became so vivid, and
the smoke rising before the wind grew so thick, that I ordered
an immediate return to the fort to give the alarm, and to re-
quest that help might be sent in the direction of the fire.

In passing through the quarters of the negroes who be-
longed to our estate, I Wtis surjjrised at the extreme disorder
that reigned there. The majority of the slaves were afoot,
and were talking together with great earnestness. One strange
word was pronounced with the greatest respect: It was Bug-
Jargal, which occurred continually in the almost unintelligi-
ble dialect that they used. From a word or two which I
gathered here and there, I learned that the negroes of the
northern districts were in open revolt, and had set fire to the
dwelling-houses and the plantations on the other side of Cap.
Passing through a marshy spot, I discovered a quantity of
axes and other tools, which would serve as weapons, hidden
among the reeds.

My suspicions were now thoroughly aroused and I ordered
the whole of the Acul militia to get under arms, and gave
the command to my lieutenant ; and while my poor Marie wa?;
expecting me, I, obeying my uncle's orders (who, as I have
mentioned, was a member of the Provincial Assembly) took
the road to Cap, with such soldiers as I had been able to
muster.

I shall never forget the appearance of the town as we ap-
proached. The flames from the plantations which were burn-
ing all around it threw a lurid light upon the scene, which
was only partially obscured by the clouds of smoke which the
wind drove into the narrow streets. Immense masses of sparks
rose from the burning heaps of sugar-cane, and fell like fiery

36 . BUG-JARGAL

snow on the roofs of the houses, and on the rigging of the
vessels at anchor in the roadsteads, at every moment threaten-
ing the town of Cap with as serious a conflagration as was al-
ready raging in its immediate neighbourhood. It was a
terrible sight to witness the terror-stricken inhabitants expos-
ing their lives to preserve from so destructive a visitant their
habitations, which perhaps was the last portion of property
left to them ; while, on the other hand, the vessels, taking ad-
vantage of a fair wind, and fearing the same fate, had al-
ready set sail, and were gliding over an ocean reddened by
the flames of the conflagration.

CHAPTER XIII

STUNNED by the noise of the minute-guns from the fort,
by the cries of the fugitives and the distant crash of
falling buildings, I did not know in what direction to lead my
men ; but meeting in the main square the captain of the Yel-
low Dragoons, he advised me to proceed direct to the gov-
ernor.

Other hands have painted the disasters of Cap, and I must
pass quickly over my recollections of them, written as they
are in fire and blood. I will content myself with saying that
the insurgent slaves were already masters of Dondon, of
Terrier-Rouge, of the town of Ouanaminte, and of the plan-
tation of Limbe. This last news filled mc with uneasiness,
owing to the proximity of Limbe to Acul. I made all speed
to the Government House. All was in confusion there. I
asked for orders, and begged that instant measures might
be taken for the security of Acul, which I feared the insur-
gents were already threatening. With the governer (Mon-
sieur de Blanchelande) were M. de Rouvray, the brigadier and
one of the largest landholders in Cap ; M. de Touzard, the
lieutenant-colonel of the Regiment of Cap ; a great many

BUG-JARGAL 37

members of the Colonial and the Provincial Assemblies, and
numbers of the leading colonists. As I entered, all were en-
gaged in a confused argument.

" Your Excellency," said a member of the Provincial As-
sembly, " it is only too true, — it is the negroes, and not the
free mulattoes. It has often been pointed out that there was
danger in that direction."

" You make that statement without believing in its truth,"
answered a member of the Colonial Assembly, bitterly ; " and
you only say it to gain credit at our expense. So far from
expecting a rising of the slaves, you got up a sham one in
1789, — a ridiculous farce, in which with a supposed insur-
gent force of three thousand slaves one national volunteer
only was killed, and that most likely by his own comrades."

" I repeat," replied the Provincial, " that we can see far-
ther than you. It is only natural. We remain upon the spot
and study the minutest details of the colony, while you and
your Assembly hurry off to France to make some absurd pro-
})osals, which are often met with a national reprimand Ridicu-
I us mus."

The member of the Colonial Assembly answered with a
sneer : " Our fellow-citizens re-elected us all without hesita-
tion."

" It was your Assembly," retorted the other, " that caused
the execution of that poor devil who neglected to wear a
tricoloured cockade in a cafe, and who commenced a petition
for capital punishment to be inflicted on the mulatto Lacombe
with that worn-out phrase, ' In the name of the Father, of
the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.' "

" It is false ! " exclaimed the other ; " there has always been
a struggle of principles against privileges between our As-
semblies."

" Ha, monsieur ! I see now you are an Independent."

" That is tantamount to allowing that you are in favour
of the White Cockade: I leave you to get out of that con-
fession as best you may."

More might have passed, but the governor interposed;

as BUG-JARGAL

" Gentlemen, gentlemen, what lias this to do with the present
state of affairs, and the pressing danger that threatens us?
Listen to the reports that I have received. The revolt began
this night at ten o'clock among the slaves in the Turpin
Plantation. The negroes, headed by an English slave named
Bouckmann, were joined by the blacks from Clement, Tre-
mes, Flaville, and Noe. They set fire to all the plantations,
and massacred the colonists with the most unheard-of barbar-
ities. By one single detail I can make you comprehend all
the horrors accompanying this insurrection. The standard
of the insurgents is the body of a white child on the point of
a pike."

A general cry of horror interrupted the governor's state-
ment.

" So much," continued he, " for what has passed outside
the town. Within its limits all is confusion. Fear has ren-
dered many of the inhabitants forgetful of the duties of
humanity, and they have murdered their slaves. Nearly all
have confined their negroes behind bolts and bars. The
white artisans accuse the free mulattoes of being participa-
tors in the revolt, and many have had great diflRculty in es-
caping from the fury of the populace. I have had to grant
them a place of refuge in a church, guarded by a regiment of
soldiers ; and now, to prove that they have notliing in common
with the insurgents, they ask that they may be armed and
led against the rebels."

" Do nothing of the kind, your Excellency ! " cried a voice
which I recognized as that of the planter with whom I had
had a duel, — " do nothing of the kind ! give no arms to the
mulattoes ! "

" What! do you not want to fight.'' " asked a planter with
a sneer.

The other did not appear to hear him, and continued:
" These men of mixed blood are our worst enemies, and we
must take every precaution against them. It is from that
quarter that the insurgents are recruited ; the negroes have
but little to do with the rising." The poor wretch hoped by

BUG-JARGAL 39

his abuse of the mulattoes to prove that he had nothing in
common with them, and to clear himself from the imputation
of having black blood in his veins; but the attempt was too
barefaced, and a murmur of disgust rose up on all sides.

" Yes," said M. de Rouvray, " the slaves have something
to do with it, for they are forty to one; and we should be in
a serious plight if we could only oppose the negroes and the
mulattoes with whites like you."

The planter bit his lips.

*' General," said the governor, " what answer shall be gi^'cn
to the petition.'' Shall the mulattoes have the arms? "

" Give them weapons, your Excellency ; let us make use of
every willing hand. And you, sir," he added, turning to the
colonist of doubtful colour, " go arm yourself, and join your
comrades."

The humiliated planter slunk away, filled with concen-
trated rage.

But the cries of distress which rang through the town
reached even to the chamber in which the council was being
held. M. de Blanchelande hastily pencilled a few words upon
a slip of paper, and handed it to one of his aides-de-camp,
who at once left the room.

" Gentlemen," he said, " the mulattoes will receive arms ;
but there are many more questions to be settled."

" The Provincial Assembly should at once be convoked,"
said the planter who had been speaking when first I entered.

" The Provincial Assembly ! " retorted his antagonist ;
" what is the Provincial Assembly.? "

" You do not know because you are a member of the
Colonial Assembly," replied the favourer of the White
Cockade.

The Independent interrupted him. " I know no more of
the Colonial than the Provincial ; I only recognize the Gen-
eral Assembly."

" Gentlemen," exclaimed a planter, " while we are losing
time with this nonsense, tell me what is to become of my cot-
ton and my cochineal."

40 BUG-JARGAL

" And my indigo at Lumbe? "

" And my negroes, for whom I paid twenty dollars a"h'..ad
all round? " said the captain of a slave-ship.

" Each minute that you waste," continued another colo-
nist, " costs me ten quintals of sugar, which at seventeen pias-
tres the quintal makes one hundred and thirty livres, ten sous,
in French money, by the — "

Here the rival upholders of the two Assemblies again
sought to renew their argument.

" Morbleu," said M. de Rouvray in a voice of thunder,
striking the table violently, " what eternal talkers you are !
What do we care about your two Assemblies.^ Summon both
of them, your Excellency, and I will form them into two regi-
ments ; and when they march against the negroes we shall see
whether their tongues or their muskets make the most noise."

Then turning towards me he whispered : " Between the two
Assemblies and the governor nothing can be done. These fine
talkers spoil all, as they do in Paris. If I was seated in his
Excellency's chair, I would throw all these fellows out of the
window, and with my soldiers and a dozen crosses of St. Louis
to promise, I would sweep away all the rebels in the island.
These fictitious ideas of liberty, which they have all run mad
after in France, do not do out here. Negroes should
be treated so as not to upset them entirely by sudden libera-
tion ; all the terrible events of to-day are merely the result
of this utterly mistaken policy, and this rising of the slaves
is the natural result of the taking of the Bastille."

While the old soldier thus explained to me his views, — a
littk' narrow-minded perhaps, but full of the frankness of
conviction, — the stormy argument was at its height. A cer-
t.iiii planter, one among the few who were bitten with the
rabid mania of the revolution, and who called himself Citizen

General C , because he had assisted at a few sanguinary

executions, exclaimed :

" We must have punishments rather than battles. Every
nation must exist by terrible examples : let us terrify the ne-
groes. It was I who quieted the slaves during the risings of

BUG-JARGAL 41

June and July by lining the approach to my house with a
double row of negro heads. Let each one join me in this,
and let us defend the entrances to Cap with the slaves who are
still in our hands."

"How?" "What do you mean.?" " FoUy ! " "The
height of imprudence ! " was heard on all sides.

" You do not understand me, gentlemen. Let us make a
ring of negro heads, from Fort Picolet to Point Caracole.
The rebels, their comrades, will not then dare to approach
us. I have five hundred slaves who have remained faith-
ful: I offer them at once."

This abominable proposal was received with a cry of horror.
" It is infamous ! It is too disgusting ! " was repeated by at
least a dozen voices.

" Extreme steps of this sort have brought us to the verge
of destruction," said a planter. " If the execution of the
insurgents of June and July had not been so hurried on, we
should have held in our hands the clew to the conspiracy,
which the axe of the executioner divided forever."

Citizen C was silenced for a moment by this out-
burst; then in an injured tone he muttered: "I did not
think that / above all others should have been suspected of
cruelty. Why, all my life I have been mixed up with the
lovers of the negro race. I am in correspondence with Bris-
cot and Pruneau de Pomme Gouge, in France; with Hans
Sloane, in England ; Avith Magaw, in America ; with Pczll, in
Germany ; with Olivarius, in Denmark ; with Wadstiorn, in
Sweden ; with Peter Paulus, in Holland ; with Avendaiio, in
Spain ; and with the Abbe Pierre Tamburini, in Italy ! "

His voice rose as he ran through the names of his corre-
spondents among the lovers of the African race, and he ter-
minated his speech with the contemptuous remark, " But after
all, there are no true philosophers here."

For the third time M. de Blanchelande asked if anyone had
anything further to propose.

" Your Excellency," cried one, " let us embark on board
the ' Leopard,' v.liich lies at anchor off the quay."

«(
((

42 BUG-JARGAL

" Let us put a price on the head of Bouckmann," exclaimed
another.

" Send a report of what has taken place to the Governor
of Jamaica," suggested a third.

" A good idea, so that he may again send us the ironical
help of five hundred muskets ! " sneered a member of the Pro-
vincial Assembly. " Your Excellency, let us send the news to
France, and wait for a reply."

Wait ! a likely thing indeed," exclaimed M. de Rouvray ;
and do you think that the blacks will wait, eh? And the
flames that encircle our town, do you think they will wait.^*
Your Excellency, let the tocsin be sounded, and send dragoons
and grenadiers in search of the main body of the rebels. Form
a camp in the eastern division of the island ; plant military
posts at Trou and at Vallieres. I will take charge of the
plain of Dauphin ; but let us lose no more time, for the mo-
ment for action has arrived."

The bold and energetic speech of the veteran soldier hushed
all differences of opinion. The general had acted wisely.
That secret knowledge which every one possesses, most con-
ducive to his own interests, caused all to support the proposal
of General de Rouvray; and while the governor with a warm
clasp of the hand showed his old friend that his counsels had
been appreciated, though they had been given in rather a
dictatorial manner, the colonists urged for the immediate car-
rying out of the proposals.

I seized the opportunity to obtain from M. de Blanchelande
the permission that I so ardently desired, and leaving the
room, mustered my company in order to return to Acul, —
though, with the exception of myself, all were worn out with
the fatigue of their late march.

BUG-JARGAL 43

CHAPTER XIV

DAY began to break as I entered the market-place of the
town, and began to rouse up the soldiers, who were
lying about in all directions wrapped in their cloaks, and
mingled pell-mell with the Red and Yellow Dragoons, fugi-
tives from the country, cattle bellowing, and property of
every description sent in for security by the planters. In
the midst of all this confusion I began to pick out my men,
when I saw a private in the Yellow Dragoons, covered with
dust and perspiration, ride up at full speed. I hastened to
meet him ; and in a few broken words he informed me that my
fears were realized, — that the insurrection had spread to
Acul, and that the negroes were besieging Fort Galifet, in
which the planters and the militia had taken refuge. I must
tell you that this fort was by no means a strong one, for in
St. Domingo they dignify the slightest earthwork with the
name of fort.

There was not a moment to be lost. I mounted as many of
my soldiers as I could procure horses for, and taking the
dragoon as a guide, I reached my uncle's plantation about
ten o'clock. I scarcely cast a glance at the enormous estate,
which was nothing but a sea of flame, over which hovered
huge clouds of smoke, through which every now and then the
wind bore trunks of trees covered with sparks. A terrible
rustling and crackling sound seemed to reply to the distant
yells of the negroes which we now began to hear, though we
could not as yet see them. The destruction of all this wealth,
which would eventually have become mine, did not cause me
a moment's regret. All I thought of was the safety of
Marie: what mattered anything else in the world to me.'' I
knew that she had taken refuge in the fort, and I prayed to
God that I might arrive in time to rescue her. This hope
sustained me through all the anxiety I felt, and gave me the
strength and courage of a lion.

44 BUG-JARGAL

At length a turn in the road permitted us to see the fort.
The tricolour yet floated on its walls, and a well-sustained
fire was kept up by the garrison. I uttered a shout of joy.
" Gallop, spur on ! " said I to my men, and redoubling our
pace we dashed across the fields in the direction of the scene
of action. Near the fort I could see my uncle's house; the
doors and windows were dashed in, but the walls still stood,
and shone red with the reflected glare of the flames, which
owing to the wind being in a contrary direction, had not yet
reached the building. A crowd of the insurgents had taken
possession of the house, and showed themselves at the windows
and on the roof. I could see the glare of torches and the
gleam of pikes and axes, while a brisk fire of musketry was
kept up on the fort. Another strong body of negroes had
placed ladders against the walls of the fort and strove to
take it by assault, though many fell under the well-di-
rected fire of the defenders. These black men, always return-
ing to the charge after each repulse, looked like a swarm of
ants endeavouring to scale the shell of a tortoise, and shaken
off by each movement of the sluggish reptile.

We reached the outworks of the fort, our eyes fixed upon
the banner which still floated above it. I called upon my
men to remember that their wives and children were shut up
within those walls, and urged them to fly to their rescue. A
general cheer was the reply, and forming column I was on
the point of giving the order to charge, when a loud yell was
heard; a cloud of smoke enveloped the fort and for a time
concealed it from our sight; a roar was heard like that of a
furnace in full blast, and as the smoke cleared away we saw a
red flag floating proudly above the dismantled walls. All was
over. Fort Galifet was in the hands of the insurgents.

"A tall black burst through a blazing fence, carrying in his arms
young woman who shrieked and struggled."

Bug-Jargal. Page 45.

BUG-JARGAL 45

CHAPTER XV

I CANNOT tell you what my feelings were at this terrible
spectacle. The fort was taken, its defenders slain, and
twenty families massacred ; but I confess, to my shame that
I thought not of this. Marie was lost to me, — lost, after
having been made mine, but a few brief hours before ; lost, per-
haps, through my fault, for had I not obeyed the orders of my
uncle in going to Cap I should have been by her side to de-
fend her, or at least to die with her. These thoughts raised
my grief to madness, for my despair was born of remorse.

However, my men were maddened at the sight. With a
shout of " Revenge ! " with sabres between their teeth and
pistols in either hand, they burst into the ranks of the victo-
rious insurgents. Although far superior in numbers, the ne-
groes fled at their approach ; but we could see them on our
right and left, before and beliind us, slaughtering the colo-
nists, and casting fuel on the flames. Our rage was increased
by their cowardly conduct.

Thaddeus, covered with wounds, made his escape through
a postern gate. " Captain," said he, " your Pierrot is a
sorcerer, — an ohi as these infernal negroes call him ; a devil,
I say. We were holding our position, you were coming up
fast ; all seemed saved, — when by some means, v/hich I do not
know, he penetrated into the fort, and there was an end of us.
As for your uncle and Madame — "

"Marie!" interrupted I, "where is Marie?"

At this instant a tall black burst through a blazing fence,
carrying in his arms a young woman who shrieked and strug-
gled ; it was Marie, and the negro was Pierrot !

" Traitor ! " cried I, and fired my pistol at him ; one of the
rebels threw himself in the way, and fell dead.

Pierrot turned, and addressed a few words to me which I
did not catch ; and then grasping his prey tighter, he dashed
into a mass of burning sugar-canes. A moment afterwards

46 BUG-JARGAL

a huge dog passed me, carrying in his mouth a cradle in
which lay my uncle's youngest child. Transported with rage,
I fired my second pistol at him ; but it missed fire.

Like a madman I followed on their tracks; but my night
march, the hours that I had spent without taking rest or
food, my fears for Marie, and the sudden fall from the heiglit
of happiness to the depth of misery, had worn me out. After
a few steps I staggered, a cloud seemed to come over me, and
I fell senseless.

CHAPTER XVI

WHEN I recovered my senses I found myself in my
uncle's ruined house, supported in the arms of m}'
faithful Thaddeus, who gazed upon me with an expression of
the deepest anxiety. "Victory!" exclaimed he, as he fell"
my pulse begin to beat ; " victory ! the negroes are in full re-
treat and my captain has come to life again ! "

I interrupted his exclamations of joy by putting the only
question in which I had any interest: "Where is Marie?"
I had not yet collected my scattered ideas: I felt my misfor-
tune without the recollection of it.

At my question Thaddeus hung his head. Then my mem-
ory returned to me, and like a hideous dream I recalled once
more the terrible nuptial day, and the tall negro bearing
away Marie through the flames. The rebellion which had
broken out in the colony caused the whites to look on the
blacks as their mortal enemies, and made me see in Pierrot —
the good, the generous, and the devoted, who owed his life
three times to me — a monster of ingratitude and a rival.
The carrying off my wife on the very night of our nuptials
proved too plainly to me what I had at first only suspected ;
and I now knew that the singer of the wood was the v>rctch
who had torn my wife from me. In a few hours how great a
change had taken place !

BUG-JARGAL 47

Thaddeus told me that he had vainly pursued Pierrot and
his dog when the negroes, in spite of their numbers retired;
and that the destruction of my uncle's property still con-
tinued, without the possibility of its being arrested. I asked
what had become of my uncle. He took my hand in silence
and led me to a bed, the curtains of which he drew. My un-
happy uncle was there, stretched upon his blood-stained couch,
with a dagger driven deeply into his heart. By the tranquil
expression of his face it was easy to see that the blow had been
struck during his sleep.

The bed of the dwarf Habibrah, who always slept at the
foot of his master's couch, was also profusely stained with
gore, and the same crimson traces could be seen upon the
laced coat of the poor fool, cast upon the floor a few paces
from the bed. I did not hesitate for a moment in believing
that the dwarf had died a victim to his affection for my
uncle, and that he had been murdered by his comrades, per-
haps in the effort to defend his master. I reproached myself
bitterly for the prejudice which had caused me to form so er-
roneous an estimate of the characters of Pierrot and Habi-
brah; and of the tears I shed at the tragic fate of my uncle,
some were dedicated to the end of the faithful fool. By my
orders his body was carefully searched for, but all in vain ;
and I imagined that the negroes had cast the body into the
flames. I gave instructions that in the funeral service over
my uncle's remains prayers should be said for the repose of
the soul of the devoted Habibrah.

CHAPTER XVII

FORT GALIFET had been destroyed, our house was in
ruins ; it was useless to linger there any longer, so that
evening I returned to Cap. On my arrival there I was seized
with a severe fever. The effort that I had made to overcome

48 BUG-JARGAL

my despair had been too violent; the spring had been bent
too far and had snapped. Dehrium came on. My broken
hopes, my profound love, my lost future, and, above all, the
torments of jealousy made my brain reel. It seemed as if
fire flowed in my veins ; my head seemed ready to burst, and
my bosom was filled with rage. I pictured to myself Marie
in the arms of another lover, subject to the power of a master,
of a slave, of Pierrot! They told me afterwards that I
sprang from my bed, and that it took six men to prevent me
from dashing out my brains against the wall. Why did I
not die then.?

The crisis, however, passed. The doctors, the care and
attention of Thaddeus, and the latent powers of youth con-
quered the malady : would that it had not done so ! At the
end of ten days I was sufficiently recovered to lay aside grief,
and to live for vengeance.

Hardly arrived at a state of convalescence, I went to M.
de Blanchelande, and asked for emplo^anent. At first he
wished to give me the command of some fortified post, but I
begged him to attach me to one of the flying columns, which
from time to time were sent out to sweep those districts in
which the insurgents had congregated. Cap had been hastily
put in a position of defense, for the revolt had made terrible
progress, and the negroes of Port au Prince had begun to
show symptoms of disaff^ection. Biassou was in command of
the insurgents at Lumbe, Dondon and Acul ; Jean Francois
had proclaimed himself generalissimo of the rebels of Mari-
barou; Bouckmann, whose tragic fate afterwards gave him a
certain celebrity, with his brigands ravaged the plains of Lim-
onade ; and lastly, the bands of Morne-Rouge had elected for
their chief a negro called Bug-Jargal.

If report was to be believed, the disposition of this man
contrasted very favourably with the ferocity of the other
chiefs. While Bouckmann and Biassou invented a thousand
diff*erent methods of death for such prisoners as fell into their
hands, Bug-Jargal was always ready to supply them with the
means of quitting the island. M. Colas de Marjuc and eight

BUG-JARGAL 49

other distinguished colonists were by his orders released from
the terrible death of the wheel to which Bouckmann had con^
demned them ; and many other instances of his humanity were
cited, which I have not time to repeat.

My hoped-for vengeance, however, still appeared to be far
removed. I could hear nothing of Pierrot. The insurgents
commanded by Biassou continued to give us trouble at Cap ;
they had once even endeavoured to take position on a hill that
commanded the town, and had only been dislodged by the bat-
tery from the citadel being directed upon them. The gov-
ernor had therefore determined to drive them into the interior
of the island. The militia of Acul, of Lumbe, of Ouanaminte,
and of Maribarou, joined with the regiment of Cap and the
Red and Yellow Dragoons, formed one army of attack ; while
the corps of volunteers under the command of the merchant
Poncignon, with the militia of Dondon and Quartier-Dau-
phin, composed the garrison of the town.

The governor desired first to free himself from Bug-Jar-
gal, whose incursions kept the garrison constantly on the
alert ; and he sent against him the militia of Ouanaminte and
a battalion of the regiment of Cap. Two days afterwards
the expedition returned, having sustained a severe defeat at
the hands of Bug-Jargal. The governor, however, deter-
mined to persevere, and a fresh column was sent out with fifty
of the Yellow Dragoons and four hundred of the militia of
Maribarou. This second expedition met with even less suc-
cess than the first. Thaddeus, who had taken part in it, was
in a violent fury, and upon his return vowed vengeance
against the rebel chief Bug-Jargal.

[A tear glistened in the eyes of D'Auverney ; he crossed

his arms on his breast, and appeared to be for a few moments

plunged in a melancholy reverie. At length he continued.]
4

50 BUG-JARGAL

CHAPTER XVIII

THE news had reached us that Bug-Jargal had left
Morne-Rouge, and was moving through the moun-
tains to effect a junction with the troops of Biassou. The
governor could not conceal his delight. " We have them ! "
cried he, rubbing his hands. " They are in our power ! "

By the next morning the colonial forces had marched some
four miles to the front of Cap. At our approach the insur-
gents hastily retired from the positions which they had occu-
pied at Port-Mayat and Fort Galifet, and in which they had
planted siege guns that they had captured in one of the bat-
teries on the coast. The governor was triumphant, and by
his orders we continued our advance. As we passed through
the arid plains and the ruined plantations, many a one cast
an eager glance in search of the spot which was once his
home ; but in too many cases the foot of the destroyer had
left no traces behind. Sometimes our march was interrupted,
by the conflagration having spread from the lands under cul-
tivation to the virgin forests.

In these regions, where the land is untilled and the vege-
tation abundant, the burning of a forest is accompanied with
many strange phenomena. Far off, long before the eye can
detect the cause, a sound is heard like the rush of a cataract
over opposing rocks ; the trunks of the trees flame out with
a sudden crash, the branches crackle, and the roots beneath
the soil all contribute to the extraordinary uproar. The
lakes and the marshes in the interior of the forests boil with
the heat. The hoarse roar of the coming flame stills the air,
causing a dull sound, sometimes increasing and sometimes
diminishing in intensity as the conflagration sweeps on or
recedes. Occasionally a glimpse can be caught of a clump
of trees surrounded by a belt of fire, but as yet untouched
by the flames ; then a narrow streak of fire curls round the
stems, and in another instant the whole becomes one mass

BUG-JARGAL 51

of gold-coloured fire. Then uprises a column of smoke,
driven here and there by the breeze ; it takes a thousand fan-
tastic forms, — spreads itself out, diminishes in an instant ;
at one moment it is gone, in another it returns with greater
density ; then all becomes a thick black cloud, with a fringe
of sparks ; a terrible sound is heard, the sparks disappear,
and the smoke ascends, disappearing at last in a mass of red
ashes, which sink down slowly upon the blackened ground.

CHAPTER XIX

ON the evening of the third day of our march we entered
the ravines of Grande-Riviere; we calculated that the
negro army was some twenty leagues off in the mountains.

We pitched our camp on a low hill, which appeared to have
been used for the same purpose before, as the grass had been
trodden down and the brushwood cut away. It was not a
judicious position in a strategical point of view, but we deemed
ourselves perfectly secure from attack. The hill was com-
manded on all sides by steep mountains clothed with thick
forests, — their precipitous sides having given these mountains
the name of the Dompte-Mulatre. The Grande-Riviere
flowed behind our camp, which being confined within steep
banks was just about here very deep and rapid. Both sides
of the river were hidden with thickets, through which nothing
could be seen. The waters of the stream itself were fre-
quently concealed by masses of creeping plants, hanging from
the branches of the flowering maples which had sprung up
at intervals in the jungle, crossing and recrossing the stream,
and forming a tangled net-work of living verdure. From the
heights of the adjacent hills this mass of verdure appeared
like a meadow still fresh with dew, while every now and then a
dull splash could be heard as a teal plunged through the
flower-decked curtain, and showed in which direction the river

52 BUG-JARGAL

lay. By degrees the sun ceased to gild the crested peaks of
the distant mountains of Dondon ; little by little darkness
spread its mantle over the camp, and the silence was only
broken by the cry of the night-bird, or by the measured tread
of the sentinels.

Suddenly the dreaded war-songs of " Oua-Nasse " and cjf
" The Camp of the Great Meadow " were heard above our
heads ; the palms, the acomas, and the cedars, which crowned
the summits of the rocks, burst into flames, and the lurid light
of the conflagration showed us numerous bands of negroes and
mulattoes, whose copper-hued skins glowed red in the firelight
upon the neighbouring hills. It was the army of Biassou.

The danger was imminent. The officers, aroused from
their sleep, endeavoured to rally their men. The drum beat
the " Assembly," while the bugles sounded the " Alarm." Our
men fell in hurriedly and in confusion ; but the insurgents, in-
stead of taking advantage of our disorder, remained motion-
less, gazing upon us, and continuing their song of " Oua-
Nasse."

A gigantic negro appeared alone on one of the peaks that
overhung the Grande-Riviere ; a flame-coloured plume floated
on his head, and he held an axe in his right hand and a blood-
red banner in his left. I recognized Pierrot. Had a carbine
been within my reach I should have fired at him, cowardly
although the act might have been. The negro repeated the
chorus of " Oua-Nasse," planted his standard on the highest
portion of the rock, hurled his axe into the midst of our ranks,
and plunged into the stream. A feeling of regret seized me ;
I had hoped to have slain him with my own hand.

Then the negroes began to hurl huge masses of rocks upon
us, while showers of bullets and flights of arrows were poured
upon our camp. Our soldiers, maddened at being unable to
reach their adversaries, fell on all sides, crushed by the rocks,
riddled with bullets, and transfixed by arrows. The army was
rapidly falling into disorder. Suddenly a terrible noise came
from the centre of the stream.

The Yellow Dragoons, who had suff^ered most from the

BUG-JARGAL 53

shower of rocks, had conceived the idea of taking refuge
under the thick roof of creepers which grew over the river«
It was Thaddeus who had at first discovered this —

Here the narrative was suddenly interrupted.

CHAPTER XX

MORE than a quarter of an hour had elapsed since Thad-
deus, his arm in a sling, had glided into the tent with-
out any of the listeners noticing his arrival, and taking up
his position in a remote corner had by occasional gestures ex-
pressed the interest that he took in his captain's narrative ;
but at last, considering that this direct allusion to himself
ought not to be permitted to pass without some acknowledg-
ment on his part, he stammered out, —

" You are too good. Captain ! "

A general burst of laughter followed this speech, and
D'Auverney, turning towards him, exclaimed severely:
" What, Thaddeus, you here? And your arm? "

On being addressed in so unaccustomed a tone, the features
of the old soldier grew dark ; he quivered, and threw back his
head, as though to restrain the tears which seemed to struggle
to his eyes. " I never thought," said he, in a low voice, " that
you. Captain, could have omitted to say thou when speaking
to your old sergeant."

" Pardon me, old friend," answered the captain, quickly ;
" I hardly knew what I said. Thou wilt pardon me, wilt
thou not? "

The tears sprang to the sergeant's eyes in spite of his
efforts to repress them. " It is the third time," remarked he,
— " but these are tears of joy."

Peace was made, and a short silence ensued.

" But tell me, Thaddeus, why hast thou quitted the hospital
to come here? " asked D'Auverney, gently.

54 BUG-JARGAL

" It was — with your permission, Captain — to ask if I
should put the laced saddle-cloth on the charger for to-
morrow."

Henri laughed. " You would have been wiser, Thaddcus,
to have asked the surgeon-major if you should put two more
pieces of lint on your arm," said he.

" Or to ask," continued Paschal, " if you might take a
glass of wine to refresh yourself. At any rate, here is
some brandy ; taste it, — it will do you good, my brave
sergeant."

Thaddeus advanced, saluted, and apologizing for taking
the glass with his left hand, emptied it to the health of the
assembled company : " You had got. Captain, to the moment
when — yes, I remember, it was I who proposed to take
shelter under the creepers, to prevent our men being smashed
by the rocks. Our officer, who did not know how to swim,
was afraid of being drowned, and, as was natural, was dead
against it until he saw — with your permission, gentlemen —
a great rock fall on the creepers without being able to get
through them. ' It is better to die like Pharaoh than like
Saint Stephen,' said he ; ' for we are not saints, and Pharaoh
was a soldier like ourselves.' The officer was a learned man,
you see. And so he agreed to my proposal, on the condition
that I should first try the experiment myself. Off I went ; I
slid down the bank and caught hold of the roof of the creep-
ers, when all of a sudden some one took a pull at my legs. I
struggled, I shouted for help, and in a minute I received half-
a-dozen sabre-cuts. Down came the dragoons to help me, and
there was a nice little skirmish under the creepers. The blacks
of IMorne-Rouge had hidden themselves there, never for a
moment thinking that we should fall right on the top of
them.

This was not the right time for fishing, I can tell you. We
fought, we swore, we shouted. They had nothing particular
on, and were able to move about in the water more easily than
we were; but, on the other hand, our sabres had less to cut
through. We swam with one hand and fought with the other.

BUG-JARGAL 55

Those who could not swim, like my captain, hung on to the
creepers, while the negroes pulled them by the legs.

" In the midst of the hullabaloo I saw a big negro fighting
like Beelzebub against five or six of ours. I swam up to him,
and recognized Pierrot, otherwise called Bug — But I
must n't tell that yet, must I, Captain? Since the capture of
the fort I owed him a grudge, so I took him hard and fast
by the throat ; he was going to rid himself of me by a thrust
of his dagger, when he recognized me, and gave himself up
at once. That was very unfortunate, was it not. Captain?
For if he had not surrendered, he would not — But you will
know that later on, eh? When the blacks saw that he was
taken they made a rush at me to get him off; when Pierrot,
seeing no doubt that they would all lose their lives, said some
gibberish or other, and in the twinkling of an eye they
plunged into the water, and were out of sight in a moment.
This fight in the water would have been pleasant enough if
I had not lost a finger and wetted ten cartridges, and if the
poor man — but it was to be, was it not, Captain? "

And the sergeant respectfully placed the back of his hand
to his forage-cap, and then raised it to heaven with the air of
an inspired prophet.

D'Auverney was violently agitated. " Yes," cried he,
" thou art right, my old Thaddeus ; that night was a fatal
night for me ! "

He would have fallen into one of his usual reveries had
they not urgently presed him to conclude his story. After
a while he continued.

CHAPTER XXI

WHILE the scene which Thaddeus has just described
was passing behind the camp, I had succeeded, by aid
of the brushwood, with some of my men in climbing the op-
posite hills until we had reached a point called Peacock Peak,

56 BUG-JARGAL

from the brilliant tints of the mica which coated the surface
of the rock.

From this position, which was opposite a rock covered with
negroes, we opened a withering fire. The insurgents, who
were not so well armed as we were, could not reply warmly to
our volleys, and in a short time began to grow discouraged.
We redoubled our efforts, and our enemies soon evacuated the
neighbouring rocks, first hurling the dead bodies of their com-
rades upon our army, the greater proportion of which was
still drawn up on the hill. Then M^e cut down several trees,
and binding the trunks together with fibres of the palm, v.e
improvised a bridge, and by it crossed over to the deserted
positions of the enemy, and thus managed to secure a good
post of vantage. This operation completely quenched the
courage of the rebels. Our fire continued. Shouts of grief
arose from them, in which the name of Bug-Jargal was fre-
quently repeated. Many negroes of the army of IMorne-
Rouge appeared on the rock upon which tlie blood-red banner
still floated ; they prostrated themselves before it, tore it from
its resting-place, and then precipitated it and themselves into
the depths of the Grande-Riviere. Tliis seemed to signify
that their chief was either killed or a prisoner.

Our confidence had now risen to such a pitch that I re-
solved to drive them from their last position at the point of the
bayonet, and at the head of my men I dashed into the midst
of the negroes.

The soldiers were about to follow me across the temporary
bridge that I had caused to be thrown from peak to peak,
when one of the rebels with a blow of his axe broke tlie bridge
to atoms, and the ruins fell into the abyss with a terrible noise.

I turned my head: in a moment I was surrounded, and
seized by six or seven negroes, who disarmed me in a moment.
I struggled like a lion, but they bound me with cords made of
bark, heedless of the hail of bullets that my soldiers poured
upon them. My despair was somewhat soothed by the cries
of victory which I heard from our men, and I soon saw the

BUG-JARGAL 57

negroes and mulattoes ascending the steep sides of the rocks
with all the precipitation of fear, uttering cries of terror.

My captors followed their example. The strongest among
them placed me on their shoulders, and carried me in the direc-
tion of the forest, leaping from rock to rock with the agility
of wild goats. The flames soon ceased to light the scene, and
it was by the pale rays of the moon that we pursued our
course.

CHAPTER XXII

AFTER passing through jungles and crossing many a
torrent, we arrived in a valley situated in the higher
part of the hills, of a singularly wild and savage appearance.
The spot was absolutely unknown to me. The valley was
situated in the heart of the hills, in what is called the " double
mountains." It was a large green plain, imprisoned by walls
of bare rock, and dotted with clumps of pines and palm-trees.
The cold, which at this height is very severe, was increased by
the morning air, the day having just commenced to break ; but
the valley was still plunged in darkness, and was only lighted
by flashes from the negroes' fires. Evidently this spot was
their headquarters ; the shattered remains of their army had
begun to reassemble and every nov/ and then bands of negroes
and mulattoes arrived, uttering groans of distress and cries of
rage. New fires were speedily lighted, and the camp began
to increase in size.

The negro whose prisoner I was had placed me at the foot
of an oak, whence I surveyed this strange spectacle with entire
carelessness. The black had bound me with his belt to the
trunk of the tree, against which I was leaning, and carefully
tightening the knots in the cords which impeded my move-
ments, he placed on my head his own red woollen cap, as if
to indicate that I was his property ; and after making sure
that I could not escape or be carried off by others, he was pre-
paring to leave me, when I determined to address him; and

58 BUG-JARGAL

speaking in the Creole dialect, I asked him if he belonged to
the band of Dondon, or of Morne-Rouge. He stopped at
once, and in a tone of pride replied, " Morne-Rouge." Then
an idea entered my head. I had often heard of the gener-
osity of the chief Bug-Jargal ; and though I had made up my
mind that death would soon end all my troubles, the thought
of the tortures that would inevitably precede it should I fall
into the hands of Biassou filled me with horror. All I wanted
was to be put to death without torment. It was perhaps a
v/eakness, but I believe that the mind of man ever revolts at
such a death. I thought then that if I could be taken from
Biassou, Bug-Jargal might give me what I desired, — a sol-
dier's death. I therefore asked the negro of Morne-Rouge
to lead me to Bug-Jargal.

He started : " Bug-Jargal ! " he repeated, striking on his
forehead in anguish ; then, as if rage had suddenly overtaken
him, he shook his fist, and shouting, " Biassou, Biassou ! " he
left me hastily.

The mingled rage and grief of the negro recalled to my
mind the events of the day, and the certainty we had acquired
of either the death or capture of the chief of the band of
Morne-Rouge. I felt that all hope was over, and resigned
myself to the threatened vengeance of Biassou.

CHAPTER XXIII

A GROUP of negresses came near the tree to which I was
fastened, and lit a fire. By the numerous bracelets of
blue, red and violet glass which ornamented their arms and
ankles ; by the rings which weighed down their ears and
adorned their toes and fingers ; by the amulets on their bosoms
and the collar charms suspended round their necks ; by the
aprons of variegated feathers which were their sole coverings,
— I at once recognized them as gr'iotes. You are perhaps
ignorant that among the African blacks there exists a certain

BUG-JARGAL 50

class with a rude talent for poetry and improvisation, which
approaclics closel}^ to madness. These unhappy creatures,
wandering from one African kingdom to another, are in these
barbarian countries looked upon in the same light as the
minstrels of England, the minne-singers of Germany, and the
troubadours of France, They are called " griots," and their
wives " griotes." The griotes accompany the barbaric songs
of their husbands with lascivious dances, and form a grotesque
parody on the nautch girls of India and the almes of Egypt.

It was a group of these women who came and sat down near
me, and with their legs crossed under them according to their
custom, and their hideous faces lighted up by the red light of a
fire of withered brandies. When they had formed a complete
circle they all joined hands, and the eldest, who had a heron's
plume stuck in her hair, began to exclaim, " Ouanga ! " I at
once understood that they were going through one of their
performances of pretended witchcraft. Then the leader of
the band, after a moment's silence, plucked a lock of hair from
her head and threw it into the fire, crying out these words,
" Male o guiab," which in. the jargon of the Creoles means,
" I shall go to the devil." All the griotes imitated their
leader, and throwing locks of their hair in the fire, repeated
gravely, " Male o guiab." This strange invocation, and the
extraordinary grimaces that accompanied it, caused me to
burst into one of those hysterical fits of laughter which so
often seize on one even at the most serious moments. It was
in vain that I endeavoured to restrain it, — it would have
vent; and this laugh, which escaped from so sad a heart,
brought about a gloomy and terrifying scene.

Disturbed in their incantations, the negresses sprang to
their feet. Until then they had not noticed me, but now they
rushed close up to me, screaming " Blanco, Blanco ! " I
have never seen so hideous a collection of faces, contorted as
they were with passion, their white teeth gleaming, and their
e^'es almost starting from their heads. They were, I believe,
about to tear me in pieces, when the old woman with the heron's
plume on her head stopped them with a sign of her hand, and

60 BUG-JARGAL

exclaimed seven times, " Zote corde? " ("Do yon agree?'')
The wretched creatures stopped at once, and to my surprise
tore off their feather aprons, which they flung upon the
ground, and commenced the lascivious dance which the negroes
call " La chica."

This dance, which should only consist of attitudes and
movements expressive of gaiety and pleasure, assumed a very
different complexion when performed by these naked sor-
ceresses. In turn, each of them would place her face close to
mine, and with a frightful expression of countenance would
detail the horrible punishment that awaited the white man who
had profaned the mysteries of their Ouanga. I recollected
that savage nations had a custom of dancing round their vic-
tims that they were about to sacrifice, and I patiently awaited
the conclusion of the performance which I knew would be
sealed with my blood ; and yet I could not repress a shudder
as I perceived each griote, in strict unison with the time, thrust
into the fire the point of a sabre, the blade of an axe, a long
sail-maker's needle, a pair of pincers, and the teeth of a
saw.

The dance was approaching its conclusion, and the in-
struments of torture were glowing red with heat. At a signal
from the old woman, each negress in turn withdrew an imple-
mcnL from the fire, while those who had none furnished them-
selves with a blazing stick. Then I understood clearly what
my punishment was to be, and that in each of the dancers I
should find an executioner. Again the word of command was
given, and the last figure of the dance was commenced. I
closed my eyes that I might not see the frantic evolutions of
these female demons, who in measured cadence clashed the
red-hot weapons over their heads. A dull, clinking sound fol-
lowed, while the sparks flew out in mj^riads. I waited, nerving
myself for the moment when I should feel my flesh quiver in
agony, my bones calcine, and m^' muscles writhe under the
burning tortures of the nippers and the saws. It was an awful
moment. Fortunately it did not last long.

In the distance I heard the voice of the negro whose prisoner

BUG-JARGAL 61

I was, shouting, " Que hacies, mujercs, ne dcmonio, que haceis
alii, devais mi prisonero?" I opened my eyes again; it was
already broad daylight. The negro hurried towards me,
gesticulating angril}'. The griotes paused, but they seemed
less influenced by the threats of my captor than by the pres-
ence of a strange-looking person by whom the negro Avas ac-
companied.

It was a very stout and very short man, — a species of
dwarf, — - wliose face was entirely concealed by a white veil,
pierced with three holes for the eyes and mouth. The veil
hung down to his shoulders, and displayed a hairy, copper-
hued breast, upon which was hung by a golden chain the
mutilated sun of a monstrance. The cross-hilt of a heavy
dagger peeped from a scarlet belt, which also supported a
kind of petticoat striped with green, yellow, and black, the
liem of which hung down to his large and ill-shaped feet.
His arms, like his breast, were bare ; he carried a white staff,
and a rosary of amber beads was suspended from his belt, in
close proximity to the handle of his dagger. His head was
surmounted with a pointed cap adorned with bells ; and when
he came close I was not surprised in recognizing in it the
gorra of Habibrah, and among the hieroglyphics with which
it Avas covered I could see many spots of gore : without doubt,
it was the blood of the faithful fool. These blood-stains gave
me fresh proofs of his death, and awakened in me once again
a fresh feeling of regret for his loss.

Directly the griotes recognized the wearer of Habibrah's
cap, they cried out all at once: " The Obi!" and prostrr.tcl
themselves before him. I guessed at once that this was a
sorcerer attached to Biassou's force.

" Basta, basta " ("enough"), said he, in a grave and
solemn voice, as he came close up to them. " Devais «. i
prisonero de Biassou." (" Let the prisoner be taken to
Biassou.")

All the negresses leaped to their feet and cast their imple-
ments of torture on one side, put on their aprons, and a' a
gesture of the Obi fled like a cloud of grass-hoppers.

62 BUG-JARGAL

At this instant the glance of the Obi fell upon me. He
started back a pace, and half waved his white staff in the
direction of the retiring griotes, as if he wished to recall them ;
then muttering between his teeth the word " Maldicho " (" ac-
cursed "), he whispered a few words in the ear of the negro,
and crossing his arms retired slowly, apparently buried in
deep thought.

CHAPTER XXIV

MY captor informed me that Biassou had asked to see me,
and that in an hour I sliould be brought before him.
This, I calculated, gave me another hour in which to live.
Until that time had elapsed, I allowed my glances to wander
over the rebel camp, the singular appearance of which the
daylight permitted me to observe.

Had I been in any other position, I should have laughed
heartily at the ostentatious vanity of the negroes, who were
nearly all decked out in fragments of clerical and military
dress, the spoils of their victims. The greater portion of these
ornaments were not new, consisting of torn and blood-stained
rags. A gorget could often be seen shining over a stole, while
an epaulet looked strange when contrasted with a chasuble. To
make amends for former years of toil, the negroes now main-
tained a state of utter inaction : some of them slept exposed
to the rays of the sun, their heads close to a burning fire ;
others, with eyes that were sometimes full of listlessness, and
at others blazed with fury, sat chanting a monotonous air at
the doors of their ajoupas, — a species of hut with conical
roofs somewhat resembling our military tents, but thatched
with palm or banana leaves. Their black or copper-coloured
wives, aided by the negro children, prepared the food for the
fighting-men. I could see them stirring up with long forks,
ignames, bananas, yams, peas, cocus and maize, and other
vegetables indigenous to the country, which were boiling with
joints of pork, turtle, and dog in the great boilers stolen from

BUG-JARGAL 63

the dwellings of the planters. In the distance, on the out-
skirts of the camp, the griots and griotes formed large circles
round the fires, and the wind every now and then brought to
my ears strange fragments of their barbaric songs, mingled
with notes from their tambourines and guitars. A few videttes
posted on the high ground watched over the headquarters of
General Biassou, — the only defence of which in case of attack
was a circle of wagons filled with plunder and ammunition.
These black sentries posted on the summits of the granite
P3'ramids, with which the valley bristled, turned about like
the weathercocks in Gothic spires, and with all the strength
of their lungs shouted one to the other the cry of " Nada,
nada ! " ("Nothing, nothing!") which showed that the
camp was in full security. Every now and then groups of
negroes, inspired by curiosity, collected round me, but all
looked upon me with a threatening expression of countenance.

CHAPTER XXV

AT length an escort of negro soldiers, very fairly
equipped, arrived. The negro whose property I ap-
peared to be unfastened me from the oak to which I was bound,
and handed me over to the escort, receiving in exchange a
bag full of piastres. As he lay upon the grass counting them
with every appearance of delight, I was led away by the sol-
diers. My escort wore a uniform of coarse cloth, of a reddish-
brown colour, with yellow facings ; their head-dress was a
Spanish cap called a montera, ornamented with a large red
cockade. Instead of a cartouclie case, they had a species of
game-bag slung at their sides. Their arms were a heavy
musket, a sabre, and a dagger. I afterwards learned that
these men formed tlie body-guard of Biassou.

After a circuitous route through the rows of ajoupas
which were scattered all over the place, I came to a cave
which Nature had hollowed out in one of those masses of rock

64 BUG-JARGAL

with which the meadow was full. A large curtain of some
material from the looms of Tliibet, which the negroes called
katchmir, and which is remarkable less for the brilliancy of
its colouring than for softness of its material, concealed
the interior of the cavern from the vulgar gaze. The en-
trance was guarded by a double line of negroes, dressed like
those who had escorted me thither.

After the countersign had been exchanged with the sentries
who marched backwards and forwards before the cave, the
commander of the escort raised the curtain sufficiently for
me to enter, and then let it drop behind me. A copper lamp
with six lights, hung by a chain from the roof of the grotto,
cast a flickering light upon the damp walls. Between the
ranks of mulatto soldiers I perceived a coloured man sitting
upon a large block of mahogany, which was partially cov-
ered with a carpet made of parrot's feathers. His dress was
of the most absurd kind. A splendid silk gii'dle, from which
hung a cross of Saint Louis, held up a pair of common blue
trousers, while a waistcoat of white linen which did not meet
the waistband of the trousers completed the strange costume.
He wore high boots, and a round hat with a red cockade, and
epaulets, — one of gold with silver stars, like those worn by
brigadiers ; while the other was of red-worsted, with two cop-
per stars (which seemed to have been taken from a pair of
spurs) fixed upon it, evidently to render it more worthy of
its resplendent neighbour. A sabre and a pair of richly
chased pistols lay by his side. Behind him were two white
children dressed in the costume of slaves, bearing large fans
of peacock feathers.

Two squares of crimson velvet, which seemed to have been
stolen from some church, were placed on either side of the
mahogany block. One of these was occupied by the Obi who
had rescued me from the frenzy of the griotes. He was seated
with his legs crossed under him, holding in his hand his white
wand, and not moving a muscle : he looked like a porcelain idol
in a Chinese pagoda, but through the holes in his veil I could
see his jflashing eyes fixed steadfastly upon mine.

BUG-JARGAL 05

Upon each side of the general were trophies of flags, ban-
ners, and pennons of all kinds. Among them I noticed the
white flag with the lilies, the tricolour, and the banner of
Spain ; the others were covered with fancy devices. I also
perceived a large standard entirely black. At the end of the
grotto, I saw a portrait of the mulatto Oge who, together
with his lieutenant Jean Charanne, had been broken on the
wheel the year previous for the crime of rebellion. Twenty
of his accomplices, blacks and mulattoes, suff'ered with him.
In this painting Oge, the son of a butcher at Cap, was rep-
resented in the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel, and decorated
with the star of Saint Louis and the Order of Merit of the
Lion, which last he had purchased from the Prince of Lim-
burg.

The negro general into whose presence I had been intro-
duced was short and of vulgar aspect, while his face showed
a strange mixture of cunning and cruelty. After looking
at me for some time in silence, with a bitter omen on his face,
he said, —

" I am Biassou."

I expected this, but I could not hear it from his mouth,
distorted as it was by a cruel smile, without an inward
trembling; yet my face remained unchanged, and I made no
reply.

" Well," continued he, in his bad French, " have they al-
ready empaled you, that you are unable to bend before
Biassou, generalissimo of this conquered land, and brigadier
of his Most Catholic Majesty?" (The rebel chiefs some-
times aff'ected to be acting for the King of France, some-
times for the Republic, and at others for the King of
Spain.)

I crossed my arms upon my chest, and looked him firmly
in the face.

He again sneered. " Ho, ho ! " said he ; " me pareces

hombre de buen corazon ("you seem a courageous man");

well, listen to my questions. Were you born in the

island.'' "
6

66 BUG-JARGAL

" No, I am a Frenchman."

My calmness irritated him. " All the better ; I see by
your uniform that you are an officer. How old are
you-f* "

" Twenty."

" When were you twenty .'' "

To this question, which aroused in me all the recollection
of my misery, I could not at first find words to reply. He
repeated it imperiously.

" The day upon which Leogri was hung," answered I.

An expression of rage passed over his face as he answered,
" It is twenty-three days since Leogri was executed. French-
man, when you meet him this evening you may tell him from
me that you lived twenty-four days longer than he did. I
Vv ill spare you for to-day ; I wish you to tell him of the liberty
that his brethren have gained, and what you have seen at the
headquarters of General «Tean Biassou."

Then he ordered me to sit down in one corner between two
of his guards, and with a motion of his hand to some of his
men, who wore the uniform of aides-de-camp, he said, " Let
the Assembly be sounded, that we may inspect the whole of
our troops ; and you, your reverence," he added, turning to
the Obi, " put on your priestly vestments, and perform for
our army the holy sacrament of the Mass."

The Obi rose, bowed profoundly, and whispered a word or
two in the general's ear.

" What," cried the latter, " no altar ! but never mind, the
good Giu has no need of a magnificent temple for His worship.
Gideon and Joshua adored Him before masses of rock ; let
us do as they did. All that is required is that the hearts
should be true. No altar, you say ! why not make one of that
great chest of sugar which we took yesterday from Dubus-
sion's house.'' "

This suggestion of Biassou was promptly carried into
execution. In an instant the interior of the cave was ar-
ranged for a burlesque of the divine ceremony. A pyx and a
monstrance stolen from the parish church of Acul were

BUG-JARGAL 67

promptly produced (the very church in which my nuptials
witli ]Marie had been celebrated, and where we had received
Heaven's blessing, which had so soon changed to a curse).
The stolen chest of sugar was speedily made into an altar and
covered with a white cloth, through which, however, the words
" Dubussion and Company for Nantes " could be plainly per-
ceived.

When the sacred vessels had been placed on the altar, the
Obi perceived that the crucifix was wanting. He drew his
dagger, which had a cross handle, and stuck it into the wood
of the case in front of the pyx. Then without removing his
cap or veil, he threw the cope which had been stolen from the
priest of Acul over his shoulders and bare chest, opened the
silver clasps of the missal from which the prayers had been
read on my ill-fated marriage day, and turning towards Bias-
sou, whose seat was a few paces from the altar, announced to
him that all was ready.

On a sign from the general the katchmir curtains were
drawn aside, and the insurgent army was seen drawn up in
close column before the entrance to the grotto. Biassou re-
moved his hat and knelt before the altar.

" On your knees ! " he cried, in a loud voice.

" On your knees ! " repeated the commander of the
battalions.

The drums were beaten, and all the insurgents fell upon
their knees. I alone refused to move, disgusted at this vile
profanation about to be enacted under my very eyes ; but the
two powerful mulattoes who guarded me pulled my seat from
under me, and pressed heavily upon my shoulders, so that I
fell on my knees, compelled to pay a semblance of respect to
this parody of a religious ceremony. The Obi pcrfoi-med his
duties with affected solemnity, while the two white pages of
Biassou officiated as deacon and sub-deacon. The insurgents,
prostrated before the altar, assisted at the ceremony with the
greatest enthusiasm, the general setting the example.

At the moment of the exaltation of the host, the Obi raisinir
in his hands the consecrated vessel exclaimed in his creole

68 BUG-JARGAL

jargon, " Zote cone bon Giu ; ce li mo fe zote voer. Blan
touye 11: touye blan yo toute ! " (" You see your good God;
I am showing Him to you. The white men killed Him: kill
all the whites!")

At these words, pronounced in a loud voice, the tones of
which had something in them familiar to my car, all the rebels
uttered a loud shout, and clashed their weapons together.
Had it not been for Biassou's influence, that hour would have
been my last. To such atrocities may men be driven who use
the dagger for a cross, and upon whose minds the most trivial
event makes a deep and profound impression.

CHAPTER XXVI

AT the termination of the ceremony the Obi bowed respect-
fully to Biassou ; then the general rose and, addressing
me in French, said,- —

*' We are accused of having no religion. You see it is a
falsehood, and that we arc good Calholics."

I do not know whether lie spoke ironically or in good faith.
A few moments later he called for a glass bowl filled with
grains of black maize ; on the top he threw some wliite maize,
then he raised it high in his hand so that all the army might
see it.

" Brothers," cried he, " you are the black maize ; your ene-
mies are the white maize."

With these words he shook the bowl, and in an instant
the white grains had disappeared beneath the black ; and,
as though inspired, he cried out, " Where are the white
now.'' "

The mountains re-echoed with tlie shouts with which the
illustration of the general was received ; and Biassou continu-
ing his harangue, mixed up French, creole dialect, and Span-
ish alternately : —

" The season for temporizing has passed ; for a long time

BUG-JARGAL 69

we have been as patient as the sheep to whose wool the whites
compare our hair ; let us now be as implacable as the panthers
or tho tigers of the countries from which they have torn us.
Force alone can obtain for us our rights ; and everything can
be obtained by those who use their force without pity. Saint
Loup [Wolf] has tAvo days in the year consecrated to him in
the Gregorian calendar, while the Paschal Lamb has but one.
Am not I correct, your reverence.'' "

Tlie Obi bowed in sign of corroboration.

" They have come," continued Biassou, — " these enemies of
ours have come as enemies of the regeneration of humanity ;
these whites, these planters, these men of business, veritable
devils vomited from the mouth of hell. They came in the in-
solence of their pride, in their fine dresses, their uniforms, their
feathers, their magnificent arms ; they despised us because we
were black and naked, in their overbearing haughtiness ; they
thought that they could drive us before them as easily as
these peacock feathers disperse the swarm of sandflies and
mosquitoes."

As he uttered these concluding words, he snatched from
the hands of his white slaves one of the large fans, and Avavcd
it over his head with a thousand eccentric gesticulations.
Then he continued : —

" But, my brethren, we burst upon them like flies upon a
carcass ; they have fallen in their fine uniforms beneath the
strokes of our naked arms, which they believed to be without
power, ignorant that good wood is the stronger when the bark
is stripped off; and now these accursed tyrants tremble, and
are filled with fear."

A triumphant yell rose in answer to the general's speech,
and all the army repeated, " They are filled with fear ! "

" Blacks, Creoles, and Congoes," added Biassou, " ven-
geance and liberty ! Mulattoes, do not be led away by the
temptations of the white men ! Your fathers serve in their
ranks, but your mothers are with us ; besides, ' O bermanos
de mi alma ' (' O brethren of my soul ') have they ever acted
as fathers to you.'* Have they not rather been cruel masters,

70 BUG-JARGAL

and treated you as slaves, because you had the blood of your
mothers in your veins? While a miserable cotton garment
covered your bodies scorched by the sun, your cruel fathers
went about in straw hats and nankeen clothes on work-days,
and in cloth and velvet on holidays and feasts. Curses be on
tb.eir unnatural hearts ! But as the holy commandments for-
bid you to strike your father, abstain from doing so ; but in
the day of battle what hinders you from turning to 3'our
comrade and saying, ' Touye papa moe, ma touye quena
tone!' ('Kill my father, and I will kill yours!') Ven-
geance then, my brethren, and liberty for all men ! This cry
lias found an echo in every part of the island ; it has roused
Tobago and Cuba. It was Bouckmann, a negro from Ja-
maica, the leader of the twenty-five fugitive slaves of the Blue
jMountain, who raised the standard of revolt among us. A
f-lorious victory was the first proof that he gave of his
brotherhood with the negroes of St. Domingo. Let us follow
his noble example, with an axe in one hand and a torch in the
other. No mercy for the whites, no mercy for the planters !
let us massacre their families, and destroy their plantations !
Do not allow a tree to remain standing on their estates ; let
us upturn the very earth itself that it may swallow up our
white oppressors ! Courage then, friends and brethren ! we
v.iil fight them and sweep them from the face of the earth.
We will conquer or die. As victors, we shall enjoy all the
pleasures of life ; and if we fall, the saints are ready to re-
ceive us in heaven, where each warrior will receive a double
ration of brandy and a silver piastre each day!"

This warlike discourse, Avhich to you appears perfectly ri-
diculous, had a tremendous effect on the insurgents. It is true
that Biassou's wild gesticulations, the manner in which his
voice rose and fell, and the strange sneer which every now
and then appeared on his lips, imparted to his speech a
strange amount of power and fascination. The skill with
which he alluded to those points that would have the greatest
weight with the negroes added a degree of force which told
well with his audience.

BUG-JARGAL 71

I will not attempt to describe to you the outburst of deter-
mined enthusiasm which the harangue of Biassou roused
among the rebels. There arose at once a discordant chorus
of howls, yells, and shouts. Some beat their naked breasts,
others dashed their clubs and sabres together. Many threw
themselves on their knees, and remained in that position as
though in rapt ecstasy. The negresses tore their breasts and
arms with their fish-bone combs. The sounds of drums, tom-
toms, guitars, and tambourines were mingled with the dis-
charge of firearms. It was a veritable witches' Sabbath.

Biassou raised his hand, and as if by enchantment the tu-
mult was stilled, and each negro returned to his place in the
ranks in silence. The discipline Avhich Biassou had imposed
upon his equals by the exercise of his power of will struck
me, I may say, with admiration. All the soldiers of the force
seemed to exist only to obey the wishes of their chief, as the
notes of the harpsichord under the fingers of the musician.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE spectacle of another example of the powers of fasci-
nation and deception now attracted my attention.
This was the healing of the wounded.

The Obi, who in the army performed the double functions
of healer of souls and bodies, began his inspection of his pa-
tients. He had taken off his sacerdotal robes, and was
seated before a large box in which he kept his drugs and
instruments. He used the latter very rarely, but occasionally
drew blood skilfully enough with a lancet made of fish-bone;
but he appeared to me to use the knife, which in his hands
replaced the scalper, rather clumsily. In most cases he con-
tented himself with prescribing orange-flower water, or sarsa-
parilla, and a mouthful of old rum. His favourite remedy,
however, and one which he said was an infallible panacea for
all ills, was composed of three glasses of red wine, in which

72 BUG-JARGAL

was some grated nutmeg and the yolk of an egg boiled hard ;
he employed this specific for almost every malady. You will
understand that his knowledge of medicine was as great a
farce as his pretended religion ; and it is probable that the
small number of cures that he effected would not have secured
the confidence of the negroes had he not had recourse to all
sorts of mummeries and incantations, and acted as much upon
their imaginations as upon their bodies. Thus, he never exam-
ined their wounds without performing some mysterious signs ;
while at other times he skilfully mingled together religion
and negro superstition, and would put into their wounds a
little fetish stone wrapped in a morsel of lint, and the pa-
tient would credit the stone with the healing effects of the
lint. If any one came to announce to him the death of a pa-
tient, he would answer solemnly : " I foresaw it ; he was a
traitor: in the burning of such and such a house he spared a
white man's life; his death was a judgment," — and the
wondering crowd of rebels applauded him as he thus increased
their deadly hatred for their adversaries.

This impostor, among other methods, employed one which
amused me by its singularity. One of the negro chiefs had
been badly wounded in the last action. The Obi examined
the wound attentively, dressed it as well as he was able, then,
mounting the altar, exclaimed, " All this is nothing." He
then tore two or three leaves from the missal, burnt them to
ashes, and mingling them with some wine in the sacramental
cup, cried to the wounded man, " Drink ! this is the true rem-
ed3\ " The patient, stupidly fixing his eyes on the impostor,
drank, while the Obi with raised hands seemed to call down
blessings on his head ; and it may be the conviction that he
was healed which brought about his cure.

BUG-JARGAL /o

CHAPTER XXVIII

ANOTHER scene in which the Obi also played the princi-
pal part succeeded to this. The physician had taken
the place of the priest, and the sorcerer now replaced tlie
physician.

" Listen, men ! " cried the Obi, leaping with incredible
agility upon the improvised altar, and sinking down with his
legs crossed under his striped petticoat, — " listen. Who will
dive into the book of fate? I can foretell the future. ' He
estudiado la cienca de los Gitanos ' ('I have studied the
sciences of the gipsies ')." A crowd of mulattoes and negroes
hurriedly crowded up to him. " One by one," said the Obi,
in that voice which called to my mind some remembrances that
I could not quite collect. " If you come all together, alto-
gether you will enter the tomb."

They stopped. Just tlien a coloured man dressed in a whito
jacket and trousers, with a bandana handkerchief tied round
his head entered the cave. Consternation was depicted on
his countenance.

" Well, Rigaud," said the general, " what is it .^ "

Rigaud, sometimes called General Rigaud, was at the head
of the mulatto insurgents at Lagu, — a man who concealed
much cunning under an appearance of candour, and crueUy
beneath the mask of humanity. I looked upon him with
much attention.

" General," whispered Rigaud, but as I was close to them
I could catch every word, " on the outskirts of the camp there
is a messenger from Jean Fran9ois who has brought the news
that Bouckmann has been killed in a battle with the whites
under M. de Touzard, and that his head has been set upon the
gates of the town as a trophy."

" Is that all.? " asked Biassou, his eyes sparkling with de-
light at learning of the diminution of the number of chiefs
and the consequent increase of his own importance.

74 BUG-JARGAL

" The emissary of Jean Fran9ois has in addition a message
for you."

** That is all right," replied the general ; " but get rid of
this air of alarm, my good Rigaud."

" But," said Rigaud, " do you not fear the effect that the
death of Bouckmann will have on the army? "

" You wish to appear more simple than you are ; but you
shall see what Biassou will do. Keep the messenger back for
a quarter of an hour, and all will go well."

Then he approached the Obi, who during this conversa-
tion had been exercising his functions as fortune-teller, ques-
tioning the wondering negroes, examining the lines on their
hands and foreheads, and distributing more or less good luck
according to the size and colour of the piece of money thrown
by each negro into a silver-gilt basin which stood on one side.
Biassou whispered a few words in his ear, and without making
any reply the Obi continued his prophetic observations.

" He," cried the Obi, " who has in the middle of his fore-
head a little square or triangular figure will make a large
fortune without work or toil. The figure of three interlaced
S's on the forehead is a fatal sign ; he who has it will certainly
be drowned if he does not carefully avoid water. Four lines
from the top of the nose, and turning round two by two
towards the eyes, announces that you will be taken prisoner,
and for a long time languish in a foreign urison."

Here the Obi paused. " Friends," continued he, " I have
observed this sign in the forehead of Bug-Jargal, the brave
chief of Morne-Rouge."

These words, which convinced me that Bug-Jargal had
been made prisoner, were followed by a cry of grief from a
band of negroes who wore short scarlet breeches. They be-
longed to the band of Morne-Rouge.

Then the Obi began again : " If you have on the right side
of the forehead in the line of the moon a mark resembling
a fork, do not remain idle, and avoid dissipation of all kinds.
A small mark like the Arabic cipher 3 in the line of the sun
betokens blows with a stick."

BUG-JARGAL 75

An old negro here interrupted the magician, and dragging
himself to his feet begged him to dress his wound. He had
been wounded in the face, and one of his eyes almost torn
from the socket hung upon his cheek.

The Obi had forgotten him when going through his pa-
tients. Directly, however, he saw him he cried out : " Round
marks on the right side of the forehead in the line of the
moon foretell misfortunes to the sight. My man, let me see
your hand."

" Alas, excellent sir," answered the other, " it is my eye
that I want you to look at."

" Old man," replied the Obi, crossly, " it is not necessary
to see your eye ; give me your hand, I say."

The miserable wretch obeyed, moaning, " My eye ! my
eye ! "

" Good," cried the Obi ; " if you see on the line of life
a spot surrounded by a circle you will lose an eye. There
is the mark. You will become blind of an eye."

" I am so already," answered the negro, piteously.

But the Obi had merged the physician in the sorcerer, and
thrusting him roughly on one side continued : " Listen, my
men.

" If the seven lines on the forehead are slight, twisted, and
lightly marked, they announce a short life. He who has
between his eyebrows on the line of the moon the figure of two
crossed arrows will be killed in battle. If the line of life
which intersects the hand has a cross at its junction it fore-
tells death on the scaffold; and here I must tell you, my
brethren," said the Obi, interrupting himself, " that one of
the bravest defenders of our liberties, Bouckmann, has all
these fatal marks."

At these words all the negroes held their breath, and gazed
on the impostor with glances of stupid admiration.

" Only," continued the Obi, " I cannot reconcile the two
opposing signs, death on the battle-field and also on the scaf-
fold ; and yet my science is infallible."

He stopped, and cast a meaning glance at Biassou, who

76 BUG-JARGAL

whispered something to an officer, who at once quittec the
cavern.

" A gaping mouth," continued the Obi, turning on his au-
dience a mahcious glance, " a slouching carriage, and arms
hanging down by the side, announces natural stupidity, emp-
tiness, and want of reasoning powers."

Biassou gave a sneer of delight ; at that moment the aide-
de-camp returned, bringing with him a negro covered v.ith
mud and dust, whose feet, wounded by the roots and flints,
showed that he had just come off a long journey. This was
the messenger whose arrival Rigaud had announced. Ho
held in one hand a letter, and in the other a document sealed
with the design of a flaming heart ; round it was a monogram,
composed of the letters M and A^ interlaced, no doubt in-
tended as an emblem of the union of the free mulattoes and
the negro slaves. Underneath I could read this motto,
"Prejudice conquered; the rod of iron broken; long live
the king ! " This document was a safe conduct given by
Jean Franfois.

The messenger handed his letter to Biassou, who hastily
tore It open and perused the contents, then with an appear-
ance of deep grief he exclaimed, " My brothers ! " All bowed
respectfully.

" My brothers, this is a dispatch to Jean Biassou, general-
issimo of the conquered states, Brigadier-General of his Cath-
olic Majesty, from Jean Fran9ois, Grand Admiral of
France, Lieutenant-General of the army of the King of
Spain and the Indies. Bouckmann, chief of the hundred
and twenty negroes of the Blue Mountain, whose liberty was
recognized by the Governor-General of Belie Combe, has fallen
in the glorious struggle of liberty and humanity against
tyranny and barbarism. This gallant chief has been slain
in an action with the white brigands of the infamous Tou-
zard. The monsters have cut off his head, and have an-
nounced their intention of exposing it on a scaffold in the
main square of the town of Cap. Vengeance ! "

A gloomy silence succeeded the reading of this dispatch ;

BUG-JARGAL 77

but the Obi leaped on his altar, and waving his white wand,
exclaimed in accents of triumph, —

" Solomon, Zerobabel, Eleazar Thaleb, Cardau, Judas
I^owtharicht, Avenoes, Albert the Great, Bohabdil, Jean de
ilagul, Anna Baratio, Daniel Ogromof, Rachel Flintz, Al-
lornino, — I give you thanks ! The science of the spirits has
i!ot deceived me. Sons, friends, brothers, boys, children, moth-
ers, all of you listen to me. What was it that I predicted?
The marks on the forehead of Bouckmann announced that his
life would be a short one, that he would die in battle, and
that he would appear on the scaffold. The revelations of
my art have turned out true to the letter, and those points
which seemed the most obscure are now the most plain.
Brethren, wonder and admire ! "

The panic of the negroes changed during this discourse
to a sort of admiring terror. They listened to the Obi with
a species of confidence mingled with fear, while the latter,
carried away by his own enthusiasm, walked up and down
the sugar-case, which presented plenty of space for his short
steps.

A sneer passed over Biassou's face as he addressed the Obi :
" Your reverence, since you know what is to come, will you
be good enough to tell me the future of Jean Biassou, Brig-
adier-General.'* "

The Obi halted on the top of his strange altar, which the
credulity of the negroes looked upon as something divine, and
answered, " Venga vuestra merced " ("Come, your excel-
lency "). At this moment the Obi was the most important
man in the army ; the military power bowed to the spiritual.

" Your hand. General," said the Obi, stooping to grasp it.
" Empezo " ("I begin"). The line of junction equally
marked in its full length promises you riches and happiness ;
the line of life strongly developed announces a life exempt
from ills, and a happy old age. Its narrowness shows your
wisdom and your superior talents, as well as the generosity of
your heart ; and lastly, I see what chiromancers call the luck-
iest of all signs, — a number of little wrinkles in the shape of

78 BUG- JAR GAL

a tree with its branches extending upwards; this promises
health and wealth; it also prognosticates courage. General,
it curves in the direction of the little finger; this is the sign
of wholesome severity."

As he said this, the eyes of the Obi glanced at me through
the apertures of his veil, and I fancied that I covild catch a
well-known voice under the habitual gravity of his intona-
tion, as he continued, —

" The line of health, marked with a number of small cir-
cles, announces that you v/ill have, for the sake of the cause,
to order a number of executions ; divided here by a half -moon,
it shows that you will be exposed to great danger from fero-
cious beasts, that is to say from the whites, if you do not ex-
terminate them. The line of fortune surrounded, like the line
of life, by little branches rising towards the upper part of
the hand, confirms the position of power and supremacy to
which you have been called ; turning to the right, it is a sym-
bol of your administrative capacity. The fifth line, that of
the triangle prolonged to the root of the middle finger, prom-
ises you success in all your undertakings. Let me see your
fingers: the thumb marked with little lines from the point
to the nail shows that you will receive a noble heritage, —
that of the glory of the unfortunate Bouckmann, no doubt,"
added the Obi, in a loud voice. " The slight swelling at the
root of the forefinger, lightly marked with lines, promises
honours and dignities. The middle finger shows nothing.
Your little finger is covered with lines crossing one another;
you will vanquish all your enemies, and rise high above your
rivals. These lines form the cross of Saint Andrew, a mark
of genius and foresight. I also notice the figure of a circle,
another token of your arrival at the highest power and dig-
nity. ' Happy the man,' says Eleazar Thaleb, ' who pos-
sesses all these signs. Destiny has its choicest gifts in store
for him, and his fortunate star announces the talent which
will bring him glory.' And now. General, let me look at your
forehead. ' He,' says Rachel Flintz, of Bohemia, ' who bears
on his forehead, on the line of tlie sun, a square or a triau-

BUG-JARGAL 79

gular mark, will make a great fortune' Here is another
prediction : ' If the mark is on the right, it refers to an im-
portant succession ; ' that of Bouckmann is, of course, again
referred to. The mark in the shape of a horseshoe between
the eyebrows, on the line of the moon, means that prompt
vengeance will be taken for insult and tyranny. I have this
mark as well as you."

The curious manner in which the Obi uttered these words,
" I have this mark," attracted my attention.

" The mark of a lion's claw which you have on your left
eyelid is only noticeable among men of undoubted courage.
But to close this, General Jean Biassou, your forehead shows
every sign of the most unexampled success, and on it is a
combination of lines which form the letter 31, the commence-
ment of the name of the Blessed Virgin. In whatever part
of the forehead, and in whatever line of the face, such
a sign appears, the signification is the same, — genius, glory,
and power. He who bears it will alwa3fs bring success to
whatever cause he embraces, and those under his command
will never have to regret any loss. He alone is worth all the
soldiers of his army. You, General, are the elect of Fate."

" Thanks, your reverence," said Biassou, preparing to re-
turn to his mahogany throne.

" Stay a moment. General," said the Obi, " I forgot one
last sign : The line of the sun, which is so strongly marked
on your forehead, proves that you understand the way of
ihe world; that you possess the wish to make others happy;
that 3'ou have much liberality, and like to do things in a
magnificent manner."

Biassou at once recognized his forgetfulness, and drawing
from his pocket a heavy purse, he threw it into the plate, so
as to prove that the line of the sun never lies.

But this miraculous horoscope of the general had produced
its effect upon the army. All the insurgents, who since the
news of the death of Bouckmann attached greater weight
than ever to the words of the Obi, lost their feelings of uneas-
iness and became violently enthusiastic; and trusting blindly

80 BUG-JARGAL

in their infallible sorcerer and their predestined chief, they
began to shout, " Long live our Obi ! long live our general ! "

The Obi and Biassou glanced at each other ; and I almost
thought I could hear the stifled laugh of the one replied to by
the sardonic chuckle of the other. I do not know how it was,
but this Obi tormented me dreadfully ; I had a feeling that I
had seen or heard him before, and I made up my mind to
speak to him.

" Ho, Obi, your reverence, doctor, here ! " cried I to him.
He turned sharply round. " There is some one here whose
lot you have not yet cast, — it is mine.'*

He crossed his arms over the silver sun that covered his
hairy breast, but he made no reply.

I continued : " I would gladly know what you prophesy
with regard to my future, but your worthy comrades have
taken my watch and my purse, and I suppose you will not
give me a specimen of your skill for nothing."

He advanced quickly to me, and muttered hoarsely in my
ear. "You deceive 3^ourself; let me see your hand."

I gave it, looking fixedly at him; his eyes sparkled as he
bent over my hand.

" If the line of life," said he, " is cut by two transverse
lines, it is the sign of immediate death: your life will be a
short one. If the line of health is not in the centre of the
hand, and if the line of life and the line of fortune
are united so as to form an angle, a natural death cannot
be looked for ; do not therefore, look for a natural death ! If
the bottom of the forefinger has a long line cutting it, a vio-
lent death will be the result; prepare yourself for a violent
death ! "

There was a ring of pleasure in his sepulchral voice as he
thus announced my death, but I listened to him with con-
tempt and indifference.

" Sorcerer," said I, with a disdainful smile, " you are skil-
ful, for you are speaking of a certainty."

Once more he came closer to me. " You doubt my sci-
ence," cried he ; " listen, then, once more. The severance of

BUG-JARGAL 81

the line of the sun on your forehead shows me that you take
an enemy for a friend, and a friend for nn enemy."

These words seemed to refer to the treacherous Pierrot whom
I loved, but who had betraj^ed me, and to the faithful Habi-
brah whom I had hated, and whose blood-stained garments
attested to his fidelity and his devotion.

" What do you say.^* " exclaimed I.

" Listen until the end," continued the Obi. " I spoke of
the future; listen to the past. The line of the moon on your
forehead is slightly curved; that signifies that your wife has
been carried off."

I trembled, and endeavoured to spring from my seat, but
my guards held me back.

" You have but little patience," continued the sorcerer ;
" listen to the end. The little cross that cuts the extremity
of that curve shows me all : your wife was carried off on the
verj' night of your nuptials."

" Wretch ! " cried I, " you know where she is ! Who are
you.?"

I strove again to free myself, and to tear away his veil ;
but I had to yield to numbers and to force, and had the mor-
tification of seeing the mysterious Obi move away repeating,
"Do you believe me now.^* Prepare for immediate death."

CHAPTER XXIX

AS if to draw my attention from the perplexity into which
I had been thrown by the strange scene that had just
passed, a new and more terrible drama succeeded to the farce
that had been played between Biassou and the Obi. Biassou
had again taken his place upon his mahogany throne, while
Rigaud and the Obi were seated on his right and left ; the
latter, with his arms crossed on his breast, seemed to have
given himself up to deep thought. Biassou and Rigaud were

chewing tobacco, and an aide-de-camp had just asked if he
6

82 BUG-JARGAL

should order a general march past of the forces, when a tu-
multuous crowd of negroes, with hideous shouts, arrived at
the entrance of the grotto. They had brought with them
three white prisoners, to be judged by Biassou, but what they
desired was easily shown by the cries of " Murte ! Murte ! "
(" Death, death! ") the latter, no doubt emanating from the
English negroes of Bouckmann's band, many of whom had
by this time arrived to join the French and Spanish negroes
of Biassou.

The general with a gesture of his hand commanded silence,
and ordered the three captives to be brought to the entrance
of the grotto. I recognized two of them with considerable
surprise; one was the Citizen General C , that philan-
thropist who was in correspondence with all the lovers of the
negro race in different parts of the globe, and who had pro-
posed so cruel a mode of suppressing the insurrection to the
governor. The other was the planter of doubtful origin, who
manifested so great a dislike to the mulattoes, among whom
the whites insisted on classing him. The third appeared to
belong to a section called " poor whites," — that is to say,
white men who had to work for their living; he wore a
leathern apron, and his sleeves were turned up to his elbows.
All the prisoners had been taken at different times endeavour-
ing to hide themselves in the mountains.

The " poor white " was the first one +hat was questioned.

" Who are you ? " asked E iassou.

" I am Jacques Belin, carpenter t j the Hospital of the
Fathers, at Cap."

Surprise and shame struggled for the mastery in the fea-
tures of the general. " Jacques Belin ! " repeated he, bidiv^
his lips.

Yes," replied the carpenter ; " do you not recognize

me.? "

" Begin," retorted the general, furiously, " by recognizing
me and saluting me."

" I do not s; !uto ^mj slate" r:pL' J the carpenter, sturdily.
" Your slave, wretch ! " cried the general.

*

BUG-JARGAL 83

«

Yes," replied the carpenter ; " yes, I was your first mas-
ter. You pretend not to recognize me, but remember, Jean
Biassou, that I sold you for thirty piastres in the St. Do-
mingo slave-market."

An expression of concentrated rage passed over Biassou's
face.

" Well," continued the carpenter, " you appear ashamed
of having worked for me; ought not Jean Biassou to feel
proud of having belonged to Jacques Belin.'^ Your mother,
the old idiot, has often swept out my shop ; but at last I
sold her to the major domo of the Hospital of the Fathers,
and she was so old and decrepit that he would give me only
thirty-two livres and six sous for her. There is my history
and yours ; but it seems as if the negroes and mulattoes are
growing proud, and that you have forgotten the time when
you served Master Jacques Belin, the carpenter of Cap, on
your knees."

Biassou listened to him with that sardonic smile which gave
him the appearance of a tiger.

" Good ! " said he. Then turning to the negroes who had
captured Belin, " Get two trestles, two planks, and a saw,
and take this man away. Jacques Belin, carpenter of Cap,
thank me, for you shall have a true carpenter's death."

His sardonic laugh too fully explained the horrible punish-
ment that he destined for the pride of his former master ;
but Jacques Belin did not blench, and turning proudly to
Biassou, cried, —

" Yes, I ought to thank you, for I bought you for thirty
piastres, and I got work out of you to a much greater
amount."

They dragged him away.

84 BUG-JARGAL

CHAPTER XXX

MORE dead than alive, the other two prisoners had wit-
nessed this frightful prologue to their own fate.
Their timid and terrified appearance contrasted with the cour-
ageous audacity of the carpenter ; every limb quivered with
affright.

Biassou looked at them one after the other with his fox-
like glance, and, as if he took a pleasure in prolonging their
agony, began a discussion with Rigaud upon the different
kinds of tobacco, — asserting that that of Havana was only
good for manufacturing cigars, while for snuff he knew noth-
ing better than the Spanish tobacco, two barrels of which
Bouckmann had sent him, being a portion of the plunder of
M. Lebattre's stores in the island of Tortue. Then, turn-
ing sharply upon the Citizen General C , he asked

him, —

"What do you think?"

This sudden address utterly confounded the timid citizen,
and he stammered out, " General, I am entirely of your Ex-
cellency's opinion."

" You flatter me," replied Biassou ; " I want your opinion,
not mine. Do you know any tobacco that makes better snuff
than that of M. Lebattres.? "

" No, my lord," answered C , whose evident terror

greatly amused Biassou.

" ' General,' ' your Excellency,' ' my lord ! ' you are an
aristocrat."

" Oh, no, certainly not," exclaimed the citizen general.
*' I am a good patriot of '91, and an ardent negrophile."

" ' Negrophile ' ! " interrupted the general ; " pray, what
is a ' negrophile ' .? "

*' It is a friend of the blacks," stammered the citizen.

*' It is not enough to be a friend of the blacks ; you must
also be a friend of the men of colour."

BUG-JARGAL 85

a

Men of colour is wliat I should have said," replied the
lover of the blacks, humbly. " I am mixed up with all the
most famous partisans of the negroes and tlie muluttoes - — "

Delighted at the opportunity of humiliating a white man,
Biassou again interrupted him: "'Negroes and uiulattocs ' !
What do you mean pray? Do you wish to insult me by
making use of those terms of contempt invented by the
whites? There are only men of colour and blacks here, —
do you understand that, Mr. Planter ? "

" It was a slip, a bad habit that I picked up in childhood,"

answered C . " Pardon me, my lord, I had no wish to

offend you."

" Leave off this my lording business ! I have already told
you that I don't like these aristocratic ways."

C again endeavoured to excuse himself, and began

to stammer out a fresh explanation. " If you knew, citi-

zen

Citizen, indeed ! " cried Biassou, in affected anger ; " I
detest all this Jacobin jargon. Are you by chance a Jaco-
bin? Remember that you are speaking to the generalissimo
of the king's troops."

The unhappy partisan of the negro race was dumbfounded,
and did not know in what terms to address this man, who
equally disdained the titles of " my lord " or " citizen," — the
aristocratic or republican modes of salutation. Biassou,
whose anger was only assumed, cruelly enjoyed the predica-
ment in which he had placed C .

" Alas," at last said the citizen general, " you do not do
me justice, noble defender of the unwritten rights of the
larger portion of the human race ! "

In his perplexity to hit upon an acceptable mode of ad-
dress to a man who appeared to disdain all titles, he had re-
course to one of those sonorous periphrases which the repub-
licans occasionally substituted for the name and title of the
persons with whom they were in conversation.

Biassou looked at him steadily and said, " You love thf
blacks and the men of colour? "

86 BUG-JARGAL

" Do I love them ? " exclaimed the citizen C . "^ Why,

I correspond with Brissot and — "

Biassou interrupted him with a sardonic laugh. " Ha,
ha ! I am glad to find in you so trusty a friend to our cause ;
you must, of course, thoroughly detest those wretched colo-
nists who punished our insurrection by a series of the most
cruel executions ; and you, of course, think with us that it
is not the blacks, but the whites, who are the true rebels, since
they are in arms against the laws of nature and humanity?
You must execrate such monsters ! "

" I do execrate them," answered C .

" Well," continued Biassou, " what do you think of a man
who, in his endeavours to crush the last efforts of the slaves
to regain their liberty, placed the heads of fifty black men
on each side of the avenue that led to his house? "

C grew fearfully pale.

" What do you think of a white man who would propose
to surround the town of Cap with a circle of negro heads? "

" Mercy, mercy ! " cried the terrified citizen general.

" Am I threatening you? " replied Biassou, coldly. " Let
me finish, — a circle of heads that would reach from Fort
Picolet to Cape Caracol. What do you think of that? An-
swer me ! "

The words of Biassou, " Do I threaten you," had given a

faint ray of hope to C , for he fancied that the general

might have heard of this terrible proposition without know-
ing the author of it; he therefore replied with all the firm-
ness that he could muster, in order to remove any impression
that the idea was his own : —

" I consider such a suggestion an atrocious crime."

Biassou chuckled. " Good ! And what punishment should
be inflicted on the man who proposed it? "

The unfortunate C hesitated.

" What ! " cried Biassou, " you hesitate ! Are you, or are
you not, the friend of the blacks? "

Of the two alternatives the wretched man chose the least'
threatening one, and seeing no hostile light in Biassou's eyes,

BUG-JARGAL 87

he answered in a low voice : " The guilty person deserves
death."

" Well answered," replied Biassou, calmly, throwing aside
the tobacco that he had been chewing. His assumed air of
indifference had completely deceived the unfortunate lover of
the negro race, and he made another effort to dissipate
any suspicions which might have been engendered against
him.

" No one," cried C , " has a more ardent desire for

your success than I. I correspond with Brissot and Pruneau
de Pomme-Gouge in France, with IVIagaw in America, with
Peter Paulus in Holland, with the Abbe Tamburini in
Italy, — " and he was continuing to unfold the same string of
names which he had formerly repeated, but with a different
motive, at the council held at M. de Blanchelande's, when
Biassou interrupted him.

" What do I care with whom you correspond .f* Tell me
rather where are your granaries and store-houses, for my
army has need of supplies. Your plantation is doubtless a
rich one, and your business must be lucrative since you cor-
respond with so many merchants."

C ventured timidly to remark : " Hero of humanity,

they are not merchants, but philosophers, philanthropists,
lovers of the race of blacks."

" Then," said Biassou, with a shake of his head, " if you
have nothing that can be plundered, what good are you.'' "

This question afforded a chance of safety of which C

eagerly availed himself. " Illustrious warrior," exclaimed
he, " have you an economist in your army.? "

" What is that.'' " asked the general.

" It is," replied the prisoner, with as much calmness as his
fears would permit him to assume, " a most necessary man, —
one whom all appreciate, one who follows out and classes in
their proper order the respective material resources of an em-
pire, and gives to each its real value, increasing and improv-
ing them by combining their sources and results, and pourino-
them like fertilizing streams into tlic main river of genera)

88 BUG-JARGAL

utility, which in its turn swells the great sea of public pros-
perity."

" Caramba! " observed Biassou, leaning over towards the
Obi. " What the deuce does he mean by all these words
strung together like the beads on your rosary.'' "

The Obi shrugged his shoulders in sign of ignorance and
disdain, as citizen C continued : —

" If you will permit me to observe, valiant cliicf of the
regenerators of St. Domingo, I have carefully studied the
works of the greatest economists of the world, — Turgot,
Raynal, and Mirabeau the friend of man. I have put their
theories into practice ; I thoroughly understand the science
indispensable for the government of kingdoms and states — "
'" The economist is not economical of his words," observed
Rigaud, with his bland and cunning smile.

" But you, eternal talker," cried Biassou, " tell me, have
I any kingdoms or states to govern ? "

" Not yet perhaps, great man, but they wiil come ; and
besides, my knowledge descends to all the useful details which
are comprised in the interior economy of an army."

The general again interrupted him : " I have nothing
to do with the interior economy of the army; I command
it."

" Good ! " replied the citizen ; " you shall be the com-
mander, I will be the commissary. I have much special
knowledge as to the increase of cattle — "

" Do you think we are going to breed cattle.'' " cried
Biassou with his sardonic laugh. " No, my good fellow, we
are content with eating them. When cattle become scarce
in the French colony I shall cross the line of mountains on
the frontier and take the Spanish sheep and oxen from the
plains of Cotury, of La Vega, of St. Jago, and from the
banks of the Yuna ; if necessary I will go as far as the Island
of Jamaica, and to the back of the mountain of Cibos, and
from the mouths of the Neybe to those of Santo Domingo ;
besides, I should be glad to punish those infernal Spanish
planters for giving up Oge to the French. You see I am

BUG-JARGAL 89

not uneasy as regards provisions, and so have no need of your
knowledge."

This open declaration rather disconcerted the poor econo-
mist ; he made, however, one more effort for safety. " My
studies," said he, " have not been limited to the reproduction
of cattle ; I am acquainted with other special branches of
knowledge that may be very useful to you. I can show you
the method of manufacturing pitch and working coal mines."

" What do I care for that.? " exclaimed Biassou. " When
I want charcoal I burn a few leagues of forest."

" I can tell you the proper kinds of wood to use for ship-
building,— the chicarm and the sabicca for the keels ; the
yabas for the knees, the medlars for the framework, the
hacomas, the gaiacs, the cedars, the acomas — "

" Que te lleven todos los demonios de los diez-y-siete in-
fernos! " ("May the devils of the thirty-seven hells fly
away with you!") cried Biassou, boiling over with impa-
tience.

" I beg your pardon, my gracious patron," said the
trembling economist, who did not understand Spanish.

" Listen," said Biassou. " I don't want to build vessels ;
there is only one vacancy that I can offer you, and that is not
a very important one. I want a man to wait upon me ; and
now, Mr. Philosopher, tell me if that will suit you. You will
have to serve me on your bended knees ; you will prepare my
pipe, cook my calalou and turtle soup, and you will stand
behind me with a fan of peacock or parrot feathers like those
two pages. Now, will the situation suit you.? "

Citizen C , whose only desire was to save his life, bent

to the earth with a thousand expressions of joy and grati-
tude.

" You accept my offer, then? " asked Biassou.

" Can you ask such a question, generous master.? Do you
think that I should hesitate for a moment in accepting so dis-
tinguished a post as that of being in constant attendance on
you?"

At this reply the diabolical sneer of Biassou became more

90 BUG-JARGAL

pronounced. He rose up with an air of triumph, crossed his
arms on his chest, and thrusting aside with his foot the white
man's head who was prostrate on the ground before him, he
cried in a loud voice, —

" I am dehghted at being able to fathom how far the
cowardice of the white man could go ; I had already measured

the extent of his cruelty. Citizen C , it is to you that

I owe this double experience. I knew all ; how could you
have been sufficiently besotted to think that I did not? It
was you who presided at the executions of June, July, and
August; it was you who placed fifty negro heads on each
side of your avenue ; it was you who proposed to slaughter
the five hundred negroes who were confined in irons after the
revolt, and to encircle the town of Cap with their heads from
Fort Picolet to Cape Caracol. If you could have done it,
you would have placed my head among them ; and now you
think yourself luck}^ if I will take you as my body-servant.
No, no, I have more regard for your honour than you your-
self have, and I will not inflict this affront on you ; prepare to
die ! "

At a gesture of Biassou's hand the negroes removed the
unhappy lover of the blacks to a position near me, where,
overwhelmed by the honour of his position, he fell to the
ground without being able to articulate a word.

CHAPTER XXXI

( i

IT is your turn now," said the general, turning to the
last of the prisoners, — the planter who was accused
by the white men of having black blood in his veins, and
who had on that account sent me a challenge.

A general clamour drowned the reply of the planter.
" Muerte ! Mort ! Touye ! " cried the negroes, grinding their
teeth, and shaking their fists at the unhappy captive.

BUG-JARGAL 01

*' General," said a mulatto, making himself heard above
the uproar, " he is a white man, and he must die."

The miserable planter, by cries and gesticulations, man-
aged to edge in some words. " No, general ! no, my broth-
ers ! it is an infamous calumny. I am a mulatto like your-
selves, of mixed blood ; my mother was a negress, like your
mothers and sisters."

" He lies ! " cried the infuriated negroes ; " he is a white
man ; he has always detested the coloured people."

" Never ! " retorted the prisoner ; " it is the whites that I
detest. I have always said with you, ' Negre ce blan ; blan
ce negre.' (' The negroes are the masters; the whites are the
slaves ')."

"Not at all!" cried the crowd, "not at all! Kill the
white man, kill him ! "

Still the unhappy wretch kept repeating in heartrending
accents, " I am a mulatto, I am one of yourselves."

" Give me a proof," was Biassou's sole reply.

"A proof .f* " answered the prisoner, wildly; "the proof
is that the whites have always despised me."

" That may be true," returned Biassou, " but you are an
insolent hound to tell us so."

A young mulatto stepped to the front and addressed the
planter in an excited manner. " That the Avhites despised
you is a fact ; but, on the other hand, you affected to look
down upon the mulattoes among whom they classed you. It
has even been reported that you once challenged a white man
who called you a half-caste."

A howl of execration arose from the croAvd, and the cry
of " death " was repeated more loudly than ever ; while the
planter, casting an appealing glance at me, continued, with
tears in his eyes, —

" It is a calumny ; my greatest glory and happiness is in
belonging to the blacks. I am a mulatto."

" If you really were a mulatto," observed Rigaud, quietly,
" you would not make use of such an expression."

" How do I know what I am saying.? " asked the panic-

92 BUG-JARGAL

stricken wretch. " General, the proof that I am of mixed
blood is in the black circle that you see round the bottom of
my nails."

Biassou thrust aside the suppliant hand. " I do not pos-
sess the knowledge of our chaplain, who can tell what a man
is by looking at his hand. But listen to me: my soldiers
accuse you — some, of being a white man ; others, of being
a false brother. If this is the case you ouglit to die. You,
on the other hand, assert that you belong to our race, and
that you have never denied it. There is one method by which
you can prove your assertion. Take this dagger and stab
these two white prisoners ! "

As he spoke, with a wave of his hand, Biassou designated
the citizen C and myself.

The planter drew back from the dagger which, with a
devilish smile on his face, Biassou presented to him.

" What! " said the general, " do you hesitate.? It Is your
only chance of proving your assertion to the army that you
are not a white, and are one of ourselves. Come, decide at
once, for we have no time to lose."

The prisoner's eyes glared wildl}^; he stretched out his
hand tov/ards the dagger, then let his arm fall again, turning
away his head, while every limb quivered with emotion.

" Come, come ! " cried Biassou, in tones of impatience and
anger, " I am in a hurry. Choose : either kill them, or die
with them ! "

The planter remained motionless, as If he had been turned
to stone.

" Good ! " said Biassou, turning towards the negroes ; *' he
does not wish to be the executioner, let him be the victim. I
can see that he is nothing but a white man ; away with him ! "

The negroes advanced to seize him. This movement im-
pelled him to immediate choice between giving or receiving
death. Extreme cowardice produces a bastard species of
courage. Stepping forward, he snatched the dagger that
Biassou still held out to him, and without giving himself time
to reflect upon what he was about to do, he precipitated him-

BUG-JARGAL 93

self like a tiger upon citizen C , who was lying on the

ground near me. Then a terrible struggle commenced. The
lover of the negro race, who had at the conclusion of his inter-
view with Biassou remained plunged in a state of despair and
stupor, had hardly noticed the scene between the general and
the planter, so absorbed was he in the thought of his ap-
proaching death ; but when he saw the man rush upon him,
and the steel gleam above his head, the imminence of his
danger aroused him at once. He started to his feet, grasped
the arm of his would-be murderer, and exclaimed in a voice of
terror, —

"Pardon, pardon! What are you doing? What have I
done?"

" You must die, sir," said the half-caste, fixing his frenzied
eyes upon his victim, and endeavouring to disengage his arm.
" Let me do it ; I will not hurt you."

" Die by your hand," cried the economist ; " but why ?
Spare me ! you wish perhaps to kill me because I used to
say that you were a mulatto. But spare my life, and I vow
that I will always declare that you are a white man. Yes,
you are white ; I will say so everywhere, but spare me ! "

The unfortunate man had taken the wrong method of suing
for mercy.

" Silence, silence ! " cried the half-caste, furious at the idea
of the danger he was incurring, and fearing that the negroes
would hear the assertion.

But the other cried louder than ever that he knew that he
was a white man, and of good family. The half-caste made
a last effort to impose silence on him ; then finding his efforts
vain, he thrust aside his arms, and pressed the dagger upon

C 's breast. The unhappy man felt the point of the

weapon, and in his despair bit the arm that was driving the
dagger home.

" Monster ! wretch ! " exclaimed he, " you are murdering
me!" Then casting a glance of supplication towards Bias-
sou, he cried, " Defend me, avenger of humanity ! "

Then the murderer pressed more heavily on the dagger;

94 BUG-JARGAL

a gush of blood bubbled over his fingers, and spattered his
face. The knees of the unhappy lover of the negro race
bent beneath him, his arms fell by his side, his eyes closed, he
uttered a stifled groan, and fell dead.

CHAPTER XXXII

I WAS paralyzed with horror at this scene, in which I every
moment expected to play an important part.

The " avenger of humanity " had gazed on the struggle
without a lineament of his features changing. When all
was over, he turned to his terrified pages. " i^Iore tobacco,"
said he, and began to chew calmly. The Obi and Rigaud
were equally impassible, but the negroes appeared terrified
at the horrible drama that their general had caused to be
enacted before them.

One white man, however, yet remained to be slaughtered ;
my turn had come. I cast a glance upon the murderer who
was about to become my executioner, and a feeling of pity
came over me. His lips were violet, his teeth chattered, a
convulsive tremor caused every limb to quiver. B}^ a me-
chanical movement his hand was continuall}^ pf^ssed over his
forehead, as if to obliterate the traces of the blood which had
so liberally sprinkled it ; he looked with an air of terrified
wonder at the bleeding body which la}' at his feet, as though
he were unable to detach his strained ej'^cballs from the spec-
tacle of his victim. I waited for the moment when he would
resume his task of blood. The position was a strange one:
he had already tried to kill me and failed, to prove that he
was white ; and now he was going to murder me to show that
he was black.

" Come," said Biassou, addressing him, " this is good ; I
am pleased with you, my friend." Then glancing at me,
ho added, " You need not finish the other one ; and now I

BUG-JARGAL 95

declare you one of us, and name you executioner to the
army."

At these words a negro stepped out of the ranks, and
bowing three times to the general, cried out in his jargon,
which I will spare you, —

"And I, General?"

"Well, what do you Avant? " asked Biassou.

"Are you going to do nothing for me. General?" asked
the negro. " Here you give an important post to this dog
of a white, who murders to save his own skin, and to prove
that he is one of ourselves. Have you no post to give to me,
who am a true black? "

This unexpected request seemed to embarrass Biassou, and
Rigaud whispered to him in French,—

" You can't satisfy him ; try to elude his request."

"You wish for promotion, then?" asked Biassou of tlio
true black. " Well, I am willing enough to grant it to you.
What grade do you wish for? "

" I wish to be an officer."

" An officer, eh ? And what are your claims to the epaulet
founded on ? "

" It was I," answered the negro, emphatically, " who
set fire to the house of Lagoscelte in the first days of August
last. It was I who murdered M. Clement the planter, and
carried the head of his sugar refiner on my pike. I killed
ten white women and seven small children, one of whom on
the point of a spear served as a standard for Bouckmann's
brave blacks. Later on I burnt alive the families of four
colonists, whom I had locked up in the strong room of Fort
Galifet.

" My father was broken on the wheel at Cap, my brother
was hung at Rocrow, and I narrowly escaped being shot. I
have burnt three coffee plantations, six indigo estates, and
two hundred acres of sugar-cane ; I murdered my master, M.
Noe, and his mother — "

" Spare us the recital of your services," said Rigaud,
whose feigned benevolence was the mask for real cruelty,

96 BUG-JARGAL

but who was ferocious with decency, and could not listen to
this cynical confession of deeds of violence.

' I could quote many others," continued the negro, proudly,
" but you will no doubt consider that these are sufficient to
ensure my promotion, and to entitle me to wear a gold epaulet
like my comrades there," pointing to the staff of Biassou.

The general affected to reflect for a few minutes, and
then gravely addressed the negro. " I am satisfied with your
services, and should be pleased to promote you ; but jou nmst
satisfy me on one point. Do you understand Latin? "

The astonished negro opened his eyes widely. " Eh, Gen-
eral.'' " said he.

" Yes," repeated Biassou, quickly ; " do you understand
Latin?"

" La — Latin ? " stammered the astonished negro.

" Yes, yes, yes, Latin ; do you understand Latin ? " said
the cunning chief, and unfolding a banner upon which was
embroidered the verse from the Psalms, " In cxitu Israel de
Egypto," he added, " Explain the meaning of these words."

The negro, in complete ignorance of what was meant, re-
mained silent and motionless, fumbling with the waistband
of his trousers, while his astonished eyes wandered from tlie
banner to the general, and from the general back again to
the banner.

" Come, go on ! " exclaimed Biassou, impatiently.

The negro opened and shut his mouth several times,
scratched his head, and at last said slowly : " I don't under-
stand it. General,"

" How, scoundrel ! " cried Biassou ; " you wish to become
an officer, and you do not understand Latin ! "

" But, General — " stammered the puzzled negro.

" Silence ! " roared Biassou, whose anger appeared to in-
crease ; " I do not know what prevents me from having you
shot at once. Did you ever hear such a thing, Rigaud? He
wants to be an officer, and does not understand Latin. Well,
then, idiot, as you do not understand, I will explain what is
written on this banner : In exitu — ' Every soldier ' — Israel

BUG-JARGAL 97

— ' who does not understand Latin ' — de Egypto — ' cannot
be made an officer.' Is not that the translation, reverend
sir? "

The Obi bowed his head in the affirmative, and Biassou
continued, —

" This brother of whom you are jealous, and whom I have
appointed executioner, understands Latin ! " He turned to
the new executioner: "You know Latin, do you not?
Prove it to this blockhead. What is the meaning of Dominus
vohiscum? "

The unhappy half-caste roused from his gloomy reverie
by the dreaded voice, raised his head; and though his brain
was still troubled by the cowardly murder that he had just
committed, terror compelled him to be obedient. There was
something pitiable in his manner, as his mind went back to his
schooldays, and in the midst of his terrible feelings and re-
morse he repeated, in the tone of a child saying its lesson,
" Dominus vohiscum^ — that means, ' May the Lord be with
you.' "

" Et cum spirito tuo," added the mysterious Obi, sol-
emnly.

" Amen," repeated Biassou ; then resuming his angry man-
ner, and mingling with his reproaches some Latin phrases
to impress the negroes with the superior attainments of their
chief, he cried : " Go to the rear rank, sursum corda! Never
attempt to enter the places of those who know Latin, orate
fr aires, or I will have you hung. Bonus, bona, honum! "

The astonished and terrified negro slunk away, greeted
by the hoots and hisses of his comrades, who were indignant
at his presumption, and impressed with the deep learning of
their general.

Burlesque though this scene was, it inspired me with a
very high idea of Biassou's administrative capabilities. He
had made ridicule the means of repressing ambitious aspira-
tions, which are always so dangerous to authority in undis-
ciplined bodies, and whose cunning gave me a fuller idea of
his mental powers, as well as of the crass ignorance of the
negroes under his command.

98 BUG-JARGAL

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE breakfast hour had now arrived. The shell of a
turtle was placed before Biassou, in which smoked a
species of olla-podrida seasoned with bacon, in which tui'tle-
flesh took the place of lamb ; an enormous carib cabbage
floated on the surface of the stew, and in addition, on strips of
bark, were dried raisins and water-melons, a loaf of maize
bread ; a bottle of wine, bound round with tarred string, com-
pleted the feast. Biassou took from his pocket a few heads
of garlic and rubbed his bread with them; then, without even
ordering the bleeding form to be carried awaj, , he began to
eat, inviting Rigaud to do the same. There was something
terrible in Biassou's appetite.

The Obi did not join their repast; like others in his pro-
fession, I could easily understand that he never took anything
in public, to induce a belief among the negroes that he lived
entirely without food.

During breakfast, Biassou ordered one of his aides-de-
camp to direct the review of the army to commence, and
the different corps began to defile past in fairly good order.
The negroes of Morne-Rouge were the first ; there were about
four thousand of them, divided into companies commanded
by chiefs, who were distinguished by their scarlet breeches
and sashes. This force was composed of tall and powerful
negroes ; some of them carried guns, axes, and sabres, but
many had no other arms than bows and arrows, and javelins
rudely fashioned by themselves. They carried no standard,
and moved past in mournful silence. As they marched on,
Biassou whispered to Rigaud, —

" When will Blanchelande's and Rouvray's shot and shell
free me from these bandits of Morne-Rouge.'' I hate them;
they are nearly all of them Congos, and they onl}^ believe in
killing in open battle, — following the example of their chief
Bug-Jargal, a young fool, who plays at being generous an^

BUG-JARGAL 99

magnanimous. You do not know him, Rigaud, and I hope
you never will ; for the whites have taken him prisoner, and
they may perhaps rid me of him, as they did of Bouck-
mann."

" Speaking of Bouckmann," answered Rigaud, " there are
the negroes of Macaya just passing, and I see in their ranks
the negro whom Jean Francois sent to you with the news of
Bouckmann's death. Do you know that that man might upset
all the prophecies of the Obi, if he were to say that he had
been kept for more than half an hour at the outposts, and
that he had told me the news before you sent for him? "

" Diablo! " answered Biassou, " you are in the right, my
friend ; this man's mouth must be shut. Wait a bit."

Then raising his voice he called out " Macaya ! " The
leader of the division left the ranks, and approached the
general with the stock of his firelock reversed, in token of
respect.

" Make that man who does not belong to your division
leave his rank and come forward."

Macaya speedily brought the messenger of Jean rran9oIs
before the general, who at once assumed that appearance of
anger which he knew so well how to simulate.

" Who are you? " cried he.

" General, I am a black."

" Carramba! I can see that well enough ; but what Is your
name? "

" My name is Vavelan ; my patron saint Is Sabas, deacon
and martyr, whose feast is on the twentieth day before the
nativity of our Lord."

Biassou interrupted him : " How dare you present yourself
on parade, amidst shining muskets and white cross-belts with
your sword without a sheath, your breeches torn, and your
feet muddy? "

" General," answered the negro, " it is not my fault. I
was dispatched by the Grand Admiral, Jean Frauij-ois, to
bring you the news of the death of the chief of the English
negroes; and if my clothes are torn and my feet bemired, it

100 BUG-JARGAL

is because I have run, without stopping to take breath, to
bring you the news as soon as possible ; but they detained me
at—"

Biassou frowned. " I did not ask you about that, but
)how you dared to enter the ranks in so unbecoming a dress.
Commend your soul to Saint Sabas, your patron, the deacon
and martyr, and go and get yourself shot."

And here I had another proof of the ascendency that
Biassou exercised over the insurgents. The unfortunate man
who was ordered to go and get himself executed did not utter
a protest; he bowed his head, crossed his arms on his breast,
saluted his pitiless judge three times, and after having knelt
to the Obi, who gave him plenary absolution, he left the
cavern. A few minutes after^vards a volley of musketry told
us that Biassou's commands had been obeyed, and that the
negro was no more.

Freed from all sources of uneasiness, the general turned
to Rigaud, a gleam of pleasure in his eye, and gave a trium-
phant chuckle which seemed to say, " Admire me ! "

CHAPTER XXXIY

BUT the review still continued. This army, which had
presented so curious a spectacle in camp, had a no less
extraordinary appearance under arms. Sometimes a horde of
almost naked negroes would come along armed with clubs and
tomahawks, marching to the notes of a goat's horn like mere
savages ; then would come regiments of mulattoes, dressed in
the English or Spanish manner, well armed and equipped,
regulating their pace by the roll of the drum ; then a band
of negresses and their children carrying forks and spits ; then
some tag-rag, bent under the weight of an old musket with-
out lock or barrel ; then griotes with their feathered aprons,
griots dancing with hideous contortions, and singing incoher-

BUG-JAKGAL 101

ent airs to the accompaniment of guitars, tomtoms, and
balafos ; then would be a procession of priests, or Obi men, of
half-castes, quarter-castes, free mulattoes, or wandering
hordes of escaped slaves with a proud look of liberty on their
faces and shining muskets on their shoulders, dragging in
their ranks well-filled wagons, or some artillery taken from
the whites which were looked on more as trophies than as
military engines, and yelling out at the top of their voices
the songs of " Grand-Pre " and " Oua-Nasse." Above the
heads of all floated flags, banners, and standards of every
form, colour, and device, — white, red, tricolour, with the
lilies, with the cap of liberty, bearing inscriptions : " Death
to Priests and Nobles ! " " Long live Religion ! " " Liberty
and Equality ! " " Long live the King ! " " Viva Espana ! "
" No more Tyrants ! " etc., — a confusion of sentiments which
showed that the insurgents were a mere crowd collected to-
gether, with ideas as different as were the men who composed
it. On passing in their turn before the cave the companies
drooped their banners, and Biassou returned the salute. He
addressed ever}' band either in praise or censure, and each
word that dropped from his mouth was received by his men
with fanatical respect or superstitious dread.

The wave of savage soldiery passed away at last. I con-
fess that the sight that had at first afforded some distraction
to my feelings finished by wearying me. The sun went down
as the last ranks filed away, and his last rays cast a copper-
coloured hue upon the granite portals of the cave.

CHAPTER XXXV

BIASSOU seemed to be dreaming. When the review was
concluded, his last orders had been given, and the in-
surgents had retired to the huts, he condescended to address
me again.

102 BUG-JARGAL

" Young man," said lie, " you have now had the means
of judging of my poA^'cr and genius; the time has now ar-
rived for 3'ou to bear the report to Lecgri."

" It is not my fault that he has not had it earlier," an-
swered I, coldly.

" You are right," replied Biassou. He then paused, as
if to note what the eflPect would be upon me of what lie
was going to say, and then added : " But it will depend upon
3'^ourself whether you ever carry the message or not."

" What do you mean? " exclaimed I, in astonishment.

" Why," replied he, " that 3'our life depends upon yourself,
and that you can save it if you will."

This sudden paroxysm of pity — the first, and no doubt
the last, which had ever possessed Biassou — surprised me
much, and astonished Obi so greatly that he leaped from the
position which he had so long maintained, and placing him-
self face to face with the general addressed him in angry
tones : —

" What are you saying? Have you forgotten your prom-
ise? Neither God nor you can dispose of this life, for it be-
longs to me,"

At that instant I thought that I recognized the voice ;
but it was only a fleeting recollection, and in a moment had
passed away.

Biassou got up from his seat without betra^ang any anger,
spoke for a few moments In whispers to the Obi, and pointed
to the black flag which I had already remarked ; and after a
little more conversation the Obi nodded In sign of assent.
Both of them then reverted to their former positions.

" Listen to me," said the general, drawing from his pocket
the dispatch which Jean Fran9ois had sent to him. " Things
are going ill. Bouckmann has been killed. The whites have
slaughtered more than two thousand of our men In the dis-
trict of Cul-de-Sac. The colonists are continuing to establish
and to fortify military posts. By our own folly we have lost
the chance of taking Cap, and It will be long before another
occasion will present itself. On the eastern side our line of

BUG-JARGAL 103

march has been cut by a river, and the whites have defended
the passage by a pontoon battery and a fortified camp. On
the south side they have planted artillery on the mountainous
road called the Haut-du-Cap. The position is, in addition,
defended by a strong stockade, at which all the inhabitau'.3
have laboured, and in front of it there is a strong chevaux-de-
frise. Cap, therefore, is beyond our reach. Our ambush in
the ravines of Dompte-Mulatre was a failure ; and, to add to
all these misfortunes, the Siamese fever has devastated our
camps. In consequence, the Grand Admiral (and I agree
with him) has decided to treat with the Governor Blanchelande
and the Colonial Assembl}^ Here is the letter that we have
addressed to the Assembly on this matter. Listen !

>»

Gextlemen of the House or Deputies.— In the great misfortunes
which have afflicted this great and important colony we have also been
enveloped, and there remains nothing for us to say in justification of
our conduct. One day you will render us tiie justice that our conduct
merits.

According to us, the King of Spain is a good king, who treats us
well, and has testified it to us hj rewards; so we shall continue to serve
him with zeal and devotion.

We see hy the law of Sept. 38, 1791, that the National Assembly and
the King have agreed to settle definitely the status of slaves, and the
political situation of people of colour. We will defend the decrees of
the National Assembly with the last drop of our blood.

It would be most interesting to us if you would declare, l)y an order
sanctioned by your general, as to your intentions regarding the position
of the slaves. Knowing that they are the ol)jects of your solicitude
through their chiefs, who send you this, they will be satisfied if the
relations now broken are once again resumed.

Do not count, gentlemen Deputies, upon our consenting to take up
arms for the revolutionary Assemblies. We are the sulrjects of three
kings, — the King of Congo, the born master of all the blacks; the King
of France, who represents our fathers; and the King of Spain, who
is the representative of our mothers. These three kings are the de-
scendants of those who, conducted by a star, worshipped the i\Ian God.
If we were to consent to serve the Assemblies, we might he forced to
take up arms and to make war against our brothers, the subjects of
those three kings to whom we have sworn fidelity. And, besides, we
do not know what is meant by the will of the Nation, seeing that since
the world has been in existence we have always executed that of the
King. The Prince of France loves us; the King of Spain never ceases
to help us. We aid them, — they aid us; it is the cause of humanity;

104 BUG-JARGAL

and, besides, if these kings should full us M'e could soon enthrone a
king of our own.
Such are our intentions, although we now consent to make peaca.
(Signed) Jean Francois, General.

BiAssou, Brigadier.
Desprez, \

Manzeau, I Commissaires,
ToussAiNT, I ad hoc.i

AUBERT, J

" You see," said Biassou, after he had read this piece
of negro diplomacy, every word of which has remained im-
printed on my memor^^, " that our intentions are peaceable ;
but this is what we want you to do: Neither Jean Francois
nor I have been brought up in the schools of the whites, or
learned the niceties of their language ; we know how to fight,
but not how to write. Now, we do not wish that there should
be anything in our letter at which our former masters ca:
lauffh.

You seem to have learned these frivolous accomplishments
in which we are lacking. Correct any faults you may find
in this dispatch, so that it may excite no derision among the
whites, and — I will give you your life ! "

This proposition of becoming the corrector of Biassou's
faults of spelling and composition was too repugnant to
my pride for me to hesitate for a moment ; and besides, Avhat
did I care for life.? I declined his offer. He appeared sur-
prised.

" What ! " exclaimed he, " you prefer death to scrawling a
few marks v/ith a pen on a piece of paper.'' "

" Yes," repHed I.

My determination seemed to embarrass him. After a few
moments of thought he again addressed me : " Listen, ^^oung
fool ! I am less obstinate than you are ; I give you until to-
morrow evening, up to the setting of the sun, when yon shall
again be brought before me. Think well, then, before you
refuse to obey my wishes. Adieu. Let night bring reflection

1 It is a fact that this ridiculously characteristic letter was sent to
the Assembly.

BUG-JARGAL 105

to you ; and remember that with us death is not simply death,
— much comes before you reach it."

The frightful sardonic grin with which he concluded his
last speech too plainly brought to my recollection the awful
tortures which it was Biassou's greatest pleasure to inflict
upon his prisoners.

" Candi," continued Biassou, " remove the prisoner, and
give him in charge to the men of Morne-Rouge, I wish him
to live for another day, and perhaps my other soldiers would
not have the patience to let him do so."

The mulatto Candi, who commanded the guard, caused
my arms to be bound behind my back ; a soldier took hold of
the end of the cord, and we left the grotto.

CHAPTER XXXVI

WHEN any extraordinary' events, unexpected anxieties
or catastrophics, intrude themselves suddenly into a
life up to that period peaceful and happy, these unexpected
emotions interrupt the repose of the soul which lay dreaming
in the monotony of prosperity. jMisfortune which comes on
you in this manner docs not seem like an awakening from
bliss, but rather like a dream of evil. With the man who has
been invariably happy, despair begins with stupor. Unex-
pected misery is like cramp, — it clasps, and deadens every-
thing. Men, acts, and things at that time pass before us
like a fantastic apparition, and move along as if in a dream.
Everything in the horizon of our life is changed, both tlic
atmosphere and the perspective ; but it still goes on for a long
time before our eyes have lost that sort of luminous image of
past happiness which follows in its train, and interposes with-
out cessation between it and the sombre present. Then every-
thing tliat is appears to be unreal and ridiculous, and we can
scarcely believe in our OAvn existence, because we find nothing

106 BUG-JARGAL

.iround us that formerly used to compose our life, and we
cannot understand how all can have gone away without tak-
ing us with it, and why nothing of our life remains to us.

Were this strained position of the soul to continue long, it
it would disturb the equilibrium of the brain and become mad-
ness,-— a sta,te happier perhaps than that which remains, for
life then is nothing but a vision of past misfortune, acting
like a ghost.

CHAPTER XXXVII

GENTLEMEN, I hardly know why I lay before you my
ideas upon such a subject; they are not those which
you understand, or can be made to understand. To compre-
hend them thoroughlj^, you must have gone through what I
have. But such was the state of my mind Avhen the guards
of Biassou handed me over to the negroes of Morne-Rouge.
I was still in a dream, — it appeared as if one body of
phantoms passed me over to another ; and without opposing
any resistance I permitted them to bind me by the middle to
a tree. They then gave me some boiled potatoes, which I
ate with the mechanical instinct that God grants to man even
in the midst of overwhelming thought.

The darkness had now come on, and my guards took refuge
in their huts, — with the exception of half-a-dozcn wl;o re-
mained with me, lying before a large fire that they had
lighted to preserve themselves from the cold night-air. In a
few moments they were all buried in profound sleep.

The state of physical weakness into which I had fallen
caused my thoughts to wander in a strange manner. I
thought of those calm and peaceful da3'^s Avhich but a few
weeks ago I had passed with ]\Iaric, without being able to
foresee any future but one of continued happiness. I com-
pared them with the day that had just expired, — o. day in
which so many strange events had occurred as almost to make

BUG-JARGAL 107

me wonder whether I was not labouring under some delusion.
I had been three times condemned to death, and still remained
under sentence. I thought of my future, bounded only by
the morrow, and which offered nothing but misfortune and a
death happily near at hand. I seemed to be the victim of
some terrible nightmare. Again and again I asked myself if
all that had happened was real: was I really in the power of
the sanguinary Biassou, and was my Marie lost to me forever.'^
Could this prisoner, guarded by six savages, bound to a tree,
and condemned to certain death, really be I? In spite of all
my efforts to repel them, the thoughts of Marie would force
themselves upon me. In anguish I thought of her fate ; I
strained my bonds in my efforts to break them, and to fly to
her succour, ever hoping that the terrible dream would pass
awa}'^, and that Heaven Avould not permit all the horrors that
I dreaded to fall upon the head of her who had been united
to me in a sacred bond. In my sad preoccupation the thought
of Pierrot returned to me, and rage nearly took away my
senses ; the pulses of my temples throbbed nearly to bursting.
I hated him, I cursed him ; I despised m3^self for having ever
had friendship f^ • Pierrot at the same time I had felt love for
Marie ; and without caring to seek for the motive which had
urged him to cast himself into the waters of Grande-Riviere,
I wept because he had escaped me. He was dead, and I was
about to die, and all that I regretted was that I had been
unable to wreak my vengeance upon him.

During the state of semi-somnolency into which my weak-
ness had plunged me, these thoughts passed through my brain.
I do not know hovv' long it lasted, but I was aroused by a
man's voice singing distinctly, but at some distance, the old
Spanish song, '* Yo que soy contrabandista." Quivering
with emotion I opened my eyes ; all was dark around me, the
negroes slept, the fire was dying down. I could hear nothing
more. I fancied that the voice must have been a dream, and
my sleep-laden eyelids closed again. In a second I opened
them ; for again I heard the voice singing sadly, but much
nearer, tlic same song, —

108 BUG-JARGAL

"'Twas on the field of Ocanen
That I fell in their power.
To Cotadilla taken,

Unhappy from that hour."

This time it was not a charm, — it was Pierrot's voice. A
few moments elapsed ; then it rose again through the silence
and the gloom, and once more I heard the well-known air of
" Yo que soy contrabandista." A dog ran eagerly to greet
me, and rolled at my feet in token of welcome ; it was Rask !
A tall negro stood facing me, and the glimmer of the fire
threw his shadow, swelled to colossal proportions, upon the
sward. It was Pierrot !

The thirst for vengeance fired my brain ; surprise rendered
me motionless and dumb. I was not asleep. Could the dead
return ? If not a dream, it must be an apparition. I turned
from him with horror.

When he saw me do this, his head sank upon his breast.
" Brother," murmured he, " you promised that you would
never doubt me when you heard me sing that song. My
brother, have you forgotten your promise,'' "

Rage restored the power of speech to me. " Monster ! "
exclaimed I, "do I see you at last.? Butcher, murderer of
my uncle, ravisher of Marie, dare you call me your brother.?
Do not venture to approach me ! "

I forgot that I was too securely tied to make the slightest
movement, and glanced to my left side as though to seek my
sword.

My intention did not escape him, and he continued in a
sorrowful tone of voice : " No, I will not come near you ; you
are unhappy and I pity you, — while you have no pity for
me, though I am much more wretched than you are."

I shrugged my shoulders ; he understood my feelings, and
in a half dreamy manner continued, —

" Yes, you have lost much ; but, believe me, I have lost
more than you have."

But the sound of our conversation had aroused the negro
guard. Perceiving a stranger, they leaped to their feet and

BUG-JARGAL 109

seized their weapons ; but as soon us they recognized tiie in-
truder they uttered a cry of surprise and joy, and cast them-
selves at his feet, striking the ground with their foreheads.

But neither the homage that the negroes rendered to Pier-
rot, nor the fondhngs of Rask, made any impression upon
me at the i.ioment. I was boihng over with passion, and
maddened at the bonds that restrained me ; and at length my
fury found words. " Oh, how unhappy I am! '' I exclaimed,
shedding tears of rage. " I was grieving because I thought
that this wretch had committed suicide, and robbed me of my
just revenge; and now he is here to mock me, living and
breathing under my very eyes, and I am powerless to stab liim
to the heart ! Is there no one to free me from these accursed
cords ? "

Pierrot turned to the negroes, who were still prostrate be-
fore him.

" Comrades," said he, " release the prisoner ! "

CHAPTER XXXVIII

HE was promptly obeyed. With the greatest eagerness,
my guards cut asunder the ropes that confined me. I
rose up free ; but I remained motionless, for surprise rooted me
to the spot.

" That is not all," said Pierrot ; and snatching a das-^er
from one of the negroes, he handed it to me. " You can now
have your wish. Heaven would not be pleased should I dis-
pute your right to dispose of my life. Three times 3^ou have
preserved it. Strike! it is yours, I say; and if you wish,
strike ! "

There was no sign of anger or of bitterness in his face ; he
appeared resigned and mournful. The very vengeance of-
fered to me by the man with wliom I had so much longed to
stand face to face, prevented my seizing the opportunity. I

110 BUG-JARGAL

felt that all my hatred for Pierrot, all my love for Marie,
could not induce me to commit a cowardly murder ; besides,
however damning appearances might be, a voice from the
depths of my heart warned me that no criminal, no guilty
man, would thus dare to stand before me and brave my
vengeance. Shall I confess it to you, — there was a certain
imperious fascination about this extraordinary being which
conquered me in spite of myself. I pushed aside the dagger
he offered to me.

" Wretch ! " cried I, " I wish to kill you in fair fight ; but
I am no assassin. Defend ^''ourself ! "

" Defend myself ! " replied he, in tones of astonishment,
""and against whom.''"

" Against me ! "

He started back. " Against you ! That is the only
thing in which I cannot obey you. Look at Rask there: I
could easily kill him, for he would let me do it ; but as for
making him fight me, the thing would be impossible, — he
would not understand me if I told him to do so. I do not
understand you ; in your case I am Rask."

After a short silence, he added : " I see the gleam of hate
in your eye , as yot. once oaw it in mine. I know that you
have suffered much ; that your uncle has been murdered, 3'our
plantations burned, your friends slaughtered. Yes, they
have plundered your house, and devastated your inheritance;
but it was not 1 that did these things, it was my people. Lis-
ten to me. I one day told you that 3'our people had done me
much injury; you said that you must not be blamed for tlie
acts of others. What was my reply.'' "

His face grew brighter as he awaited my reply, evidently
expecting that I would embrace him ; but fixing an angry
gaze upon him, I answered, —

" You disdain all responsibility as to the acts of vour
people, but you say nothing about what you have yourself
done."

"What have I done?" asked he.

I stepped up close to him, and in a voice of thunder I

BUG-JARGAL 111

demanuecl, "Where is Marie? What have 3^ou done with
Marie?"

At this question a cloud passed over his face; he seemed
momentarily embarrassed. At last he spoke. " IMarie ! "
said he ; " yes, you are right. But too many ears listen to us
here."

His embarrassment, and the words " You are right," raised
the hell of jealousy in my heart; yet still he gazed upon nae
with a perfectly open countenance, and in a voice trembling
with emotion, said, — ■

" Do not suspect me, I implore you ! Besides, I will tell
you everything ; love me, as I love you, with perfect trust."
He paused to mark the effect of his words, and then added
tenderly, " May I not again call you brother? "

But I was a prey to my jealous feelings, and his friendly
words seemed to me but the deep machinations of a hypocrite,
and only served to exasperate me more. " Dare you recall
the time when 3^ou did so, you monster of ingratitude? " I
exclaimed.

He interrupted me, a tear shining in his eye : " it i& not I
who am ungrateful."

" Well, then," I continued, " tell me what you have done
Avith Marie ! "

" Not here, not here ! " answered he, — " other ears than
ours listen to our words ; besides, you would not believe me,
and time presses. The day has come, and you must be re-
moved from this. All is at an end. Since you doubt me, far
better would it have been for 30U to take the dagger and
finish all ; but wait a little before you take what you call
your vengeance, — I must first free you. Ccne with me to
Biassou."

His manner, both in speaking and acting, concealed a
mystery which I could not understand. In spite of all my
prejudices against the man, his voice always made my heart
vibrate. In listening to him, a certain hidden power tliat he
possessed subjugated me. I found myself hesitating between
vengeance and pity, between the bitterest distrust and the
blindest confidence. I followed him.

112 BUG-JARGAL

CHAPTER XXXIX

'E left the camp of the negroes of Morae-Rouge. I
could not help thinking it strange to find m^^self at
perfect liberty among a horde of savages, in a spot where the
evening before each man had seemed only too ready to shed
my blood. Far from seeking to bar our progress, both the
negroes and the mulattoes prostrated themselves on all sides,
with exclamations of surprise, joy, and respect. I was ig-
norant what rank Pierrot held in the arm}' of the insurgents ;
but I remembered the influence that he used to exercise over
his companions in slavery, and this appeared to me to account
for the respect with which he was now treated.

On our arrival at the guard before the grotto, the mulatto
Candi advanced before us with threatening gestures, demand-
ing how we dared approach so near the general's quarters ;
but when he came close enough to recognize my conductor, he
hurriedly removed his gold-laced cap, as though terrified at his
own audacity, bowed to the ground, and at once introduced
us into Biassou's presence with a thousand apologies, of which
Pierrot took no heed.

The respect with which the simple negro soldiers had
treated Pierrot excited my surprise very little ; but seeing
Candi, one of the principal officers of the army, humiliate
himself thus before my uncle's slave, made me ask myself who
this man could be whose power was illimitable. How much
more astonished was I then, when, upon being introduced into
the presence >f Biassou, — who was alone when we entered,
and was quietly enjoying his calalou, — he started to his feet,
concealing disappointment and surprise under the appearance
of profound respect, bowed" humbly to my companion, and
oifered him his mahogany throne.

Pierrot declined it. " No, Jean Biassou," said he. " I
have not come to take your place, but simply to ask a favour
at your hands."

BUG-JARGAL 113

a

Your Highness," answered Biassou, redoubling his
obeisances, " you know well that all Jean Biassou has is yours,
and that you can dispose as freely of all as yo''i can of Jean
Biassou himself."

" I do not ask for so much," replied Pierrot, quickly ; " all
I ask is the life and liberty of this prisoner," and he pointed
to me.

For a moment Biassou appeared embarrassed, but he
speedily recovered himself. " Your servant is in despair,
your Highness ; for you ask of him, to his great regret, more
than he can grant. He is not Jean Biassou's prisoner, does
not belong to Jean Biassou, and has nothing to do with Jean
Biassou."

" What do you mean .'' " asked Pierrot in severe tones, " by
saj'ing that he does not belong to you.'' Does any one else
hold authority here except you.'' "

" Alas, yes, your Highness."

"Who is it.?"

" My army." *

The sly and obsequious manner In which Biassou eluded
the frank and haughty questions of Pierrot showed, had it
depended solely upon himself, that he would gladly have
treated his visitor with far less respect than he felt himself
now compelled to do.

" What ! " exclaimed Pierrot, " your army ! And do not
you command it.'' "

Biassou, with every appearance of sincerity, replied, " Does
your Highness really think that wc can command men who
are in insurrection because they will not obey.'' "

I cared too little for my life to break the silence which
I had imposed upon myself, else, having seen the day before
the despotic authority that Biassou exercised over his men, I
might have contradicted his assertions, and laid bare his
duplicity to Pierrot.

" Well, if you have no authority over your men, and if
they are your masters what reason can they have for hating

your prisoner.'' "

8

114 BUG-JARGAL

" Bouckmann has been killed by the white troops," answered
Biassou, endeavouring to conceal his sardonic smile under a
mask of sorrow, " and my men are determined to avenge upon
this white man the death of the chief of the Jamaica negroes.
They wish to show trophy against trophy, and desire that the
head of this young officer should sei've as a counterpoise to
the head of Bouckmann in the scales in which the good Giu
weighs both parties."

" Do you still continue to carry on this horrible system of
reprisals.'' Listen to me, Jean Biassou! it is these cruelties
that are the ruin of our just cause. Prisoner as I was in
the camp of the whites (from which I have managed to es-
cape), I had not heard of the death of Bouckmann until you
told me. It is the just punishment of Heaven for his crimes.
I Avill tell you another piece of news : Jeannot, the negro
chief who served as a guide to draw the white troops into the
ambush of Dompte-Mulatre, — Jeannot also is dead. You
know — do not interrupt me, Biassou ! — you know that he
rivalled you and Bouckmann in his atrocities ; and pay at-
tention to this, — it was not the thunderbolt of Heaven, nor
the bullets of the whites, thai, struck him ; it was Jean Fran9ois
himself who ordered this act of justice to be performed."

Biassou, who had listened with an air of gloomy respect, ut-
tered an exclamation of surprise. At this moment Rigaud en-
tered, bowed respectfully to Pierrot, and whispered in Biassou's
ear. The murmur of many voices was heard in the camp.

" Yes," continued Pierrot, " Jean Francois, who has no
fault except a preposterous love of luxury and show ; whose
carriage with its six horses takes him every day to hear Mass
at the Grande-Riviere, — Jean Francois himself has put a
stop to the crimes of Jeannot. In spite of the cowardly en-
treaties of the brigand, who clung in despair to the knees of
the priest of Marmalade who attended him in his last mo-
ments, he was shot beneath the very tree upon which he used
to hang his living victims upon iron hooks. Think upon this,
Biassou. Why these massacres which provoke the whites to
reprisals.'' Why all these juggleries which only tend to ex-

BUG-JARGAL 115

cite the passions of our unhappy comrades, alread}^ too much
exasperated? There is at Trou-Coffi a mulatto impostor,
called Komaine the Prophet, who is in command of a fanatical
band of negroes ; he profanes the holy sacrament of the Mass,
he pretends that he is in direct communication with the Virgin,
and he urges on his men to murder and pillage in the name
of Marie."

There was a more tender inflection in the voice of Pierrot
as he uttered this name than even religious respect would have
warranted, and I felt annoyed and irritated at it.

" And you," continued he, " jou have in your camp some
Obi, I hear, — some impostor like this Romaine the Prophet.
I well know that having to lead an army composed of so
many heterogeneous materials, a common bond is necessary ;
but can it be found nowhere save in ferocious fanaticism and
ridiculous superstition .^ Believe me, Biassou, the white men
arc not so cruel as we are. I have seen many planters protect
the lives of their slaves. I am not ignorant that in some cases
it was not the life of a man, but a sum of money that they
desired to save ; but at any rate their interest gave them the
appearance of a virtue. Do not let us be less merciful than
the}' are, for it is not our interest to be so. Will our cause
be more holy and more just because we exterminate the women,
slaughter the children, and burn the colonists in their own
houses ?

" These, however, are every-day occurrences. Answer me,
Biassou ! must the traces of our progress be always marked by
a line of blood and fire ? "

He ceased. The fire of his glance, the accent of his voice,
gave to his words a force of conviction and authority which
it is impossible for me to imitate. Like a fox in the clutches
of a lion, Biassou seemed to seek for some means of escape
from the power that constrained him.

While Biassou vainly sought for a pretext, the chief of the
negroes of Cayer, Rigaud, who the evening before had calmly
watched the horrors that had been perpetrated in his presence,
seemed to be shocked at the picture that Pierrot had drawn,

116 BUG-JARGAL

and exclaimed with a hypocritical affectation of grief,
" Great heavens ! how terrible is a nation when aroused to
fury!"

CHAPTER XL

THE confusion in the camp appeared to increase, to the
great uneasiness of Biassou. I heard afterwards that
it was caused by the negroes of Morne-Rouge, who hurried
from one end of the camp to the other, announcing the retui'n
of my liberator, and declaring their intention of supporting
him in whatever object he had come to Biassou's camp for.
Rigaud had informed the generalissimo of this, and it was the
fear of a fatal division in the camp that prompted Biassou to
make some sort of concession to the wishes of Pierrot.

" Your Highness," remarked he, with an air of injured in-
nocence, " if we are hard on the whites, you are equally severe
upon us. You are wrong in accusing us of being the cause
of the torrent, for it is the torrent that drags us away with
it. But what can I do at present that will please 3'ou? "

"I have already told you, Sefior Biassou," answered
Pierrot ; " let me take this prisoner away with me."

Biassou remained for a few moments silent, as though in
deep thought ; then putting on an expression of as great
frankness as he was able, he answered, " Your Highness, I
wish to prove to you that I have every desire to please you.
Permit me to have tAvo Avords in private with the prisoner, and
he shall be free to follow you."

" If that is all you ask, I agree," replied Pierrot.

His eyes, which up to that moment had wandered about in
a distrustful manner, glistened with delight, and he moved
away a few paces to leave us to our conversation.

Biassou dreAv me on one side into a retired part of the
cavern, and said in a low voice, " I can only spare your life

BUG-JARGAL 117

upon the condition that I proposed; are you ready to ful-
fil it? "

He showed me the dispatch of Jean Fran9ois ; to consent
appeared to me too humiliating.

" Never ! " answered I, firmly.

" Aha ! " repeated he, with his sardonic chuckle, " are you
always as firm.'' You have great confidence, then, in your
protector. Do you know who he is.? "

" I do," answered I, quickly. " He is a monster, as you
are ; only he is a greater hypocrite."

He started back in astonishment, seeking to read in my
glance if I spoke seriously. " What ! " exclaimed he, " do
you not know him then? "

With a disdainful look, I replied : " I only know him as
my uncle's slave; and his name is Pierrot."

Again Biassou smiled bitterly. " Aha, that indeed is
strange: he asks for your life and liberty, and you say that
30U only know him for a monster like myself."

" What matters that? " I answered; " if I do gain a little
liberty, it is not to save my own life, but to take his."

" What is that you are saying? " asked Biassou. " And
yet you seem to speak as you believe ; I cannot think you
would trifle with your life. There is something beneath all
this that I do not understand. You are protected by a man
that you hate ; he insists upon 3'^our life being spared, and you
are longing to take his! But it matters little to me; you de-
sire a short spell of freedom, — it is all that I can give you.
I will leave you free to follow him ; but SAvear to me, by your
honour, that you will return to me and reconstitute yourself
my prisoner two hours before the sun sets. You are a French-
man, and I will trust you."

What shall I say, gentlemen? Life was a burden to me,
and I hated the idea of owing it to Pierrot, for every circum-
stance pointed him out as a just object of my hatred. I could
not think for a moment that Biassou (who did not easily
permit his prey to escape him) would allow me to go free ex-
cept upon his own conditions. All I desired was a few hours'

118 BUG-JARGAL

liberty which I could devote to discovering the fate of my be-
loved before my death. Biassou, relying upon my honour as
a Frenchman, would grant me these, and without hesitation I
pledged it.

" Your Highness," said Biassou, in obsequious tones, " the
white prisoner is at your disposal ; you can take him with you,
for he is free to accompany you wherever you wish."

" Thanks, Biassou," replied Pierrot, extending his hand.
" You have rendered me a service which places me entirely at
your disposal. Remain in command of our brethren of
Morne-Rouge until my return."

Then he turned towards me ; I never saw so much happiness
in his eyes before. " Since you are free," cried he, " come
with me." And with a strange earnestness he drew me away
with him.

Biassou looked after us with blank astonishment, which
was even perceptible through the respectful leave that he took
of my companion.

CHAPTER XLI

I WAS longing to be alone with Pierrot. His embarrass-
ment when I had questioned him as to the fate of Marie,
the ill-concealed tenderness with which he had dared to pro-
nounce her name, had made those feelings of hatred and
jealousy which had sprung up in my heart take far deeper
root than at the time I saw him bearing away through the
flames of Fort Galifet her whom I could scarcely call my wife.
What did I care for the generous indignation with which he
had reproved the cruelties of Biassou, the trouble which he had
taken to preserve my life, and the curious manner which
marked all his words and actions? What cared I for the
mystery that appeared to envelop him, which brought him liv-
ing before my eyes when I thought to have witnessed his
death.'' He proved to be a prisoner of the white troops when

BUG-JARGAL 119

I believed that he lay buried in the depths of Grande-Riviere,
— the slave become a king, the prisoner a liberator. Of all
these incomprehensible things one was clear, — Marie had
been carried off by him ; and I had this crime to punish, this
outrage to avenge. However strange were the events that
had passed under my eyes, they were not sufficient to shake
my determination, and I had awaited with impatience for the
moment when I could compel my rival to explain all. That
moment had at last arrived.

We had passed through crowds of negroes, who cast them-
selves on the ground as we pursued our way, exclaiming in
tones of surprise, " Miraculo ! ya no esta prisonero ! " ("A
miracle! he is no longer a prisoner! ") ; but whether they re-
ferred to Pierrot or to myself I neither knew nor cared. We
had gained the outskirts of the camp, and rocks and
trees concealed from our view the outposts of Biassou ; Rask
in high good humour was running in front of us, and Pier-
rot was following him with rapid strides, when I stopped
him.

" Listen to me ! " cried I ; "it is useless to go any farther :
the ears that you dreaded can no longer listen to us. What
have you done with Marie .? Tell me that ! "

Concentrated emotion made my voice tremble. He gazed
upon me kindly.

" Always the same question ! " said he.

" Yes, always," returned I, furiously ; " always ! I will
put that question to you as you draw your last breath, or
as I utter my last sigh. Where is Marie.'' "

" Can nothing, then, drive away your doubts of my
loyalty ? But you shall know all soon."

" Soon, monster ! " repeated I, " soon ! it is now, at this
instant, that I want to know all. Where is Marie.? Where
is Marie.? Answer, or stake your life against mine. Defend
yourself ! "

" I have already told you," answered he, sadly, " that that
is impossible ; the stream will not struggle against its source,
■ — and my life, which you have three times saved, cannot

120 BUG- J AUG AL

contend against yours. Besides, even if I Avished it, the thing
is impossible ; we have but one dagger between us."

As he spoke, he drew the weapon from his girdle and of-
fered it to me. " Take it," said he.

I was beside myself with passion. I seized the dagger
and placed the point on his breast; he never attempted to
move.

" Wretch ! " cried I, " do not force me to murder you. I
will plunge this blade into your heart if you do not at once
tell me where my wife is ! "

He replied in his calm way : " You are the master to do as
you like ; but with clasped hands I emplore you to grant me
one hour of life, and to follow me. Can you doubt him who
thrice has owed his life to you, and whom you once called
brother? Listen: if in one hour from this time you still
doubt me, you shall be at perfect liberty to kill me. That
will be time enough ; you see that I do not attempt to resist
you. I conjure you in the name of Marie, — of your wife,"
he added slowly, as though the victim of some painful recol-
lection,— " give me but another hour, I beg of you, not for
my sake, but for yours."

There was so much pathos in his entreaties that an inner
feeling warned me to grant his request, and I yielded to that
secret ascendency which he exercised over me, but which at
that time I should have blushed to confess.

" Well," said I, slowly, " I will grant you one hour, and I
am ready to follow you ; " and as I spoke I handed him his
dagger.

" No," answered he, " keep it ; you still distrust me, but let

us lose no time."

BUG-JARGAL 121

CHAPTER XLII

AGAIN we started. Rask, who during our conversation
had shown frequent signs of impatience to renew his
journey, bounded joyously before us. We plunged into a
virgin forest, and after half an hour's walking came out on a
grassy opening in the wood. On one side was a waterfall
dashing over rugged rocks, while the primeval trees of the
forest surrounded it on all sides. Among the rocks was a cave,
the grey face of which was shrouded by a mass of climbing
plants. Rask ran towards it barking; but at a sign from
Pierrot he became silent, and the latter taking me by the hand
led me without a word to the entrance of the cave.

A woman with her back towards the light was seated on a
mat; at the sound of our steps she turned. My friends, it
was Marie ! She wore the same white dress which she had
worn on the day of our marriage, and the wreath of orange
blossoms was still on her head. She recognized me in a
moment, and with a cry; of joy threw herself into my arms.
I was speechless with surprise and emotion. At her cry an
old woman carrying a child in her arms hurried from an inner
chamber formed in the depth of the cave ; she was Marie's
nurse, and she carried my uncle's youngest child.

Pierrot hastened to bring some water from the neighbour-
ing spring, and threw a few drops in Marie's face, who was
overcome by emotion ; she speedily recovered, and opening
her eyes exclaimed, —

" Leopold ! my Leopold I "

" Marie ! " cried I, and my words were stifled in a kiss.

" Not before me, for pity's sake ! " cried a voice, in accents
of agony.

We looked around, it came from Pierrot. The sight of our
endearments appeared to inflict terrible torture on him ; his
bosom heaved, a cold perspiration bedewed his forehead, and

122 BUG-JARGAL

every limb quivered. Suddenly he hid his face in his hands
and fled from the grotto, repeating in tones of anguish, —

" Not before me ! not before me ! "

Marie half raised herself in my arms, and following his
retreating form with her eyes, exclaimed, " Leopold, our
happiness seems to trouble him; can it be that he loves
me? "

The exclamation of the slave had shown that he was my
rival, but Marie's speech proved that he was my trusty
friend.

" Marie," answered I, as the wildest happiness mingled
with the deepest regret filled my heart, " Marie, were you
ignorant of it.^^ "

" Until this moment I was," answered she, a blush over-
spreading her beautiful features. " Does he really love me,
for he never let me know it ? "

I clasped her to my bosom, in all the madness of happiness.
" I have recovered both wife and friend ! How happy am
I, but how guilty, for I doubted him ! "

" What ! " cried Marie, in surprise, " had you doubts of
Pierrot.? Oh, you have indeed been in fault. Twice has he
saved my life, and perhaps more than life," she added, casting
down aer eyes. " Without him the alligator would have de-
voured me ; without him the negroes — It was Pierrot who
rescued me from their hands when they were about to senil
me io r:join my unhappy father."

She broke off' her speech with a flood of tears.

'■ And why," asked I, " did not Pierrot send you to Cap,
'.o your husband.'' "

" He iried to do so," replied she, " but it was impossible.
Compelled as he was to conceal me both from the whites and
the 'slacks, his position was a most difficult one; and then, too,
he was Igftorant where you were. Some said that they had
seen you killed, but Pierrot assured me that this was not the
case; and a oometliing convinced me that he spoke the
truth, for I felt that had you been dead I should have died
r.t the same time."

BUG-JARGAL 123

" Then, Pierrot brought you here? " asked I.

" Yes, my Leopold; this sohtary cave is known only to him.
At the same time that he rescued me, he saved all that re-
mained alive of our family, my little brother and my old
nurse, — and hid us here. The place is very nice, and now
that the war has destroyed our house and ruined us, I should
like to live here with you. Pierrot supplied all our wants.
He used to come very often ; he wore a plume of red feathers
on his head.

" He used to console me by talking of you, and always as-
sured me that we should meet again ; but for the past three
days I have not seen him, and I was beginning to be uneasy,
when to-day he came back with you. He had been seeking
for you, had he not.'' "

" Yes," replied I.

" But if so, how can he be in love with me.'' Are you sure
of it? "

" Quite," answered I. " It was he who was about to stab
me beneath your window, and spared me lest it should afflict
you ; it was he who sang the love songs at the pavilion by the
river."

" Then he is your rival," exclaimed Marie, with naive
surprise ; " and the wicked man with the wild marigolds is
Pierrot ! I can hardly believe that : he was so respectful and
humble to me, much more so than when he was our slave.
It is true that sometimes he looked at me in a strange manner,
but I attributed his sadness to our misfortunes. If you could
only know Avith what tenderness he spoke of you, my Leopold !
His friendship made him speak of you as much as my love
did."

These explanations of Marie enchanted and yet grieved me.
I felt how cruelly I had treated the noble-hearted Pierrot, and
I felt all the force of his gentle reproach, " It is not I who
am ungrateful."

At this instant Pierrot returned. His face was dark and
gloomy, and he looked like a martyr returning from the place
of torture, but yet retaining an air of triumph. He came

124 BUG-JARGAL

towards me, and pointing to the dagger in my belt said, " The
hour has passed ! "

" Hour ! what hour? " asked I.

** The one you granted me ; it was necessary for me to
have so much time allowed me in which to bring you here.
Then I conjured you to spare my life ; now I supplicate you to
take it away."

The most tender feelings of the heart — love, gratitude
and friendship — united themselves together to torture me.
Unable to say a word, but sobbing bitterly, I cast myself at
the feet of the slave. He raised me up in haste.

" What are you doing? " cried he.

" I pay jou the homage that is your due ; but I am no
longer worthy of friendship such as yours. Can your friend-
ship be pushed so far as to forgive me my ingratitude? "

For a time his expression remained stern; he appeared to
be undergoing a violent mental contest. He took a step to-
wards me, then drew back, and seemed on the point of speak-
ing ; but no words passed his lips. The struggle was a short
one, he opened his arms to embrace me, saying, —

" May I now call you brother ? "

My only reply was to cast myself on his breast. After a
short pause he added, —

" You were always kind, but misfortune had rendered you
unjust."

" I have found my brother once again," said I. " I am
unfortunate no longer, but I have been very guilty."

" Guilty, brother? I also have been guilty, and more so
than you ; you are no longer unhappy, but I shall be so for-

ever

I »

■|:

BUG-JARGAL 125

CHAPTER XLIII

THE expression of pleasure T>'hicli the renewal of our
friendship had traced on his features faded away, and
an appearance of deep grief once more pervaded them.

" Listen," said he coldly. " My father was the King of
Kakongo. Each day he sat at the door of his hut and dis-
pensed justice among his subjects. After every judgment,
according to the custom of the kings his ancestors, he drank a
full goblet of palm wine. We were happy and powerful. But
the Europeans came to our country ; it was from them that I
learned the accomplishments which you appeared to be sur-
prised at my possessing. Our principal acquaintance among
the Europeans was a Spanish captain ; he promised my father
territories far greater than those he now ruled over, treasure,
and white women. My father believed him, and gathering
his family together, followed him. Brother, he sold us as
slaves ! "

The breast of the negro rose and fell, as he strove to re-
strain himself; his eyes shot forth sparks of fire; and without
seeming to know what he did, he broke in his powerful grasp
a fancy medlar-tree that stood beside him.

" The master of Kakongo in his turn had a master and his
son toiled as a slave In the furrov^s of St. Domingo. They
tore the young lion from his father that they might the more
easily tame him ; they separated the wife from the husband,
and the little children from the mother who nursed them, and
from the father who used to bathe them In the torrents of
their native land. In their place they found cruel masters and
a sleeping place shared with the dogs ! "

He was silent, though his lips moved as though he were
still continuing his narrative; after a moment's pause he
seized me roughly by the arm, and continued : " Brother, do
you understand? I have been sold to different masters like a
beast of burden. Do you remember the punishment of Oge.''

126 BUG-JARGAL

It was on that day that I saw my father after a long separa-
tion : he was on the wheel! "

I shuddered ; he went on : —

" My wife was outraged by white men, and she died calling
for revenge. I must tell you I was guilty towards her, for
I loved another; but let that pass by. All my people urged
me to deliver and avenge them ; Rask brought me their mes-
sages. I could do nothing for them, I was fast in your uncle's
prison. The day upon which you obtained my release, I hur-
ried off to save my children from the power of a cruel master.
Upon the very day that I arrived, the last of the grand-
children of the King of Kakongo had expired under the blows
of the white man ; he had followed the others ! "

He interrupted his recital, and coldly asked me : " Brother,
what would you have done? "

This frightful tale froze me with horror. I replied by a
threatening gesture. He understood me, and with a bitter
smile he continued : —

" The slaves rose against their master, and punished the
murder of my children. They chose me for their chief. You
know the frightful excesses that were perpetrated by the in-
surgents. I heard that your uncle's slaves were on the point
of rising. I arrived at Acul on the night upon which the in-
surrection broke out. You were away. Your uncle had been
murdered in his bed, and the negroes had already set ifire to
the plantation. Not being able to restrain them (for in de-
stroying your uncle's property they thought that they were
avenging my injuries), I determined to save the survivors of
his family. I entered the fort by the breach that I had made.
I entrusted your wife's nurse to a faithful negro. I had
more trouble in saving your Marie ; she had hurried to the
burning portion of the fort to save the youngest of her broth-
ers, the sole survivor of the massacre. Tiie insurgents sur-
rounded her, and were about to kill her. I burst upon them,
and ordered them to leave her to my vengeance ; they obe3'ed
me, and retired. I took your wife in my arms ; I intrusted
the child to Rask, — and I bore them both away to this cavern,

BUG-JARGAL 127

of which I alone knew the existence and the access. Brothtr,
such was my crime ! "

More than ever overwhelmed with gratitude and remorse,
I would again have thrown myself at his feet, but he stopped
me.

*' Come," said he, " take your wife and let us leave tlii:,
all of us."

In wonder I asked him whither he wished to conduct us.

" To the camp of the whites," answered he. " This retreat
is no longer safe. To-morrow at break of day the camp of
Biassou will be attacked, and the forest will assuredly be set on
fire. Besides, I have no time to lose. Ten lives are in
jeopardy until my return. We can hasten because you are
free ; we must hasten because I am not."

These words increased my surprise, and I pressed him for an
explanation.

" Have you not heard that Bug-Jargal is a prisoner .-^ " re-
plied he, impatiently.

" Yes ; but what has Bug-Jargal to do with you ? "

In his turn he seemed astonished, and then in a grave voice
he answered : "/ am Bug-Jargal."

CHAPTER XLIV

HAD thought that nothing that related to this extraor-
dinary man could have surprised me. I had experienced
some feelings of astonishment in finding the slave Pierrot
transformed into an African king ; but my admiration reached
its height when from his own confession I learned that he was
the courageous and magnanimous Bug-Jargal, the chief of the
insurgents of Morne-Rouge ; and I now understood the re-
spectful demeanour shown by all the rebels, even by Biassou,
to Bug-Jargal, the King of Kakongo, He did not notice the
impression that his last words had made upon me.

128 BUG-JARGAL

a

»»

They told me," continued he. " that you were a pris
oner in Biassou's camp, and I hastened to dehver you."

" But you told me just now that you too were a prisoner.

He glanced inquisitively at me, as though seeking my
reason for putting this natural question. " Listen," an-
swered he. " This morning I was a prisoner in the hands
of your friends ; but I heard a report that Biassou had an-
nounced his intention of executing, before sunset to-day, a
young prisoner named Leopold d'Auverney. They doubled
m}'^ guards, and I was informed that my execution would im-
mediately follow yours, and that in the event of escape ten
of my comrades would suffer in my stead. So you see that
I had no time to lose."

I still detained him. " You made your escape then ? "
asked I.

" How else could I have been here.'' It was necessary to
save you. Did I not owe you my life ? Come, let us set out ;
we are an hour's march from the camp of the whites, and
about the same distance from that of Biassou. See, the
shadows of the cocoanut-trees are lengthening, and their
round tops look on the pass like the egg of the giant condor.
In three hours the sun will have set. Come, brother, time
waits for no man."

In three hours the sun will have set! These words froze
my blood, like an apparition from the tomb. They recalled
to my mind the fatal promise which bound me tO' Biassou.
Alas ! in the rapture of seeing Marie again, I had not thought
of our approaching eternal separation. I had been over-
whelmed with my happiness; a flood of joyful emotions had
swept away my memory, and in the midst of my delight I had
forgotten that the inexorable finger of death was beckoning
to me. But the words of my friend recalled everything to
my mind. In three hours the sun will have set! It would
take an hour to reach Biassou's camp. There could be no
faltering with my duty. The villain had my M'ord, and it
would never do to give him the chance of despising what he
seemed still to put trust in, — the word of a Frencliman; bet-

BUG-JARGAL 129

tcr far to clie. The alternative v,as a terrible one, and I con-
fc!?s that I hesitated for a moment before I chose the right
course. Can you blame me, gentlemen?

CHAPTER XLV

WITH a deep sigh, I placed one hand in that of Bug-
Jargal, and the other in that of Marie, who gazed
with anxiety on the sadness that had overspread my fea-
tures.

" Bug-Jargal," said I, struggling with emotion, " I in-
trust to you the only being in the world that I love more
than you, — my Marie. Return to the camp without me, for I
may not follow you."

" Great heavens ! " exclaimed Marie, hardly able to breathe
from her terror and anxiety, " what new misfortune is this.'' "

Bug-Jargal trembled, and a look of mingled sorrow and
surprise passed over his face. " Brother, what is this that
you say? "

The terror that had seized upon Marie at the thought of
the coming misfortune, which her love for me had almost
caused her to divine, made me determine to spare her the
dreadful truth for the moment. I placed my mouth to Bug-
Jargal's ear, and whispered in hurried accents : " I am a pris-
oner. I swore to Biassou that two hours before sunset I
would once more place myself in his hands ; in fact, I have
sworn to return to my death ! "

Filled with rage, in a loud voice he exclaimed : " The mon-
ster ! This then was his motive for a secret interview with
you: it was to bind you with this fatal promise. I ought
to have distrusted the wretch. Why did I not foresee that
there must be some treachery lurking in the request, for he is
a mulatto, not a black."

" What is this — what treachery — what promise ? " said

Marie in an agony of terror. " And who is Biassou? "
9

130 BUG-JARGAL

" Silence, silence," repeated I, in a low voice to Bug-Jar-
gal ; " do not let us alarm Marie."

" Good," answered he ; " but why did you give such a
pledge, — how could you consent?"

" I thought that you had deceived me, and that Marie was
lost to me forever. What was life to me then.'' "

" But a simple promise cannot bind you to a brigand like
that."

" I gave my word of honour."

He did not seem to understand me. " Your word of hon-
our," repeated he ; " but what is that ? You did not drink
out of the same cup ; you have not broken a ring together,
or a branch of the red-blossomed maple.'' "

" No, we have done none of these things."

" Well, then, what binds you to him.'' "

" My honour ! "

" I cannot understand you ; nothing pledges you to Bias-
sou ; come with us ! "

" I cannot, my brother, for I am bound by my promise."

" No, you are not bound," cried he, angrily. " Sister, add
your prayers to mine, and entreat your husband not to
leave 3^ou. He wishes to return to the negro camp from
which I have rescued him, on the plea that he has promised
to place his life in Biassou's hands."

" What have you done.? " cried I.

It was too late to stay the effects of the generous impulse
that had prompted him to endeavour to save the life of his
rival by the help of her he loved. Marie cast herself into
my arms with a cry of anguish, her hands clasped my
neck, and she hung upon my breast speechless and breath-
less.

" Oh, my Leopold, what does he say ? " murmured she, at
last. "Is he not deceiving me? It is not immediately after
our reunion that you must quit me again. Answer me
quickly, or I shall die. You have no right to throw away
your life, for you have given it to me. You would not leave
me, never to see me again ! "

BUG-JARGAL 131

" Marie," answered I, " we shall meet again, but it will be
in another place."

" In another place! Where? " she asked, in faltering ac-
cents.

" In heaven," I answered ; for to this angel I could not
lie.

Again she fainted, but this time it was from grief. I
raised her up, and placed her in the arms of Bug-Jargal,
whose eyes were full of tears.

" Nothing can keep you back, then," said he. " I will
add nothing to my entreaties ; this sight ought to be enough.
How can you resist Marie .f^ For one word such as she has
spoken to you I would have sacrificed the world ; and you can-
not even give up death for her ! "

" Honour binds me," answered I, sadly. " Farewell, Bug-
Jargal ! farewell, brother ! I leave her to you."

He grasped my hand, overwhelmed with grief, and ap-
peared hardly to understand me. " Brother," said he, " in
the camp of the whites there are some of your relatives ; I
will give her over to them. For my part, I cannot accept
your legacy."

He pointed to a rocky crag which towered high above the
adj acent country. " Do you see that rock ? " asked he ;
" when the signal of your death shall float from it, it will
promptly be answered by the volley that announces mine."

Hardly understanding his last words, I embraced him,
pressed a kiss upon the pale lips of Marie, who was slowly
recovering under the attentions of her nurse, and fled pre-
cipitately, fearing that another look or word would shake my
resolution.

132 BUG-JARGAL

CHAPTER XLVI

I RUSHED headlong, and plunged Into the depths of the
forest, following the tracks that we had left but a short
time before, not daring to cast a glance behind me. To
stifle the grief which oppressed my heart, I dashed, without a
moment's pause, through the thickets, past hill and plain,
until I reached the crest of a rock from which I could see
the camp of Biassou, with its lines of wagons and huts swarm-
ing with life, and looking in the distance like a vast ant-hill.
Then I halted, for I felt that I had reached the end of my
journey and my life at the same time. Fatigue and emo-
tion had weakened my physical powers, and I leaned against
a tree to save myself from falling, and allowed my eyes to
wander over the plain, which was to be my place of execu-
tion.

Up to this moment I had imagined that I had drained the
cup of bitterness and gall to the dregs ; but I had not until
then tasted the most cruel of all misfortunes, — that of being
constrained by powerful moral force to voluntarily renounce
life when it appeared most sweet. Some hours before, I
cared not for the world ; extreme despair is a simulation of
death which makes the reality more earnestly desired. Marie
had been restored to me, my dead happiness had been resus-
citated, my past had become my future, and all my over-
shadowed hopes had beamed forth more gloriously than ever ;
and again had a new life, — a life of youth and love and en-
chantment,— shone gloriously upon the horizon. I was
ready to enter upon this life ; everything invited me to it ;
no material obstacle, no hindrance, was apparent. I was
free, I was happy, and yet — I was about to die. I had
made but one step into paradise, and a hidden duty com-
pelled me to retrace it, and to enter upon a path the goal of
which was death!

Death has but few terrors for the crushed and broken

BUG-JARGAL 133

spirit ; but how heavy and icy is his hand when it grasps the
heart which has just begun to Hve and revel in the joys of
hfe ! I felt that I had emerged from the tomb, and had for
a moment enjoyed the greatest delights of life, love, friend-
ship, and liberty ; and now the door of the sepulchre v.'as
again opened, and an unseen force compelled me once more to
enter it forever.

CHAPTER XL VII

WHEN the first bitter pang of grief had passed, a kind
of fury took possession of me ; and I entered the val-
ley with a rapid step, for I felt the necessit}'^ of shortening
the period of suspense. When I presented myself at the ne-
gro outpost, the sergeant in command at first refused to
permit me to pass. It seemed strange that I should be
obliged to have recourse to entreaties to enable me to effect
my object. At last two of them seized me by the arms and
led me into Biassou's presence.

As I entered the grotto he was engaged in examining the
springs of various instruments of torture with which he was
surrounded. At the noise my guard made in introducing me
he turned his head, but my presence did not seem to surprise
him.

" Do you see these? " asked he, displaying the horrible
engines which la^^ before him.

I remained calm and impassive, for I knew the cruel nature
of the " hero of humanity," and I was determined to endure
to the end without blenching.

" Leogri was lucky in being only hung, was he not ? "
asked he with his sardonic sneer.

I gazed upon him with cold disdain, but I made no reply.

" Tell his reverence the chaplain that the prisoner has re-
turned," said he to an aide-de-cavip.

During the absence of the negro, we both remained silent,

134 BUG-JARGAL

but I could see that he watched me narrowly. Just then Ri-
gaud entered; he seemed agitated, and whispered a few words
to the generah

" Summon the chiefs of the different bands," said Biassou
cahnlj.

A quarter of an hour afterwards, the different chiefs in
their strange equipments were assembled in the grotto.
Biassou rose.

" Listen to me, friends and comrades ! The whites will
attack us here at daybreak ; our position is a bad one,
and we must quit it. At sunset we will march to the
Spanish frontier. Macaya, you and your negroes will form
the advanced guards. Padrejan, see that the guns taken
at Pralato are spiked ; we cannot take them into the moun-
tains. The brave men of Croix-des-Bouquets will follow
Macaya ; Toussaint will come next v/ith the blacks from
Leogane and Trose. If the griots or the griotes make any
disturbance, I will hand them over to the executioner of the
army. Lieutenant-Colonel Cloud will distribute the English
muskets that were disembarked at Cape Cabron, and will lead
the half-breeds through the by-ways of the Vista. Slaughter
any prisoners that may remain, notch the bullets, and poison
the arrows. Let three tons of arsenic be thrown into the
wells ; the colonists will take it for sugar, and drink without
distrust. Block up the roads to the plain with rocks, line the
hedges with marksmen, and set fire to the forest. Rigaud,
you will remain with me ; Candi, summon my body-guard.
The negroes of Morne-Rouge will form the rear-guard, and
will not evacuate the camp until sunrise."

He leaned over to Rigaud, and whispered hoarsely : " They
are Bug-Jargal's men ; if they are killed, all the better.
' Muerta la tropa, murte el gefe ! ' ('If the men die, the chief
will die.')

" Go, my brethren," he added, rising, " you will receive in-
structions from Candi."

The chiefs left the grotto.

" General," remarked Rigaud, " we ought to send that dis-

EUG-JARGAL 135

patch of Jean Fraiifois ; affairs are going badly, and it
would stop the advance of the whites."

Biassou drew it hastily from his pocket. " I agree with
you; but there are so many faults, both in grammar and
spelling, that they v>ill laugh at it."

He presented the paper to me. " For the last time, will
you save your life? My kindness gives you a last chance.
Help me to correct this letter, and to re-write it in proper
official style."

I shook my head.

" Do you mean no.^ " asked he.

" I do," I replied.

" Reflect," he answered, with a sinister glance at the in-
struments of torture.

" It is because I have reflected that I refuse," replied I.
" You are alarmed for the safety of yourself and your men,
and you count upon this letter to delay the just vengeance
cf the whites. I do not desire to retain a life which may
perhaps have saved yours. Let my execution commence."

" Ha, boy ! " exclaimed Biassou, touching the instruments
of torture with his foot, " you are growing familiar with
these, are you.^* I am sorry, but I have not the time to try
them on you ; our position is a dangerous one, and we must
get out of it as soon as we can. And so you refuse to act as
my secretary.'' Well, you are right; for it would not after
all have saved your miserable life, which, by the way, I have
promised to his reverence my chaplain. Do you think that
I would permit any one to live who holds the secrets of
Biassou.'' "

He turned to the Obi, who just then entered. " Good
father, is your guard ready? "

The latter made a sign in the affirmative.

" Have you taken it from among tlie negroes of Morne-
Rouge, for they are the only ones who are not occupied in
preparations for departure? "

Again the Obi bowed his head.

Then Biassou pointed out to me the black flag which I

136 BUG-JARGAL

had before remarked in a corner of the grotto. " That will
show your friends when the time comes to give your place to
your lieutenant. But I have no more time to lose; I must
be off. By the way, you have been for a little excursion ; how
did you like the neighbourhood ? "

" I noticed that there were enough trees upon which to
hang you and all your band."

" Ah," retorted he, with his hideous laugh, " there is one
place that you have not seen, but with which the good father
will make you acquainted. Adieu, my young captain, and
give my compliments to Leogri."

He bade me farewell with the chuckle that reminded me of
the hiss of the rattlesnake, and turned his back as the negroes
dragged me away. The veiled Obi followed us, his rosary in
his hand.

CHAPTER XLVIII

I WALKED between my guards without offering any re-
sistance, which would indeed have been hopeless. We
ascended the shoulder of a hill on the western side of the
plain, and then my escort sat down for a brief period of re-
pose. As we did so, I cast a last lingering look at the set-
ting sun, which would never rise again for me on this earth.
When my guards rose to their feet, I followed their ex-
ample, and we descended into a little dell, the beauty of which
under any other circumstances would have filled me with
admiration. A mountain stream ran through the bottom
of the dell, which by its refreshing coolness produced
a thick and luxuriant growth of vegetation, and fell into
one of those dark -blue lakes with which the hills of St.
Domingo abound. How often in happier days have I sat
and dreamed on the borders of these beautiful lakes, in the
twilight hour, when beneath the influence of the moon their
deep azure changed into a sheet of silver, or when the re-

BUG-JARGAL 137

flections of the stars sowed the surface with a thousand golden
spangles ! How lovely this valley appeared to me ! There
were magnificent plane-trees of gigantic growth, closely grown
thickets of mauritias, a kind of palm, which allows no other
vegetation to flourish beneath its shade ; date-trees and mag-
nolias with the goblet-shaped flowers. The tall catalpa, with
its polished and exquisitely chiselled blossoms, stood out in
relief against the golden buds of the ebony-trees ; the Cana-
dian maple mingled its yellow flowers with the blue aureolas
of that species of the wild honeysuckle which the negroes call
" coali ; " thick curtains of luxurious creepers concealed the
bare sides of the rocks, while from the virgin soil rose a soft
perfume, such as the first man may have inhaled amidst Eden's
groves.

We continued our way along a footpath traced on the
brink of the torrent. I was surprised to notice that this path
closed abruptly at the foot of a tall peak, in which was a
natural archway, from which flowed a rapid torrent. A
dull roar of falling waters, and an impetuous wind issued
from this natural tunnel. The negroes who escorted me took
a path to the left which led into a cavern, and seemed to be
the bed of a torrent that had long been dried up. Overhead
I could see the rugged roof, lialf hidden by masses of vegeta-
tion, and the same sound of falling waters filled the whole
of the vault.

As I took the first step into the cavern, the Obi came to
my side, and whispered in a hoarse voice, " Listen to what I
have to predict: only one of us two shall leave by this path
and issue again from the entrance of the cave."

I disdained to make any reply, and we advanced further
into the gloom. The noise became louder, and drowned the
sound of our footfalls. I fancied that there must be a water-
fall near, and I was not deceived. After moving through
the darkness for nearly ten minutes, we found ourselves on a
kind of internal platform caused by the central formation
of the mountain. The larger portion of this platform, which
was of a semicircular shape, was inundated by a torrent which

138 BUG-JARGAL

burst from the interior of the mountain with a terrible cUu.
Above this subterranean hali the roof rose into the shape of a
dome, covered with moss of a yellowish hue. A large open-
ing was formed in the dome, through which the daylight pene-
trated; and the sides of the crevice were fringed with green
trees, gilded just now by the last rays of the setting sun. At
the northern extremity of the platform the torrent fell with
a frightful noise into a deep abyss, over which appeared to
float, without being able to illuminate its depths, a feeble
portion of the light which came through the aperture in the
roof.

Over this terrible precipice hung the trunk of an old tree,
whose topmost branches were filled with the foam of the water-
fall, and whose knotty roots pierced through the rock two or
three feet below the brink. This tree, whose top and roots
were both swept by the torrent, hung over the abyss like a
skeleton arm, and was so destitute of foliage that I could
not distinguish its species. It had a strange and weird ap-
pearance; the humidity which saturated its roots prevented
it from dying, while the force of the cataract tore off its new
shoots, and only left it with the branches that had strength
to resist the force of the water.

CHAPTER XLIX

IN this terrible spot the negroes came to a halt, and I
knew that my hour had come. It was in this abyss,
then, that was to be sunk all my hopes in this world. The
image of the happiness which but a few hours before I had
voluntarily renounced brought to my heart a feeling of re-
gret, almost one of remorse. To pray for mercy was un-
M'orthy of me, but I could not refrain from giving utterance
to my regrets.

" Friends," said I to the negroes who surrounded me, " it

BUG-JARGAL 139

fs a sad thing to die at twenty years of age, full of life and
strength, when one is loved by one whom in your turn you
adore, and when you leave behind 3^ou eyes that will ever
weep for your untimely end."

A mocking burst of laughter hailed my expression of regret.
It came from the little Obi. This species of evil spirit, this
living mystery, approached me roughly.

" Ha, ha, ha! you regret life then, Labadosea Dios! My
only fear was that death would have no terrors for you."

It was the same voice, the same laugh that had so often
before baffled my conjectures. "Wretch!" exclaimed I,
" who are you ? "

" You are going to learn," replied he, in a voice of con-
centrated passion ; and thrusting aside the silver sun that
half concealed his brown chest, he exclaimed, " Look ! "

I bent forward. Two names were written in white letters
on the hairy chest of the Obi, showing but too clearly the
hideous and ineffaceable brand of the heated iron. One
of these names was Effingham ; the other was that of my
uncle and myself, D'Auverney ! I was struck dumb with sur-
prise.

" Well, Leopold d'Auverne}^," asked the Obi, " does not
your name tell you mine.? "

" No," answered I, astonished to hear the man name me,
and seeking to re-collect my thoughts. " These two names
were only to be found thus united upon the chest of my
uncle's fool. But the poor dwarf is dead; and besides that,
he was devotedly attached to us. You cannot be Habibrah."

" No other ! " shrieked he ; and casting aside the blood-
stained cap, he raised his veil and showed me the hideous fea-
tures of the household fool. But a threatening and sinister
expression had usurped the half imbecile smile which was
formerly eternally imprinted on his features.

" Great God ! " exclaimed I, overwhelmed with surprise,
" do all the dead, then, come back to life.'* It is Habibrah,
my uncle's fool ! "

" His fool, and also his murderer."

140 BUG-JARGAL

I recoiled from him in horror. " His murderer, wretch !
Was it thus that you repaid his kindness — "

He interrupted me. " His kindness ! rather say his in-
sults."

" What ! " I again cried, " was it you, villain, who struck
the fatal blow.?"

" It was," he replied, with a terrible expression upon his
face. " I plunged my knife so deeply into his heart that he
had hardly time to cast aside sleep before death claimed him.
He cried out feebly, ' Habibrah, come to me ! ' but I was with
him already! "

The cold-blooded manner in which he narrated the murder
disgusted me. " Wretch ! cowardly assassin ! You forgot,
then, all his kindness ; that you ate at his table, and slept at
the foot of his bed — "

" Like a dog ! " interrupted Habibrah, roughly, " como un
perro. I thought too much of what you call his kindness,
but which I looked upon as insults. I took vengeance upon
him, and I will do the same upon you. Listen : do 3-011 think
that because I am a mulatto and a deformed dwarf that I am
not a man.? Ah, I have a soul stronger, deeper, and bolder
than the one that I am about to set free from your girlish
frame. I was given to your uncle as if I had been a pet
monkey. I was his butt; I amused him, while he despised
me. He loved me, do you say.? Yes, forsooth; I had a place
in his heart between his dog and his parrot ; but I found a
better place there with my dagger."

I shuddered.

" Yes," continued the dwarf, " it was I, I that did it all.
Look me well in the face, Leopold d'Auverney : you have
often laughed at me, now you shall tremble before me. And
you dare to speak of your uncle's liking for me, — a liking
that carried degradation with it. If I entered the room, a
shout of contemptuous laughter was my greeting; my ap-
pearance, my deformities, my features, my costume, — all fur-
nished food for laughter to 3'our accursed uncle and his ac-
cursed friends, while I was not allowed even to remain silent;

BUG-JARGAL 141

it was necessary for me to join in the very laughter that was
levelled at me ! I foam with rage when I think of it. Answer
me : do you think that after such humiliations I could feel any-
thing but the deadliest hatred for the creature that inflicted
them upon me? Do you not think that they were a thou-
sand times harder to endure than the toil in the burning sun,
the fetters, and the whip of the driver, which were the lot
of the other slaves? Do you not think that they would cause
ardent, implacable, and eternal hatred to spring up in the
heart of man as lasting as the accursed brand which degrades
my chest? Has not the vengeance that I have taken for my
sufferings been short and insufficient. Why could I not make
my tyrant suffer something of what I endured for so many
years? Why could he not before his death know the bitter-
ness of wounded pride, and feci what burning traces the tears
of shame leave upon a face condemned to wear a perpetual
smile? Alas! it is too hard to have waited so long for the
hour of vengeance, and then only to find It in a dagger thrust !
Had he but known the hand that struck him, it would have
been something ; but I was too eager to hear his dying groan,
and I drove the knife too quickly home: he died without hav-
ing recognized me, and my eagerness balked my vengeance.
This time, however, it shall be more complete. You see me,
do you not? Though In point of fact you may be unable
to recognize me in my new character. You have always been
in the habit of seeing me laughing and joyous; but now
nothing prevents me from letting my true nature appear on
my face, and I do not greatly resemble my former self. You
only knew my mask ; look now upon my real face ! "

At that moment his appearance was truly terrible. " Mon-
ster ! " exclaimed I, " you deceive yourself ; there is more of
buffoonery than heroism in your face even now, and noth-
ing In your heart but cruelty."

" Do not speak of cruelty," retorted he, " think of your
uncle — "

" Wretch ! " returned I, " If he were cruel, It was at your
instigation. You, to pretend to pity the position of the poor

142 BUG-JARGAL

slaves ! Why, then, did you not exert all your Influence to
make their master treat them less harshly? Why did you
never intercede in their favour? "

" I would not have done so for the world. Would I ever
attempt to hinder a white man from blackening his soul by
an act of cruelty ? No, no ! I urged him to inflict more and
more punishment upon his slaves, so as to hurry on the re-
volt, and thus draw down a surer vengeance upon the heads
of our oppressors. In seeming to injure my brethren I was
serving them."

I was thunderstruck at such a cunning act of diplomacy
carried out by such a man.

" Well," continued the dwarf, " do you believe now that
I had the brain to conceive and the hand to execute? What
do you think of Habibrah the buff'oon? What do you think
of your uncle's ' fool ' ? "

" Finish what you have begun so well," replied I. " Let
me die, but let there be no more delay."

" And suppose I wish for delay ? Suppose that it does my
heart good to watch you in the plunder of suspense ? You see
Biassou owed me my share in the last plunder. When I saw
you in our camp I asked for 3^our life as my share, and I'e
granted it willingly ; and now you are mine, I am amusing
myself with you. Soon you will follow the stream of tl>e
cataract into the abyss beneath ; but before doing so, let mc
tell you that I have discovered the spot where your wife is
concealed, and it was I that advised Biassou to set the forest
on fire ; the work, I imagine, is already begun. Thus your
family will be swept from the face of the earth. Your uncle
fell, by steel, you will perish by water, and your INIarie bv
fire ! "

" Villain ! villain ! " I exclaimed, and I made an eff'ort to
seize him by the throat, but a wave of his hand summoned
my guards.

" Bind him ! " cried he ; " he precipitates his hour of
doom ! "

In dead silence the negroes began to bind me with the

BUG-JARGAL 143

cords that they had carried with thera. Suddenly I fancied
that I heard the distant barking of a dog, but this sound might
be only an illusion caused by the noise of the cascade.

The negroes had finished binding mc, and placed me on
the brink of the abyss into which I was so soon to be hurled.
The dwarf, with folded arms, gazed upon the scene with a
sinister expression of joy. I lifted my eyes to the opening
in the roof so as to avoid the triumphant expression of malice
painted on his countenance, and to take one last look at the
blue sky. At that instant the barking was more distinctly
heard, and the enormous head of Rask appeared at the open-
ing. I trembled.

The dwarf exclaimed, " Finish with him ! " and the ne-
groes, who had not noticed the dog, raised me in their arms
to hurl mc into the hell of waters which roared and foamed
beneath me.

CHAPTER L

' '/COMRADES ! " cried a voice of thunder.

\^ All looked at the spot from whence the sound pro-
ceeded. Bug-Jargal was standing on the edge of the open-
ing, a crimson plume floating on his head.

" Comrades," repeated he, " stay your hands ! "

The negroes prostrated themselves upon the earth in token
of submission.

" I am Bug-Jargal ! " continued he.

The negroes struck the earth with their heads, uttering
cries the meaning of which I could not comprehend.

" Unbind the prisoner ! " commanded the chief.

But now the dwarf appeared to recover from the stupor
into which the sudden appearance of Bug-Jargal had thrown
him, and he seized by the arm the negro who was prepar-
ing to cut the cords that bound me. " What is the meaning
of this? What are you doing. ^ " cried he.

144 BUG-JARGAL

Then, raising his voice, he addressed Bug-Jargal : " Chief
of Mome-Rouge," cried he, " what are you doing here? "

" I have come to command my own men," was the reply.

*' Yes," answered the dwarf, in tones of concentrated pas-
sion, " these negroes do certainly belong to your band ; but,"
added he, raising his voice again, " by what right do you in-
terfere with my prisoner? "

The chief answered, " I am Bug-Jargal ! " and again the
negroes struck the ground with their foreheads.

" Bug-Jargal," continued Ilabibrah, " cannot contravene
the orders of Biassou. This white man was given to me by
Biassou ; I desire his death, and die he shall. Obey me," he
added, turning to the negroes, " and hurl him into the
abyss ! "

At the well-known voice of the Obi the negroes rose to their
feet and took a step towards me. I thought all was lost.

" Unbind the prisoner ! " cried Bug-Jargal again.

In an instant I was free. IMy surprise was equalled by
the fury of the Obi. He attempted to throw himself upon
me. The negroes interfered; then he burst out into impre-
cations and threats.

*' Demonios ! rabia ! inferno de mi alma ! How, wretches,
you refuse to obey me? Do you not recognize my voice?
Why did I lose time in talking to this accursed one? I ought
to have had him hurled without delay to the fishes of the
gulf. By wishing to make my vengeance more complete I
have lost it altogether. Orabia de Satan. Listen to me: if
you do not obey me, and hurl him into the abyss, I will curse
you ; your hair shall grow white, the mosquitoes and sand-
flies shall eat you up alive ; your legs and your arms shall
bend like reeds ; your breath shall burn your throat like red
hot-sand; you shall die young, and after your death your
spirit shall be compelled to turn a millstone as big as a moun-
tain, in the moon Avhere it is always cold ! "

The scene was a strange one. I was the only one of my
colour in a damp and gloomy cavern surrounded by negroes
with the aspect of demons, balanced as it were upon the edge

BUG-JARGAL 145

of a bottomless gulf, and every now and then threatened by a
deformed dwarf, by a hideous sorcerer upon whose striped
garments and pointed cap the fading light shone faintly, yet
protected by a tall negro who was standing at the only point
from which daylight could be seen. It appeared to me al-
most that I was at the gates of hell, awaiting the conflict be-
tween my good and evil angels, to result in the salvation or
the destruction of my soul. The negroes appeared to be
terrified at the threats of the Obi, and he endeavoured to profit
by their indecision.

" I desire the death of the white man, and he shall die ;
obey me ! "

Bug-Jargal replied solemnly : " He shall live ! I am Bug-
Jargal; my father was the King of Kakongo who dispensed
justice at the gate of his palace."

Again the negroes cast themselves upon the ground.

The chief continued : " Brethren, go and tell Biassou not
to unfurl the black banner upon the mountain-top which
should announce to the whites the signal of this man's death,
for he was the saviour of Bug-Jargal's life, and Bug-Jargal
wills that he should live."

They rose up. Bug-Jargal threw his red plume on the
ground before them. The chief of the guard picked it up
with every show of respect, and they left the cavern without a
word. The Obi, with a glance of rage, followed them down
the subterranean avenue.

I will not attempt to describe my feelings at that moment.
I fixed my eyes, wet with tears, upon Pierrot, who gazed upon
me Avith a singular expression of love and tenderness.

" God be praised," said he, " you are saved ! Brother, go

back by the road by which 3^ou entered ; you will meet me

again in the valley."

He waved his hand to me and disappeared from my sight.
10

146 BUG-JARGAL

CHAPTER LI

EAGER to arrive at the appointed meeting-place, and to
learn by what fortunr.te means my saviour had been
enabled to make his appearance at so opportune a moment,
I prepared to leave the cavern in which my nerves had been
so severely tried; but as I prepared to enter the subterranean
passage an unexpected obstacle presented itself in my path.
It was Habibrah !

The revengeful Obi had not in reality followed the negroes
as I had believed, but had concealed himself behind a rocky
projection of the cave, waiting for a propitious moment for
his vengeance; and this moment had come. He laughed bit-
terly as he showed himself. A dagger, the same that he was
in the habit of using for a crucifix, shone in his right hand.
At the sight of it I recoiled a step.

" Ha, accursed one! did you think to escape me? But the
fool is not such a fool after all ! I have you, and this time
there shall be no delay. Your friend Bug-Jargal shall not
wait for you long,- — you shall soon be at the meeting-place ;
but it will be the wave of the cataract that shall bear you
there."

As he spoke he dashed at me with uplifted weapon.

" Monster ! " cried I, retreating to the platform, " just now
you were only an executioner ; now you are a murderer."

" I am an avenger ! " returned he, grinding his teeth.

I was on the edge of the precipice ; he endeavoured to hurl
me over with a blow of his dagger. I avoided it. His foot
slipped on the treacherous moss which covered the rocks, and
he rolled into the slope polished and rounded by the constant
flow of water.

" A thousand devils ! " roared he.

He had fallen into the abyss. I have already mentioned
that the roots of the old tree projected through the crevices
of the rocks, a little below the edge of the precipice. In his

BUG-JARGAL 147

fall the dwarf struck against these, and his striped petticoat
caught in them ; he grasped at them as a last hope of safety,
and clung to them with all the energy of despair. Hi.s
pointed bonnet fell from his head ; to maintain his position
he had to let go his dagger, and the two together disappeared
in the depths of the abyss.

Habibrah, suspended over the terrible gulf, strove vainly
to regain the platform, but his short arms could not reach
the rocky edge, and he broke his nails in useless efforts to
obtain a hold on the muddy surface of the rocks which sloped
down into the terrible abyss. He howled with rage. The
slightest push on my part would have been sufficient to hurl
him to destruction ; but such an act would have been one of
cowardice, and I made no movement. This moderation on my
part seemed to surprise him. Thanking Heaven for its mer-
cies, I determined to abandon him to his fate, and was about
to leave the cave, when, in a voice broken with fear, and
which appeared to come from the depths of the abyss, he
addressed me.

" Master," cried he, " master, do not go, for pity's sake !
Do not, in the name of Heaven, leave a guilty creature to
perish whom it is in your power to save ! Alas ! my strength
is failing me ; the roots bend and slip through my fingers ;
the weight of my body drags me down : I must let go, or my
arms will break ! Alas ! master, the fearful gulf boils and
seethes beneath me! Nombre santo dc Dios! Have 3^ou no
pity for the poor fool.f* He has been very guilty, but prove
that the white men are better than the mulattoes, the masters
than the slaves, by saving him ! "

I approached the brink of the precipice, and the feeble
light that broke through the aperture in the roof showed me
on the repulsive features of the dwarf an expression which
I had never noticed before, — that of prayer and supplica-
tion.

" Senor Leopold," continued he, encouraged by the move-
ment of pity that I showed, " can you see a fellow-creature
in so terrible a position of peril, without stretching out a hand

148 BUG-JARGAL

to save him? Give me your hand, master; with very slight
assistance from you I can save myself: I only ask for a
little help. Help me then, and my gratitude shall be as
great as my crimes ! "

I interrupted him. " Unhappy wretch, do not recall them
to my memory,"

" It is because I repent of them that I do so. Oh, be gen-
erous to me ! O heavens, my hand relaxes its grasp, and I
fall! Ay desdichado! Your hand, your hand! in the name
of the mother who bore you, give me your hand ! "

I cannot describe the tone of agony in which he pleaded
for help. In this moment of peril I forgot all ; he was no
longer an enemy, a traitor, and an assassin, but an unhappy
fellow-creature, whom a slight exertion upon my part could
rescue from a frightful death. He implored me in heart-
rending accents. Reproaches would have been fruitless and
out of place. The necessity for help was urgent and imme-
diate.

I stooped, knelt down on the brink of the precipice, and
grasping the trunk of the tree with one hand, I extended the
other to Habibrah.

As soon as it was within his reach, he grasped it with both
his hands, and hung on to it with all his strength. Far from
attempting to aid me in my efforts to draw him up, I felt that
he was exerting all his powers to draw me down with him into
the abyss. If it had not been for the assistance afforded
to me by the trunk of the tree, I must infallibly have been
dragged over by the violent and unexpected jerk that the
wretched man gave me.

" Villain ! " cried I, " what are you doing? "

" Avenging myself ! " answered he, with a peal of devilish
laughter. " Aha, madman ! have I got you in my clutches
once more? You have of your own free-will placed yourself
again in my power, and I hold you tight. You were saved
and I was lost; and yet you of your own accord place your
head between the jaws of the alligator, because it wept
after having roared, I can bear death, since it will give me

BUG-JARGAL 149

revenge. You are caught in the trap, amigo, and I shall
take a companion with me to feed tlie fishes of the lake."

" Ah, traitor ! " cried I, struggling with all my strength,
" is it thus that you serve me when I was trying to save
you ? "

" Yes," hissed he. " I know that we could have saved our-
selves together, but I would rather that we should die at tlic
same moment. I had rather compass your death than sa-ve
my life. Come down ! "

As he spoke, his brown muscular hands renewed their grasj)
upon mine with unexpected strength ; his eyes blazed, his
mouth foamed. The strength, the departure of which he had
before so piteously bewailed, had returned to him increased n
thousandfold by the hope of revenge. His feet were planted
like two perpendicular levers on a ledge of rock, and he strug-
gled like a tiger against the root which, entangled in his
clothes, supported him in spite of himself; for he was en-
deavouring with all his might to shake himself free, so as to
bring all his weight to bear on me, and to drag me more quickly
into the yawning gulf below. In his rage he endeavoured to
bite me, while his hideous features were rendered more terrible
by their expression of Satanic frenzy. He looked like the
demon of the cave seeking to drag down his victim to his abode
of gloom and darkness.

One of my knees, by good fortune, was planted in a groove
of the rock, and my arm was wound round the trunk of the
tree, and I strove against the efforts of the dwarf with all the
streng-th that the feeling of self-preservation could give me
at such a moment. Every now and then I drew a long
breath, and shouted " Bug-Jargal ! " with all the force of my
lungs. But the roar of the cascade and the distance that he
must be off gave me but faint hopes of my voice reaching him.

The dwarf, who had not anticipated so vigorous a resist-
ance on my part, redoubled his efforts. I began to grow
weak, though in reality the struggle had not taken so long
as the narration of it. A violent pain paralyzed my arm,
my sight grew dim, bright sparks flashed before my eyes and

150 BUG-JARGAL

a buzzing sound filled my ears. I heard the creaking of the
root as it bent, mingled with the laugh of the monster, and tlie
abyss seemed to rise up towards me as though eager to engulf
its prey. But before I gave up all hope I made a last effort,
and collecting together my exhausted forces, I once again
shouted, " Bug-Jargal ! "

A loud bark replied to me ; it was Rask who thus answered
my appeal for help. I glanced upwards : Bug-Jargal and
his dog were gazing at me from the orifice in the roof. He
saw my danger at once. " Hold on ! " cried he.

Habibrah, fearing that I might yet be saved, foamed with
rage ; and crying, " Come down there ! come down ! " he re-
newed the attack with almost supernatural vigour.

At this moment, weakened by the long struggle, my arm
lost its hold of the tree. All seemed over with me, when I
felt myself seized from behind. It was Rask ! At a sign
from his master he had leaped down on the platform, and
seized me by the skirts of my uniform with his powerful teeth.

This unlooked-for aid saved me. Habibrah had exhauskd
all his strength in a last convulsive effort ; v/hile I put f ortii
all mine, and succeeded in withdrawing my hand from his
cramped and swollen fingers. The root, which had been for
some time yielding, now parted suddenly ; Rask gave me a
violent pull backwards, and the wretched dwarf disappeared
in the foam of the cascade, hurling a curse at me which was
swallowed up with him in the whirl of waters.

Such was the terrible end of my uncle's fool.

CHAPTER LII

THE excitement of the last few hours, the terrible strug-
gle and its awful conclusion, had utterly exhausted
me ; and I lay where I had fallen, almost deprived of sense
or power of motion. The voice of Bug-Jargal restored me
to myself.

BUG-JARGAL 151

" Brother," cried he, " hasten to leave this place. In half
an hour the sun will have set; I will meet you in the valley.
Follow Rask."

The words of my friend restored hope, strength, and cour-
age to me. I rose to my feet. The great dog ran rapidly
down the subterranean passage; I followed him, his bark
guiding me through the darkness. After a time I saw a
streak of light, and in a few minutes I gained the entrance,
and breathed more freely as I passed through the archway.
As I left the damp and gloomy vault behind me, I recalled
to my mind the prediction of the dwarf, and its fatal ful-
filment, " One only of us shall return by this road ! " His
attempt had failed, but the prophecy had been carried out.

CHAPTER LIII

BUG-JARGAL was waiting for me in the valley. I
threw myself into his arms ; but I had so many ques-
tions to put to him that I could not find words in which to
express them.

" Listen to me," said he. " Your wife, my sister, is in
safety in the camp of the white men ; I handed her over to
a relative of yours who was in command of the outposts, and
I wished again to constitute myself a prisoner, lest they
should execute the ten prisoners whose lives were security for
my re-appearance. But your relative told me to return, and,
if possible, to prevent your execution ; and that the ten ne-
groes should not be executed until Biassou should announce
the fact by displaying a black flag on one of the highest
peaks of the mountains. Then I returned to do my best.
Rask led me to where you were ; thanks be to Heaven, I ar-
rived in time! You will live, and so shall I."

He extended his hand to me, adding, " Brother, are you
satisfied ? "

152 BUG-JARGAL

I again clasped him to my breast; I entreated him not to
leave me again, but to remain with the white troops, and I
promised him to exert all my influence to procure him a com-
mission in the colonial army.

But he interrupted me with an angry air. " Brother,"
asked he, " do I propose to you to join my army? "

I kept silence, for I felt that I had been guilty of a folly ;
then he added in a tone of affected gaiety, —

" Come, let us hurry to the camp to reassure your wife."

This proposal was what I most ardently desired; we
started at once. The negro knew the way, and took the lead ;
Kask followed us.

Here D'Auverney stopped suddenly, and cast a gloomy look
around him ; perspiration in large beads covered his forehead ;
he concealed his face with his hands. Rask looked at him with
an air of uneasiness.

" Yes, you may well look at me like that," murmured he.

An instant afterwards he rose from his seat in a state of
violent agitation, and followed by the sergeant and the dog,
rushed hurriedly from the tent.

CHAPTER LIV

( (

IWH.L lay a bet," said Henri, " that we are nearmg
the end of the drama ; and I should really feel sorry if
anything happened to Bug-Jargal, for he was truly a fa-
mous fellow."

Paschal removed from his lips the mouth of his wicker-
covered flask, and said, " I would give twelve dozen of port
to have seen the cocoa-nut cup that he emptied at a draught."

Alfred, who was gently humming the air of a love-song,
interrupted himself by asking Henri to tie his aguilettes ; then
he added: "The negro interests me very much, but I have

BUG-JARGAL 153

not dared to ask D'Auverney if he knew the air of ' Beauti-
ful PadiUa.' "

" What a villain that Biassou was ! " continued Paschal ;
" but for all that he knew the value of a Frenchman's word !
There are, however, people more pitiless than Biassou, — my
creditors, for instance."

"But what do you think of D'Auverney's story?" asked
Henri.

" Ma foi," answered Alfred, " I have not paid much atten-
tion to it ; but I certainly had expected something more inter-
esting from D'Auverney's lips ; and then I want to know the
air to which Bug-Jargal sang his songs. In fact, I must
admit that the story has bored me a little."

" You are right," returned Paschal, the aide-de-camp.
" Had I not had my pipe and my bottle, I should have passed
but a dreary evening. Besides, there was a lot of absurdities
in it: how can we believe, for instance, that that little thief
of a sorcerer (I forget his name) would have drowned him-
self for the sake of destroying his enemy.'' "

Henri interrupted him with a smile. " You cannot un-
derstand any one taking to water, can you. Captain Paschal?
But what struck me more than anything was, that every time
D'Auverney mentioned the name of Bug-Jargal, his lame
dog lifted up his head."

The sound of the sentry carrying arms warned them of
X)'Auverney's return. All remained silent. He walked up
and down the tent for a few moments with folded arms, with-
out a word.

Old Sergeant Thaddeus, who had returned with his cap-
tain, bent over Rask and furtively caressed him, hoping by
that means to conceal his countenance, which was full of
anxiety, from the eyes of his officer. At length, after mak-
ing a strong effort, D'Auverney continued his narrative.

154 BUG-JARGAL

CHAPTER LV

RASK followed us. The highest rock in the valley was
not yet lighted by the rays of the sun; a glimmer
of light touched it for an instant, and then passed away.

The negro trembled, and grasped my hand firmly. " Lis-
ten," said he.

A dull sound like the discharge of a piece of artillery was
heard, and was repeated by the echoes of the valleys.

" It is the signal," said the negro in a gloomy voice. " It
was a cannon shot, was it not ? "

I nodded in sign of the affirmative.

In two bounds he sprang to the top of a lofty rock ; I fol-
lowed him. He crossed his arms and smiled sadly. " Do
you see that ? " asked he.

I looked in the direction to which he pointed, and on the
lofty peak to which he had drawn my attention during our
last interview with Marie, and which was now glowing in the
rays of the setting sun, I saw a huge black flag, its folds
flapping idly in the breeze.

[At this point of his recital D'Auverney again paused.]

I learned afterwards that Biassou, in a hurry to leave his
ground, had ordered the flag to be hoisted without waiting
for the return of the negroes who had been despatched to
assist at my execution.

Bug-Jargal was still in the same position, his arms folded,
and his eyes eagerly fixed upon the fatal signal. Suddenly
he started, and seemed about to descend from his post of ob-
servation. " Great heavens ! my unfortunate comrades ! "
cried he. " Did you hear the gun ? "

I made no reply.

" It was the signal, my brother. They are leading them
now to the place of execution."

BUG-JARGAL 155

His head fell upon his breast ; after a short pause, he said :
"Go, brother, and rejoin your wife; Rask will guide you to
her ; " and he whistled an African air, which Rask appeared
to recognize, for he wagged his tail, and seemed ready to set
out.

Bug-Jargal grasped my hand, and strove to smile; but
his features were contracted, and his look was ghastly.
" Farewell forever ! " cried he, and dashed into the thicket by
which we were surrounded.

I remained motionless ; the little that I understood of the
position made me fear the worst.

Rask, on seeing his master disappear, advanced to the edge
of the rock, and raising his head uttered a plaintive howl.
Then he turned to me ; his tail was between his legs and his
eyes were moist. He looked at me with an air of inquietude,
and turned to the spot from which his master had disap-
peared, and barked several times. I understood him, and
shared his fears. Suddenly he dashed off in pursuit of his
master, and I should soon have lost sight of him had he not
every now and then halted to give me time to come up to liim.
In this manner we passed through many a valley and leafy
glade ; we climbed hills and crossed streams. At last —

D'Auverney's voice failed him, an expression of despair
covered his face, and he could not find words to continue his
narrative. " Continue it, Thaddcus," said he, " for I can go
on no further."

The old sergeant was not less distressed than his captain,
but he made an effort to obey him.

" With your permission, gentlemen," said he, " and since
it is your wish. Captain, I nmst tell you, gentlemen, that
Bug-Jargal (otherwise called Pierrot) was a tall negro, very
strong, very gentle, and the bravest man in the world, —
except you. Captain, if you please. But I was terribly prej-
udiced against him, — for which I will never pardon myself,
though you. Captain, have forgiven me, — so much so, that
when we heard that your execution had been fixed for the

156 BUG-JARGAL

evening of the second day I flew into a furious rage with the
poor fellow, and felt a fiendish pleasure in informing him
that his death would pay for yours, or that if he escaped ten
of his men would be shot by way of reprisal. He said nothing
upon hearing this, but an hour afterwards he made his escape
through a great hole which he pierced in the wall of his
prison."

[D'Auverney made a movement of impatience, and Thad-
deus continued.]

" Well, when we saw the great black flag hoisted on the
mountain, and as the negro had not returned, — a fact which
surprised none of us, — our oflicers ordered the signal gun to
be fired, and I was directed to conduct the ten negroes to the
place of execution, which was a spot we call the Devil's Mouth,
about — but it does not matter how far it was from the camp.
Well, as you can imagine, we did not take them there to set
them at liberty. I had them bound, as is the custom, and
paraded my firing party, when who should burst upon us but
the tall negro. He was out of breath with the speed that he
had made.

" ' Good evening, Thaddeus,' said he. ' I am in time.'

" No, gentlemen, he did not utter another word, but has-
tened to unbind his comrades. I stood there in stupefaction.
Then (with your permission. Captain) there was a good deal
of generous argument between the other negroes and himself,
M'hich might have lasted longer, but — well, it is no good
hiding the fact, it was I that stopped it. At any late he
took their place. Then the great dog came, poor Rask ! He
leaped at my throat: he ought to have held me longer, but
Pierrot made a sign to him, and the poor brute released me;
but he could not be prevented from taking his place at his
master's feet. Then, believing that you were dead, Captain
— well, I was in a fine rage. I gave the word ; Bug- Jargal
fell, and a bullet broke the dog's foot.

" Since that time, gentlemen," continued the sergeant,

BUG-JARGAL 15t

sadly, " Rask has been lame. Then I heard groans in the
adjacent wood; I reached it, and found you: a stray bullet
had hit you as you were running forward to save the tall
negro. Yes, Captain, you were wounded, but Bug-Jargal
was dead !

" We carried you back to the camp ; you were not danger-
ously wounded, and the doctors soon cured you; but I believe
Madame Marie's nursing had a good deal to do with it.'

»

The sergeant stopped in his story, and D'Auverney, in a
solemn voice, added : " Bug-Jargal was dead ! "

Thaddeus bowed his head. " Yes," said he, " he spared
my life, and I — killed him.'

j>

EPrLOGUE

THE reader, in general, is seldom satisfied with the con-
clusion of a narrative unless it enters into every detail
in winding up the story. For this reason the minutest re-
searches have been made into the facts having refex'cnce to
the concluding details of the last scenes of Leopold d'Auver-
ney's life, as well as those of his sergeant and the dog Rask.

The reader is already aware that the captain's feelings of
melancholy arose partly from the death of Bug-Jargal, other-
wise called Pierrot ; but he is not acquainted with the fact
that those feelings were terribly increased by the loss of his
beloved Marie, — who, after having been preserved from the
horrors that attended the taking of Fort Galifet, perished in
the burning of Cap, which took place some weeks later.

The fate of Leopold d'Auverney may be briefly recapitu-
lated. A great victory had been won by the Republic forces
against one of those united European armies which so often
struggled vainly against our soldiers ; and the General of Di-
vision, who was in command of the entire force, was seated in
his tent drawing up, from the reports of his staff, the bulletin
which was to be sent to the National Convention concernino;
the victory of the day before. As he was thus occupied, an
aide-de-camp announced to him the arrival of a Representa-
tive of the People, who demanded an audience. The general
loathed these ambassadors of the guillotine, who were sent
by the party of the Mountain to humiliate the military offi-
cers, and too often to demand the heads of the most gallant
of the men who had fought bravely for the Republic, — look-
ing upon them as chartered informers charged with the hate-
ful mission of spying upon glory. But it would have been
dangerous for him to refuse to admit him, especially after

158

BUG-JARGAL 159

such a victory as had resulted to the arms of the Repubhc.
The gory idol which France had then set up almost invariably
demanded victims of the highest lineage ; and the executioners
of the Place de la Revolution were delighted if they could at
the same time cause a head and a coronet to fall, — were it
one of thorns, like that of Louis XVI. ; of flowers, like those
of the girls of Verdun ; or of laurels like those of Custine or
of Andre Chenier, The general, therefore, gave immediate
orders that the Representative of the People should be in-
troduced to his presence.

After a few clumsy congratulations regarding the recent
victory, the Representative of the People came up close to
the general, and muttered in a suppressed voice : " But this
is not all. Citizen General ; it is not enough to destroy the
foreign enemy, — those nearer home must be also crushed."

" What do you mean, Citizen Representative? " asked the
astonished general.

" There is in your division," answered the emissary of the
Convention, in an unpleasant manner, " a captain named
Leopold d'Auverney, who is serving in the Thirty-second
Brigade; do you know him. General.^ "

" Know him ! certainly I do," replied the general ; " only
as you came in I was reading the report of the adjutant-
general which refers to him. The Thirty-second Brigade had
in him an excellent officer, and I was about to recommend
him for promotion."

" What, Citizen General ! " interposed the representative,
harshly, " were you thinking of promoting him.f^ "

" Such was most certainly my intention, citizen."

" Victory has blinded you, General," cried the representa-
tive, imperiously ; " take care what you say or do. If you
cherish serpents who are the enemies of the people, take care
that the people do not crush you and the serpents at the same
moment. This Leopold d'Auverney is an aristocrat, a hater
of the revolution, a royalist, a Girondin ! Public justice de-
mands his head, and he must be given up to me on the spot."

" I cannot do so," replied the general, coldly.

160 BUG-JARGAL

"How! you cannot do so?" shouted the representative,
whose rage was redoubled at this opposition. " Are you ig-
norant, General, of the extent of my power? I, in the name
of the Republic, command you, and you have no option but
to obey. Listen to me : in consideration of your recent suc-
cess, I will read you the report which has been handed in re-
garding this D'Auverney, and which I shall send with him to
the Public Prosecutor : ' Leopold Auverney ( formerly known
as D'Auverney), captain in the Thirty-second Brigade, is
convicted of having, at a meeting of conspirators, narrated
an anti-revolutionary tale, conducing to the ridicule of the
true principles of Equality and Liberty, and exalting the
worn-out superstitions known under the names of royalty and
religion; convicted, secondly, of having used expressions de-
servedly forbidden by all good republicans, to describe cer-
tain recent events, notably those referring to the negroes of
St. Domingo ; convicted, thirdly, of having made use of the
expression Monsieur instead of Citizen during the whole of
his narrative ; and, by the said narrative, of having en-
deavoured to bring into contempt the Republic one and indi-
visible, and also to propagate the infamous doctrines of the
Girondins.' Death is the punishment for these crimes, and I
demand his body. Do you hesitate, General, to hand this
traitor over to me, to meet the well-merited punishment of his
crimes ? "

" Citizen," answered the general, with dignity, " this
enemy of his country has given his life for her. As a con-
trast to your report, listen to an extract from mine : ' Leo-
pold d'Auverney, captain in the Thirty-second Brigade, has
contributed largely to the success that our arms have ob-
tained. A formidable earthwork had been erected by the
allies ; it was the key to their position, and it was absolutely
necessary to carry it at the point of the bayonet. It was an
almost impregnable position, and the death of the stormers
who led the attack was almost inevitable. Captain d'Auver-
ney volunteered to lead the forlorn hope ; he carried the earth-
work, but was shot down at the moment of victory. Sergeant

BUG-JARGAL 161

Tliaddeus of the Thirty-second, and a large dog were found
dead within a few paces of him.' It was my intention to
propose that the National Convention should pass a vote that
Captain Leopold d'Auverney had merited the thanks of his
country. You see, Citizen Representative," continued the
general, calmly, " that our duties differ slightly. We both
send a report to the Convention. The same name appears in
each list: you denounce him as a traitor, I hold him up to
posterit}'^ as a hero ; you devote him to ignominy, I to glory :
you would erect a scaffold for him, while I propose a statue
in his honour. He is fortunate in having, by death in action,
escaped the infamy you proposed for him. He whose death
you desired is dead ; he has not waited for you."

Furious at seeing his conspiracy disappear with the con-
spirator, the Representative muttered, " Dead, is he.'' More's
the pity ! "

The general caught his words, and in indignant tones ex-
claimed : " There is still something left for you. Citizen Rep-
resentative. Go seek for the body of Captain d'Auverney
among the ruins of the redoubt. Who can tell if the bullets
of the enemy may not have spared his head for his country's
gui/lotine .f* "

THE END.

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