Mare Nostrum (Our Sea) Part 55

In order to evade the emotions of farewell, he spoke to Toni very authoritatively. A chart of the Atlantic was lying on the table and with his index finger he marked out the mate's course; this course was not across the sea, but far from it, following an inland route.

"To-morrow," he said, "the French are coming to take possession. You may leave whenever you please, but it will be convenient to have you go as soon as possible...."

He explained his return trip to Toni, just as though he were giving him a lesson in geography. This sea-rover became timid and downhearted when they talked to him about railroad time-tables and changing trains.

"Here is Brest.... Follow this line to Bordeaux; from Bordeaux to the frontier. And once there, turn to Barcelona or go to Madrid, and from Madrid to Valencia."

The mate contemplated the map silently, scratching his beard. Then he raised his canine eyes slowly until he fixed them upon Ulysses.

"And you?" he asked.

"I remain here. The captain of the _Mare Nostrum_, has sold himself with his vessel."

Toni made a distressed gesture. For a moment he almost believed that Ferragut wanted to get rid of him and was discontented with his services. But the captain hastened to explain further.

Because the _Mare Nostrum_ belonged to a neutral country, it could not be sold to one of the belligerent nations while hostilities lasted.

Because of this, he had transferred it in a way that would not make it necessary to change the flag. Although no longer its owner, he would stay on board as its captain, and the s.h.i.+p would continue to be Spanish the same as before.

"And why must I go away?" asked Toni in a tremulous tone, believing himself overlooked.

"We are going to sail armed," replied Ulysses energetically. "I have made the sale on that account more than for the money. We are going to carry a quickfirer at the stern, wireless installation, a crew of men from the naval reserves,--everything necessary to defend ourselves. We shall make our voyages without hunting for the enemy, carrying freight as before; but if the enemy comes out to attack us, it will find some one who will answer."

He was ready to die, if that was to be his fate, but attacking whoever attacked him.

"And may I not go, too?" persisted the pilot.

"No; back of you there is a family that needs you. You do not belong to a nation at war, nor have you anything to avenge.... I am the only one of the former crew that remains on board. All the rest of you are to go. The captain has a reason for exposing his life, and he does not wish to a.s.sume the responsibility of dragging all of you into his last adventure."

Toni understood that it would be useless to insist. His eyes became moist.... Was it possible that within a few hours they would be bidding each other a last good-by?... Should he never again see Ulysses and the s.h.i.+p on which he had spent the greater part of his past?...

In order to maintain his serenity, the captain tried to bring this interview promptly to an end.

"The first thing to-morrow morning," he said, "you will call the crew together. Adjust all the accounts. Each one must receive as an extra bonus a year's pay. I wish them to have pleasant memories of Captain Ferragut."

The mate attempted to oppose this generosity by a remnant of the keen interest that the business affairs of the boat had always inspired in him. But his superior officer would not let him continue.

"I am rotten with money, I tell you," he repeated as though uttering a complaint. "I have more than I need.... I can do foolish things with it if I wish to."

Then for the first time he looked his mate square in the face.

"As for you," he continued, "I have thought what you must do.... Here, take this!"

He gave him a sealed envelope and the pilot mechanically tried to open it.

"No, don't open it at present. You will find out what it contains when you are in Spain. Within it is enclosed the future of your own folks."

Toni looked with astonished eyes at the light sc.r.a.p of paper which he held between his fingers.

"I know you," continued Ferragut. "You are going to protest at the quant.i.ty. What to me is insignificant, to you will appear excessive....

Do not open the envelope until you are in our country. In it you will find the name of the bank to which you must go. I wish you to be the richest man in your village that your sons may remember Captain Ferragut when he is dead."

The mate made a gesture of protest before this possible death, and at the same time rubbed his eyes as though he felt in them an intolerable itching.

Ulysses continued his instructions. He had rashly sold the home of his ancestors there in the _Marina_, the vineyards,--all his legacy from the _Triton_, when he had acquired the _Mare Nostrum_. It was his wish that Toni should redeem the property, installing himself in the ancient domicile of the Ferraguts.

He had money to spare for that and much more.

"I have no children and I like to feel that yours are occupying the house that was mine.... Perhaps when I get to be an old man--if they do not kill me, I will come to spend the summers with you. Courage now, Toni!... We shall yet go fis.h.i.+ng together, as I used to go fis.h.i.+ng with my uncle, the doctor."

But the mate did not regain his spirits on hearing these optimistic affirmations. His eyes were swollen with tears that sparkled in the corners of his eyes. He was swearing between his teeth, protesting against the coming separation.... Never to see him again, after so many years of brotherly companions.h.i.+p!... _Cristo!_...

The captain was afraid that he, too, might burst into tears and again ordered his mate to present the accounts of the crew.

An hour later Toni reentered the saloon, carrying in his hand the opened letter. He had not been able to resist the temptation of forcing the secret, fearing that Ferragut's generosity might prove excessive, and impossible to consider. He protested, handing to Ulysses the check taken from the envelope.

"I could not accept it!... It's a crazy idea!..."

He had read with terror the amount made out to him in the letter of credit, first in figures then in long hand. Two hundred and fifty thousand pesetas!... fifty thousand dollars!

"That is not for me," he said again. "I do not deserve it.... What could I ever do with so much money?"

The captain pretended to be irritated by his disobedience.

"You take that paper, you brute!... I was just afraid that you were going to protest.... It's for your children, and so that you can take a rest. Now we won't talk any more about it or I shall get angry."

Then, in order to conquer Toni's scruples, he abandoned his violent tone, and said sadly:

"I have no heirs.... I don't know what to do with my useless fortune."

And he repeated once more like a complaint against destiny: "I am rotten with money!..."

The following morning, while Toni was in his cabin adjusting the accounts of the crew, astonished by the munificence of their paying-off, Uncle Caragol came into the saloon, asking to speak to Ferragut.

He had placed an old cape over his flapping and scanty clothing, more as a decoration for the visit than because the cold of Brittany was really making him suffer.

He removed from his shaved head his everlasting palm-leaf hat, fixing his bloodshot eyes on the captain who continued writing after replying to his greeting.

"What does this mean, this order that I've just received to prepare to leave the boat within a few hours?... It must be some kind of a joke of Toni's; he's an excellent fellow but an enemy to holy things and likes to tease me because of my piety...."

Ferragut laid aside his pen, swinging around toward the cook whose fate had troubled him as much as the first mate's.

"Uncle Caragol, we are growing old and we must think about retiring....

I am going to give you a paper; you will guard it just as though it were a sacred picture, and when you present it in Valencia they will give you ten thousand dollars. Do you know how much ten thousand dollars are?..."

Bringing his mentality down to the level of this simple-minded man, he enjoyed tracing out for him a plan of living. He could invest his capital in whatever modest enterprise in the port of Valencia might appeal to his fancy; he could establish a restaurant which would soon become famous for its Olympian rice dishes. His nephews who were fishermen would receive him like a G.o.d. He could also be partner in a couple of barks, dedicated to fis.h.i.+ng for the _bou_. There was awaiting him a happy and honorable old age; his former sailing companions were going to look upon him with envy. He could get up late in the morning; he could go to the cafes; as a rich devotee he could figure in all the religious processions of the Grau and of the Caba.n.a.l; he could have a place of honor in the holy processions....

Heretofore, when Ferragut was talking, Uncle Caragol had always mechanically interrupted him, saying: "That is so, my captain." For the first time he was not nodding his head nor smiling with his sun-like face. He was pale and gloomy. He shook his round head energetically and said laconically: