Jack Part 28

And in fact the woman looked so ill, so prostrated, that the superintendent feared some catastrophe. He answered compa.s.sionately, "Keep up your courage, madame, and remember that your husband loves you."

And Jack? Ah, he had his day of triumph! The superintendent ordered a placard to be put up in all the buildings, announcing the boy's innocence. He was feted and caressed. One thing only was lacking, and that was news of Belisaire.

When the prison-doors were thrown open, the pedler disappeared. Jack was greatly distressed at this, but nevertheless breakfasted merrily with Zenade and her soldier, and had forgotten all his woes, when D'Argenton appeared, majestic and clothed in black. It was in vain that they explained the finding of the money, the innocence of Jack, and that a second letter had been sent narrating all these facts; in vain did these good people treat Jack with familiar kindness: D'Argenton's manner did not relax; he expressed in the choicest terms his regret that Jack had given so much trouble.

"But it is I who owe him every apology," cried the old man.

D'Argenton did not condescend to listen: he spoke of honor and duty, and of the abyss to which such evil conduct must always lead. Jack was confused, for he remembered his journey to Nantes, and the stall in which Zenade's lover could testify to having seen him; he therefore listened with downcast eyes to the ponderous eloquence of the lecturer, who fairly talked Father Rondic to sleep.

"You must be very thirsty after talking so long," said Zenade, innocently, as she brought a pitcher of cider and a fresh cake. And the cake looked so nice, so fresh and crisp, that the poet--who was, as we know, something of an epicure--made a breach in it quite as large as that in the ham made by Beli-saire at Aulnettes.

Jack had discovered one thing only from all D'Argenton's long words,--he had learned that the poet had brought the money to rescue him from disgrace, and the child began to believe that he had done the man great injustice, and that his coldness was only on the surface. The boy, therefore, had never been so respectful. This, and the cordial reception of the Rondics, put the poet into the most amiable state of mind.

You should have seen him with Jack as they trod the narrow streets of Indret!

"Shall I tell him that his mother is so near?" said D'Argenton, unwilling to introduce her boy to Charlotte in the character of hero and martyr; it was more than the selfish nature of the man could support. And yet, to deprive Charlotte and her son of the joy of seeing each other once more it was necessary to be provided with some reason; and this reason Jack himself soon furnished.

The poor little fellow, deluded by such extraordinary amiability, acknowledged to M. d'Argenton that he did not like his present life; that he should not be anything of a machinist; that he was too far from his mother. He was not afraid of work, but he liked brain work better than manual labor. These words had hardly pa.s.sed the boy's lips, when he saw a change in his hearer.

"You pain me, Jack, you pain me seriously; and your mother would be very unhappy did she hear you utter such opinions. You have forgotten apparently that I have said to you a hundred times that this century was no time for Utopian dreams, for idle fancies;" and on this text he wandered on for more than an hour. And while these two walked on the side of the river, a lonely woman, tired of the solitude of her room in the inn, came down to the other bank, to watch for the boat that was to bring her the little criminal,--the boy whom she had not seen for two years, and whom she dearly loved. But D'Argenton had determined to keep them apart. It was wisest--Jack was too unsettled. Charlotte would be reasonable enough to comprehend this, and would willingly make the sacrifice for her child's interest.

And thus it came to pa.s.s that Jack and his mother, separated only by the river, so near that they could have heard each other speak across its waters, did not meet that night, nor for many a long day afterwards.

CHAPTER XVII.--IN THE ENGINE-ROOM.

How is it that days of such interminable length can be merged into such swiftly-pa.s.sing years? Two have pa.s.sed since Zenade was married, and since Jack's terrible adventure. He has worked conscientiously, and loathes the thought of a wineshop. The house is sad and desolate since Zenade's marriage; Madame Rondic rarely goes out, and occupies her accustomed seat at the window, the curtain of which, however, is never lifted, for she expects no one now. Her days and nights are all alike monotonous and dreary. Father Rondic alone preserves his former serenity.

The winter has been a cold one. The Loire has overflowed the island, part of which remained under water four months, and the air was filled with fogs and miasma. Jack has had a bad cough, and has pa.s.sed some weeks in the infirmary. Occasionally a letter has come for him, tender and loving when his mother wrote in secret, didactic and severe when the poet looked over her shoulder. The only news sent by his mother was, that her poet had had a grand reconciliation with the Moronvals, who now came on Sundays, with some of their pupils, to dine at Aulnettes.

Moronval, Madou, and the academy seemed far enough away to Jack, who thought of himself in those old days as of a superior being, and could see little resemblance between his coa.r.s.e skin and round shoulders, and the dainty pink and white child whose face he dimly remembered.

Thus were Dr. Rivals' words justified: "It is social distinctions that create final and absolute separations."

Jack thought often of the old doctor and of Cecile, and on the first of January each year had written them a long letter. But the two last had remained unanswered.

One thought alone sustained Jack in his sad life: his mother might need him, and he must work hard for her sake.

Unfortunately wages are in proportion to the value of the work, and not to the ambition of the workman, and Jack had no talent in the direction of his career. He was seventeen, his apprentices.h.i.+p over, and yet he received but three francs per day. With these three francs he must pay for his room, his food, and his dress; that is, he must replace his coa.r.s.e clothing as it was worn out; and what should he do if his mother were to write and say, "I am coming to live with you "?

"Look here," said Pere Rondic, "your parents made a great mistake in not listening to me. You have no business here; now how would you like to make a voyage? The chief engineer of the 'Cydnus' wants an a.s.sistant.

You can have six francs per day, be fed, lodged, and warmed. Shall I write and say you will like the situation?"

The idea of the double pay, the love of travel that Madou's wild tales had awakened in his childish nature, combined to render Jack highly pleased at the proposed change. He left Indret one July morning, just four years after his arrival. What a superb day it was! The air became more fresh as the little steamer he was on approached the ocean. Jack had never seen the sea. The fresh salt breeze inspired him with restless longing. Saint Nazarre lay before him,--the harbor crowded with s.h.i.+pping. They landed at the dock, and there learned that the Cydnus, of the _Compagnie Transatlantique_, would sail at three o'clock that day, and was already lying outside,--this being, in fact, the only way to have the crew all on board at the moment of departure.

Jack and his companion--for Father Rondic had insisted on seeing him on board his s.h.i.+p--had no time to see anything of the town, which had all the vivacity of a market-day.

The wharf was piled with vegetables, with baskets of fruit, and with fowls which, tied together, were wildly struggling for liberty.

Near their merchandise stood the Breton peasants waiting quietly for purchasers. They were in no hurry, and made no appeal to the pa.s.sers-by.

In contrast to these, there was a number of small peddlers, selling pins, cravats, and portemonnaies, who were loudly crying their wares. Sailors were hurrying to and fro, and Rondic learned from one of them that the chief engineer of the Cydnus was in a very bad humor because he had not his full number of stokers on board.

"We must hasten," said Rondic; and they hailed a boat, and rapidly threaded their way through the harbor. The enormous transatlantic steamers lay at their wharves as if asleep; the decks of two large English s.h.i.+ps just arrived from Calcutta were covered with sailors, all hard at work. They pa.s.sed between these motionless ma.s.ses, where the water was as dark as a ca.n.a.l running through the midst of a city under high walls; then they saw the Cydnus lying, with her steam on. A wiry little man, in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, with three stripes on his cap, hailed Jack and Rondic as their boat came alongside the steamer.

His words were inaudible through the din and tumult, but his gestures were eloquent enough. This was Blanchet, the chief engineer.

"You have come, then, have you?" he shouted. "I was afraid you meant to leave me in the lurch."

"It was my fault," said Rondic; "I wished to accompany the lad, and I could not get away yesterday."

"On board with you, quick!" returned the engineer; "he must get into his place at once."

They descended first one ladder, then another, and another. Jack, who had never been on board a large steamer, was stupefied at the size and the depth of this one. They descended to an abyss where the eyes accustomed to the light of day could distinguish absolutely nothing. The heat was stifling, and a final ladder led to the engine-room, where the heavy atmosphere, charged with a smell of oil, was almost insupportable.

Great activity reigned in this room; a general examination was being made of the machinery, which glittered with cleanliness. Jack looked on curiously at the enormous structure, knowing that it would soon be his duty to watch it day and night.

At the end of the engine-room was a long pa.s.sage. "That is where the coal is kept," said the engineer, carelessly; "and on the other side the stokers sleep."

Jack shuddered. The dormitory at the academy, the garret-room at the Rondics, were palaces in comparison.

The engineer pushed open a small door. Imagine a long cave, reddened by the reflection of a dozen furnaces in full blast; men, almost naked, were stirring the fire, the sweat pouring from their faces.

"Here is your man," said Blanchet to the head workman.

"All right, sir," said the other without turning round.

"Farewell," said Rondic. "Take care of yourself, my boy!" and he was gone.

Jack was soon set to work; his task was to carry the cinders from the furnace to the deck, and there throw them into the sea. It was very hard work: the baskets were heavy, the ladders narrow, and the change from the pure air above to the stifling atmosphere below absolutely suffocating. On the third trip Jack felt his legs giving way under him.

He found it impossible to even lift his basket, and sank into a corner half fainting. One of the stokers, seeing his condition, brought him a large flask of brandy.

"Thank you; I never drink anything," said Jack.

The other laughed. "You will drink here," he answered.

"Never," murmured Jack; and lifting the heavy basket, more by an effort of will than by muscular force, he ascended the ladder.

From the deck an animated spectacle was to be seen. The little steamer ran to and fro from the wharf to the s.h.i.+p, laden with pa.s.sengers who came hurriedly on board. The pa.s.sengers were representatives of all nations. Some were gay, and others were weeping, but in the faces of all was to be read an anxiety or a hope; for these displacements, these movings, are almost invariably the result of some great disturbance, and are, in general, the last quiver of the shock that throws you from one continent to the other.

This same feverish element pervaded everything, even the vessel that strained at its anchor. It animated the curious crowd on the jetty who had come, some of them, to catch a last look of some dear face. It animated the fis.h.i.+ng-boats, whose sails were spread for a night of toil.

Jack, with his empty basket at his feet, stood looking down at the pa.s.sengers,--those belonging to the cabins comfortably established, those of the steerage seated on their slender luggage. Where were they going? What wild fancy took them away? What cold and stern reality awaited them on their landing? One couple interested him especially: it was a mother and a child who recalled to him the memory of Ida and little Jack. The lady was young and in black, with a heavy wrap thrown about her, a Mexican sarape with wide stripes. She had a certain air of independence characteristic of the wives of military or naval officers, who, from the frequent absence of their husbands, are thrown on their own resources. The child, dressed in the English fas.h.i.+on, looked as if he might have belonged to Lord Pembroke. When they pa.s.sed Jack they both turned aside, and the long silk skirts were lifted that they might not touch his blackened garments. It was an almost imperceptible movement, but Jack understood it. A rough oath and a slap on the shoulder interrupted his sad thoughts.

"What the deuce are you up here for, sir? Go down to your post!" It was the engineer making his rounds. Jack went down without a word, humiliated at the reproof.

As he put his foot on the last ladder, a shudder was felt throughout the s.h.i.+p: she had started.

"Stand there!" said the head stoker.

Jack took his place before one of those gaping mouths; it was his duty to fill it, and to rake it, and to keep the fire clear. This was not such an easy matter, as, being unaccustomed to the sea, the pitching of the vessel came near throwing him into the flames. He nevertheless toiled on courageously, but at the end of an hour he was blind and deaf, stifled by the blood that rushed to his head. He did as the others did, and ran to the outer air. Ah, how good it was! Almost immediately, however, an icy blast struck him between the shoulders.