Part 8 (1/2)

Still affected by the horrendous tale I had just heard, I tried to reconstruct in my mind the unfortunate lost s.h.i.+p and the story of the agonising event witnessed only by the gulls. A few details struck me and helped me to fill out all the twists and turns of the drama: the Captain in full dress uniform, the Chaplain's stole, the twenty soldiers in transit. I visualised the frigate leaving Toulon at night.

As she left the port, the sea was up, the wind was terrible; but the Captain was a valiant and experienced sailor and everybody on board was relaxed.

A fog got up in the morning. A sense of unease began to spread. The whole crew were on deck. The Captain stayed on the quarter-deck. In the 'tween-decks where the soldiers were billeted, it was pitch black, and the air was hot. Some of the men were sea-sick. The s.h.i.+p pitched horribly, which made it impossible to stand up. They talked in groups, sitting on the floor, clutching the benches for dear life; they had to shout to be heard. Some of them started to feel afraid. Listen, s.h.i.+pwrecks are common around those parts; the soldiers were there themselves to prove it, and what they said was not at all rea.s.suring.

Especially the Brigadier, a Parisian, who was always making quips that made your flesh creep:

--A s.h.i.+pwreck! How hilarious, a s.h.i.+pwreck. We are about to leave for an icy bath, and then be taken to Captain Lionetti's place in Bonifacio, where blackbirds are on the menu.

The soldiers laughed....

Suddenly, there was a great creaking sound....

--What the h.e.l.l's that? What's going on?

--We've just lost the rudder, said a thoroughly sea-drenched sailor who was running through the 'tween-decks.

--Have a good trip! cried the never-say-die Brigadier, but this time the remark caused no laughter.

There was chaos on deck, but everything was hidden by the fog. The sailors were all over the place, scared, and groping about.... No rudder! Changing course was impossible.... The _Semillante_ could only run before the wind.... It was at that moment that the customs' officer saw her; it was half past eleven. In front of the frigate, a sound like a cannon shot was heard.... The breakers! the breakers! It was all up, there was no hope, s.h.i.+p and men together were going straight onto a lee sh.o.r.e.... The Captain went down into his cabin.... After a short time he reappeared on the quarter-deck--in full dress uniform... He wanted to look right when he died.

In the 'tween-decks, the soldiers were anxiously exchanged glances without saying a word.... The sick were doing their best to get on their feet.... Even the Brigadier wasn't laughing any more.... It was then that the door opened and the Chaplain appeared on the threshold wearing his stole:

--Kneel down, my children!

Those who could obeyed, and in a resounding voice, the priest began the prayer for the dying.

Suddenly, there was a formidable impact, a cry, one cry consisting of many, an immense cry, their arms fully tensed, their hands all clasped together, their shocked faces looking at a vision of death as it pa.s.sed before them like a stroke of lightning....

Mercy!...

That is how I spent the whole night, ten years after the event, reliving, and evoking the spirit of the ill-fated s.h.i.+p whose wreckage was all around me. Far away, in the straits, the storm was still raging on. The camp-fire's flame was blown flat by a gust of wind, and I could hear our boat bobbing listlessly about at the foot of the rocks, its mooring squealing.

THE CUSTOMS' MEN

The boat _Emilie_ from Porto-Vecchio, on which I had made the mournful voyage to the Lavezzi Islands, was a small, old, half-decked, customs'

vessel, with no shelter available from the wind, the waves, nor even the rain, save in a small, tar covered deckhouse, hardly big enough for a table and two bunks. It was unbelievable what the sailors had to put up with in bad weather. Their faces were streaming, and their soaked tunics steaming, as if in the wash. In the depths of winter, these unfortunate souls spent whole days like this, crouching on their drenched seats, s.h.i.+vering in the unhealthy wet and cold, even at nights. Obviously, a fire couldn't be lit on board, and it was often difficult to make the sh.o.r.e.... Well, not one of these men complained.

I always saw the same calmness and good humour in them, even in the most severe weather. And yet, what a gloomy life these customs'

mariners led.

They were months away from going home, tacking and reaching around those dangerous coasts. For nourishment they had to make do mainly with mouldy bread and wild onions; they never once tasted wine or meat; these were expensive items and they only earned five hundred francs a year. Yes, five hundred francs a year. But it didn't seem to bother them! Everybody there seemed somehow content. Aft of the deckhouse, there was a tub full of rain water for the crew to drink, and I recall that after the final gulp went down, every last one of them would finish off his mug with a satisfied, ”Ah!...”; a comic yet endearing indication of all being well with him.

Palombo, a small, tanned, thick-set man from Bonifacio was the merriest, and the most well at ease of all of them. He was always singing, even in the very worst weather. When the seas were high, when the sky was overcast, dark, and hail filled, everyone was all agog, sniffing the air, their hands cupped over their ears, listening and watching out for the next squall. Even in this great silence of anxiety on board, the voice of Palombo would begin the refrain:

No, dear Sir, It will cause a stir.

Wise Lisette will stay, And never ever go away....