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The Baldwin Library





ROMAIN. KALBRIS.

HIS ADVENTURES BY SEA AND SHORE,

FROM THE



TRANSLATE NCH OF





TOR MALOT,

ny

Mrs. JULIA McNAIR WRIGHT.

WITH FORTY-SIX HLLUSERATIONS BY EMILE BAYARD,
ENGRAVED BY PANNEMAKER.





PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES,

82 CHESTNUT STR







to Act of Congress, in the year 1

PORTER & COATES,

Entered accord





In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washingte





Susman & C
Printers, Pita.

Westeort & THossos,
Stereolypers and Blectrotypers, V7













CONTENTS.

CHAPTER 1. Pace
Dieu and its inhabitants:



My first appearance—Por









ansieties of a sailor’s life--Mail-day—Mother Joa u
CHAPTER II.
My father’s return—My uncle in India 19
CHAPTER IIL,
The storm—A ship in distress—* Give me a boat; I will ty
and reach her”. |. John lost—My father drowned... 25

CHAPTER IV.
ty of the Brothers Lehen—I make the ac-
. de Bihorel—Lost in the fog—M. de

Strange genero
ce of M
Bihorel’s prope







CHAPTER V.
Saturday's remonstrance—The island of Gr:
de Bihore y-
—Bird langnage—M. de Bihorel disappears—I return to
other
1s







4 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER Y


















My uncle Simon— His interview with the Brothers Leheu—
1 am apprenticed to. my mele His house—Hard fu
My next door neighbor and his dog—I share Patuud’s
dinner—My uncle's avariee The usirer and his vietim—
My unele threatens me: 90.
CHAPTER VII.
Plans of escape—The crocodile depart by night—Travel-
Jing hardships—1 conceal myself in my mother’s house
15





HAPTER VIII.
\g's Grotto—My
ke

are arrested 1







y Ament —1
with Lucien Hardel, the painter Wi

eseap



quaintanee





150



CHAPTER 1X.
I lose my elothes—The trave

pai



if menagerie—I join the com-



CHAPTER X.

Count de Lapolade and his show—The exhibition —My first
appe
tells the story of her Ti

nee on the stage—A ci
Wes

car and its effeets—Didlette
gree to make our escape,







CHAPTER XI.
“Thread ” and “ Buttons” are
dent—Lapolade is attacked




rested:
y the

T meet with an acei-



CHA NIT.
We leave the show —We suffer with cold—The poor migno-

—The snow-storm—Paris at kist—Sureet si






hood-—Diélette’s. mother’s house demolished
table m

the
rket-women and rough sexton—Diélette ver
dd is carried to the hospital —An old acquaintane





Underground quarters—I refuse to become th





CONTENT!



Diclette—We set ont for Port-Dieu—I leave Di
in sight of ho

ette



CHAPTER XII

Tavre—T determine to go to sea, but e:
ing to engage me—"A splendid idea”—I am smuggled
aboard ship in box—A hurricane «tt sea—Sea-sickness—
The collision—ITermann washed overboard—Struggles to
escape yy prison—Alone in the sinking vessel—My
old friend, the dog Pataud, une
swim ashore...



nd no captain will-







rom m



318



CHAPTER X1Y.

offige—I am made a lion—The sailor's
to see her son return—He arrives only
die—TI resolve to return home—My meet-

At the insurancy
mother lives 01










to see his moth





ing with my mother, Diélette and M. de Bihorel—Fortune
favors me at last—My happy home—Unele § 's unhappy
old age: ws. 858





cad
ae:
btn san i
Becta





ILLUSTRA



PIONS.












Viexry whe Tie: Pervoraaxe Lion. ait
Wasi 8
My Escare rrow 5
My rinst ApPEARANCE ul
Farier Jerome axp Mor 18
My Farirer’s Rerory « 19
Dreams: 23,
‘Tie Srorm. 24



Ti
Wire





JouN BORNE ON



Tsaw rie $



esr oF A migitTy WAVE



M. pe Burorer. ..



We Recomm





‘Time Provosrtion


















M. 01 66
M. pe Brtoren Was sruDiED Tt oF Burp... 81
‘Tue Biack Cow. 88
User Siwox AND tHE Broviers Lenev.. 89
Kyexiane, [ pur my Mourn to Te privatise Ba-
SIN, AND DRANK 6 x. 109
Tre Map or Normaxpy..---- $e . 126
Iie prew NEAR AND WeED THE Licir to My Han. 129
My Mornen’s Prave 149
1 ueave Hom 150
1 prew My Sir AFTER ME IN THE WATER. . 157







8 ILLUSTRATIONS.




187
191
206



1
1 Loe yses

roRE ON



RANG OVER STUMPS AND



WAR



IN THE REEDS...



AIDED Ry TIE Sow Prornr
My
Tn



ist APPEARANCE ON ‘THE Staci





, KOR THE Eres Time, 1 saw Dit



ryro THE CAGE oF THE LION...
Tne Acker
Burro

Sue sorrny ‘rook ay

ENT



NS AND THREAD ARRESTED,



rw



HER



ARM...



Laronape arracken By tite Lion,
Dui

Bur reas Nor vi





eEE AND TER PRY.




ny Easy to Ger Moxey ny SINGING,



AS WH SOON FOU!



De
Ile HEN TOOK MER UP IN WS ARMS, AND BADE AU





FOLLOW TIM.

Tuy rook COUNSEL WHAT TO DO WITTE ME AND OW TO.

305
317
318

EMpLoy x



THe DinGence.





‘Tur Docks av Hay
“Wiar an Cre.

BAWLED THE

ION IS THAT YOU ARE CARRYING?”

Carrary,





343

Sue neGan ro Disa: WAS PASSING AWAY.

He rp



ALLED ME To LIFE BY LICKING MY HANDS










AND Fac ~ 85
Ix THe Breawens. :
I My SrareMent To THE Lysv AGENTS... 358
‘Tim pyING MorHeR LIFTED HERSELE UP, AND FOLDED
ii TO ER Bosom 375
Harry av nase, eran . asl

Harry On Ack or M. pe Brtoren. po 8S)







ROMAIN JCALBRIS.

CHAPTER I.

ROM my present position no one need conclude
My

ancestors, if the word is not too ambitious,

that I had Fortune for my foster-mother.



stot



were fishermen, My father was the young

eleven children, and my grandfather had much diffi-





culty in raising his large family, for in this trade of





fishing, more than in any other, the gain is not in pro-
portion to the toil, You may count surely on toil and

M



12 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

danger. ‘The question will be whether you make any=
your exertions,

of cighte

thing by
At the

the “maritime conseription,” a sort of enrolment



2 my father was drafted



means of which the vice from 3



state secures x



mariners dur



ng some time in thirty-two years—
father left

home knowing neither how to read nor write. He



between the ages of eighteen and fifty. My



returned first master, the highest grade to which those
can come who have not passed through the govern-
ment schools.

Port-Dieu, our country, being neighbor to the
British isles, the state stations there a revenue cut-

ter, whose mission it is to prevent the people of the



and of Jersey from catching our fish, and at the

same time to force our own sailors to observe the



fishery laws. It was upon this cutter that my father
This

favor; for however much accustomed a man may be



was stationed to continue his ser



a



to seafiring, and to calling his ship his country, he

is always happy to return to the land of his birth.
Vifteen months after my father’s return Twas born.

T made my appearance in this world on a Friday in

March, the day of the new moon, so the gossips with



one accord predicted that I would have adventures,

that T would make voyages on the sea, and that I



would be very unhappy, miles the influence of the



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 13



moon counteracted the baleful effects of Friday! As
for adventures, | have had them; they are just what
I am about to relate to you; as for sca-voyages, |
have made them; in regard to the strife of diverse
fates in my life, you may pronounce your own opin=

ion when Tam done my story



‘To predict voyages for me was simply to say that 1



was a child of the Kalbris family, for, father and



son, all the Kalbris have been mariners, and if the

legend is true, they have been so since the ‘Trojan
Pp

ancient origin, but the wise men do so, who pretend

that ther



war. ay observe that we do not give ourselves this





e are at Port-Dieu one hundred families pre-

cisely, those of fishermen, who have descended from a



Phoonician colony.

Tt is certain that we have black eyes, a ruddy and



olive skin, sharply-cut noses and nothing whatever of

the Norman or Breton type; our boats also are an



exact copy of the ship of old Ulysses as Homer paints



it, a single mast with a square sail—a kind of fishing

craft very common in the Archipela



go, but curious in

Manche (our department of France).



As for ourselves, our traditions do not go hack
yery far, and their uniformity serves to confuse them.
Among us, if

you mention anybody, the history is but





little varied—every one has been to sea; and among a

people whose names are hard to remember, and who



14 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

have died mostly in storm, in battle or on English
pr
gray



hips, history has much of repetition, In our

r the names of wives



Is the plain slabs be



re found s



and mothers, but + up over mer



they do not die at home in bed.

Like all families, we have our heroes; one of them



was my maternal grandfather, who had been the com-



panion of Sureouf; the other was my grand-uncle
Flohy. As soon as I was old enough to know what
was said around me I heard his name ten times a day ;

he was in the service of a king of India, who had



elephants; he commanded troops against the English ;

he had a sileer arm. Elephants and a silver arm!



surely this must bea fairy tale! A desire for adven-

tures was born in every Kalbi



this fecling impelled

my father to set ont on a new expedition a few ye



after his marriage. He might have commanded one

of those vessels which ev



'y springtime go to Tecland,



but he preferred the service of the state. Ido not
remember his departure. My first recollections are
of that time when I noticed days of tempest and
stormy nights, and was sent by my mother to the

post-office,





How many times have I found my mother praying

in the windy, blustering nights! For us a storm at



Port-Diew was a storm over all the world, and the

wind which whistled around our cottage seemed to us



ROMAIN KALBRIS. LL



to be shricking through my father’s sails. Sometimes



torm was so severe that it threatened to tear our
frail home to pieces, for our dwelling was that of poor

people; it was fortunate that one side



was sheltered by

und the other b kk which had once



saloon of a three-masted vessel which had



fallen a vi



im to equinoctial gales, One night in

October my mother aroused me ; the tempest was fear-



ful; the wind howled like demons; the house shook,



gusts entering the ill-fitting windows shook the feebl





flame of our ¢



ndle, and finally extinguished it. In



the lull of the wind we could hear the thunde





the surf against the rocks. Despite the upr
fell asleep din



as I knelt beside my distracted

mother ; suddenly the window was snatched from its



hinges, and flung into the room, broken into a hundred
fragments; it seemed to me that Twas caught up by
a whirlwind,

“Ah! Heaven help us!” cried my mother; “your
father is lost !”

My dear mother, like many fishermen’s wives, had a



faith in signs and presentiments. A letter which she
received from my father some months after that terri-
ble night rendered this belief even more fixed by a
trifling coincidenee—he had been in that same week
of October assailed by

The sleep of a sailor’s wife



v storm and in much danger.



isa sad sleep. To dream



16 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

of shipw



rk, to wait and watch for letters by the

mail, which perchance never come—between these two



agonics her life passes.



At the time of which I speak letters were not de-

livered as they are now ; for us they were distributed



at the grocery-store, and if any one failed to call for



his letters, they were presently sent him by some

passing school-boy.



The day when the mail-carricr arrived at Te

ilors

Neuve the grocery was crowded. AIL the



for codfish, and a stranger coming



were absent fishing



to the town would have thought himself in the island
Ariosto tells of from which men were excluded. Doz-
Their babes
Hed.

Some read their letters with bursts of laughter, others

ens of women pressed forward for news:



in thei were



rms, they waited until their names

wept. ‘Those who had no letters questioned every-
body who had received any. Among sailors the proy=
erb, “No news ix good news,” does not hold true,

There was one old woman who came every day for



us, and in all that time never received a letter,



six y

They called her © Mother Joan,” and people told how



adory manned by her husband and four sons had dis-

appeared ina squall without leaving a trace of men



rch mornit



or boat. Since that hour she came



the office, hoping to hear that, swept out to sea, her



ing ship.

dear ones had been picked up by a pe





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 17

There is nothing for you to-day,” the post



ster



would say, pityingly; “there will he to-morrow.”

“y,

to return next day.





, to-morrow,” she would answer, and: depar



People said her brain was astray. If that were
truc, and Mother Joan was foolish, T have never seen

sinc



a folly so sad and sweet as hers.

Nearly every time that I went to the office T found
the mail arrived. As the postmaster was also a shop-
keeper, he naturally attended first to those who wanted
salt or coffee, and thus gave us more time to wait.
Methodic:

profession, he delayed us yet longer by all. sort



and rigorous in the pursuit of his double
of

s grocer, he wore a blue apron and a





ceremonies.
paper cap; as postmaster-general of our town, he felt
bound to officiate clad in the glories of a cloth coat
and a velvet cocked hat. Nothing in the world could
have persuaded him to have dealt out mustard with
1

in his hands a letter on which the lives of ten men



the cocked hat on his head ; and knowing that he

depended, he would not haye handed it across the



counter when he was wearing his blue apron,



Each morning at the store “ Mother Joan”? recom-

menced her recital: “They w



fishers. A squall
came up suddenly, and they mast haye been obliged
to fly before it. They were unable to get to the ship

rE



ndships they flew past the Prudence without speak=



18 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

But you all know well that with a sailor



like my John there can be no danger. ‘They must



have been picked up by a large ship which will one
day bring them home, Did not Melanie’s boy return

so? They carried him clear to America. Ah! when



they get home, how tall my Jerome will have grown!



He was just fourteen, Fourteen and six—how many



is ti Ah! twenty! Twenty years! Why, he
will be a man!”

She died without believing them dead. A few
days before her death she gave our pastor thirty
dollars to give to her Jerome when he came home.
Despite her want and woe, she had saved this much,

token.



and left it for her love’s







CHAPTER II.

qc absence of my father was to have been of
°







Tt lasted for six. The
(OM comm
oe

1, but ship and crew



were kept upon the Pac

Twas ten y



rs old when he came home. Tt was:
on Sunday, just after church-time. Twas leaning by
the gy




te weigh anchor, when coming
up from the doc

I saw a Prench marine in his best
1



20 ROMAIN KALBRIS.





un



form. ‘The quay was the fayorite lounging-place

of many old salts who in all weathers and on all
els or box

days sat upon beams, barr



xes, watching the





sea and sailors, ‘They gathered together two hours
before high tide, and remained for two hours after the
tide ran out.

“Romain,” eried old Captain Houel to me, drop-



ping his spyglass, “see your father. Run to the quay



if you wish to meet him.”
T was willing to run, but Thad legs stout as a pair
When I rv

my father was besieged by a crowd of friends.



ached



of bee ks. It was hard wor



the qui

One begged him to stop for



cup of coffee ina water-
side cating-house, another eried to him to have a mug
of cider.

“To-morrow, to-morrow, friends,” he said. «L

must first see my wife and my baby.”



“Your baby? Ah, he! Behold your famous
baby!” and there Twas, sure enough, but grown be-



yond his knowledge.
During six years of travel my father had seen

many things, and Twas eager to hear his tales. In





appearance hasty and rough, he was at heart the most

genial and Jong-cnduring of men, and with unfailing



patience he told and retold the stories which best

pleased my infant im ion.




Among his 1 cs there was none so fascinating



ROMAIN KALBRIS, 21

and so often called for as the account of my uncle

John, During a stay at Calcutta my father had



heard mentioned ag

neral Flohy who was an
ambassador to the English governor from a native
en.

People said he was a marvellous man, He was a



sove



Frenchman who had entered as a volunteer the ser-
tle with the
English he had by a heroic action saved th
1. A’ bullet:
ed the lost hand



vice of the king of Berar. In a

» Indian





wmy. For this he



as made a ge

had destroyed his hand. He replace



by one of solid silver; and when he rode into the
capital of the king of Berar, holding with this hand

the reins of his horse, the Indian priests prostrated



themselves before him in adoration, saying that in the
holy books of Berar it was written that the kingdom
would attain its highest glory when its armies should
be led by a stranger from the West, who might be
recogniz

My father

was

ed by a silver hand.



ral Floh:



1s presented before G , and





received by him with open arms. During eight



days my uncle treated him like a prince, and wished
him to ren



in longer in Calcutta. The duties of a
marine are inexorable, and my father was foreed to
leave his relative.

This history produced a very lively effect on my

imagination. My uncle occupied all my thoughts.



22 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

T dreamed of clephants and palanquins. T saw cd



stantly two soldiers escorting him who wore a silver
hand. Until then T had had a certain admiration for
a Swiss soldicr who attended our church, but tales of
my uncle's two gorgeous slaves led me to despise a
man whose haiberd was plain iron and his hat glazed
leather,

My father rejoiced in my enthusiasm. My mother
endured it, for with maternal tenderness she dreaded
the effect such romances would produce upon me,

“Come, come,” she would remonstrate ; “you will
give him a taste for sea-going.”

“Never



dd; that will be no worse than my



own life, and) may tum ont as grandly: as



uncle's,”

Become like my uncle! My poor father little



knew what a fire his light words kindled.
It was necessary for my mother to resign herself to

the thou:



sailor, but in her inno-



rht of my becoming





cent love she wished to soften for me the rough be-
ginning of that hard life. She persuaded my father

to leaye the service of the state and obtain the cap-



tainey of a craft bound for Leeland, that I might serve



my seagoing apprenticeship under him,



By this means she hoped to keep us both at home



ng-vessels return home and



When the fi



ROMAIN KALBRIS, 23,

are laid up. But who can prevent the ordained com-
binations and misfortunes of human destiny—who

can arm a man against his allotted fate?







CHAPTER ITI

father rei



shed home in August. In the

month of September, usually the most del





ful se:



1 of the year, the weather |
S* tempestuous, We had a series of hard storms

in place of the ordin



ry succession of calms, On all

sides people spoke of shipwrecks, A. steamer had



been lost, crew and cargo, on the Blanchard shoals.

Many ships from Granville had disappes



people said that the Jersey coast was strewn with



ents of wreek, ‘The earth was covered: with
broken branches; green apples, blown trom the trees,

lay all over the ground. Many: tre



we



torn up

by the roots, and the leaves, swinging half broken on.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 25

the branches, faded as if seorched by the breath of

fire. All the world seemed to live in fear, for, alas!



it was the season for the home-coming of the ships:



from the Newfoundland fisheries.
Such weather continued for some three weeks.

Then one eveni



2 the fury of the storms seemed
T had

subsiding, but at tea-time my

suddenly to culminate over land and se:





believed the temp
vd him if we should



father laughed at me when I ash

go next day to examine some nets which had been

neglected since the beginning of the gales.
“To-morrow,” he said, “there will be furious gusts

from tl



> west. As



he sun is setting in of blood ;



there are too many stars in the sky; the ocean groans;
the land is hot, ‘To-morrow, boy, you will see more
than ever you say before.”

Thus,

nets, we

on the morrow, instead of going to look atter






t ourselves carly toc



‘y large stones to



pile upon our roof, ‘The west wind woke with the
dawn. ‘There was no sunshine, but the sky was a
dull gray, broken here and there with long lines of

1 looked



pale greenish light; and although the s

quiet, from afar there came a groaning sound like



low thunder, All at once my father, who was on
the roof, ceased his work. I climbed up beside him.
Far off on the horizon we could sec a white speck

against the sombre sky. It was a large ship.



26 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



y do not have a care, they will driye upon
their destruction,” said my father.

‘The fact is, that during a west wind it is impossible



to enter Port-Dieu safely.
A blaze of lightning for a second set the ship in

full view. Instantly we lost sight of ‘The clouds



gathered in black confusion. ‘They piled themselves



upon each other like mountains, and rolled under the



of smoke. Low

bla

whirling winds like fickle wreaths



down in’ the the lightning ed continual



Lu



fires,

Father and TE made haste to the village. Every one

v



s running to the quay, for already the news had



pread that a ship was nearing the coast, and was in
instant danger.

So swift had been the advance of the storm that



even now the whole



sea, ne



nd far, right and left,

was lashed to a foam, a mass of tossing snow. It r



mor



rapidly than usual into great waves, which with
their terrific roar nearly paralyzed the senses.
The clouds, 70 b

threatening, that they seemed to press with a tremen-



hed by the gale, wer 80
dous weight upon the shuddering sea.
The ship swept on, It was a brig, and was almost

bare of canvas.



e, she is running up signals of distress. She



belongs to the Brothers Leheu,” said Captain Houel.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 27

‘The Brothers Leheu were the richest traders in the
country.

“She wants a pilot!”

“Ah, y

‘There stood the pilot hin



, 2 pilot, but how can a pilot reach her?”



If, old Father Housard,
and he it was made this reply. No one made any

reply. All knew that he was right, and that to reach





the brig was impossible.

At the same moment we saw running from the vil-
lage the elder of the Leheu brothers. He had learned
that h

the corner than the wind,



s ship was



in danger. Seareely had he turned



ecping upon him, seat-
tered him in the street like a pack of cards, T speak
F and M.

Leheu went various ways. Panting, struggling, puff



without exaggeration: hat, cane and _kerchie



1 boat in the waves, he stood



ing, laboring, lik



he had made no effort to



amid the crowd at last



gain his hat, and every one could see that he was
in a state of fearful anxiety. He was one of those

men to whom pecunia



ry loss is the greatest possible

calamity.



He gaved at his brig; she had been built at Bayonne,



and was splendidly fitted out; this was her first voy
age, and she was not insured.
“'Pwonty cents a ton on hei



if you will bring her



in!” a



ied M. Leheu, catching Father Housard by the

arm.



28 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



“To bring her in makes it needful first to get

aboard of her,” was the answer.



‘The waves le:



yed high up aboye the pier; the wind



varried with it the foam of the water, sca-weeds, sand
from the shore, even tiles from the houses of the
coast-guard. ‘The clouds seemed to trail upon the
sea, their blackness making the white foam whiter
still.

When those on the brig saw that the pilot did not
set out, she turned half her length, trying to make a
tack while waiting.

Consider, now: to remain outside was sure ship-
wreek ; to run into the harbor without a pilot was
even more assured destruction.

M. Leheu did not cease to o



y, “Twenty cents a

ton—forty cents a ton!” He ran to and fro, and in

the same breath entreated and berated :

“Ah, you are all the same—ready to go to sea when
no one needs you, lying close at home if there is any
danger.”

Noone replied. ‘They only shook their heads silently.



This enraged him: “ Every one for himself. There



goes three hundred thousand francs to wreck. You

ae Be



a gang of thieves
My father stepped forward :
“Give me a boat; I will try and reach her.”

“ Kalbris, you are a brave man,”



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 29



“Tf Kalbris goes, I will go with him” said Father
Housard.

“Twenty cents a ton—that is what 1 promised you,”
said M. Leheu,

“Wold there!” said Father Housard; “1 do not

i But

widow asks you for
Dit?

« Kalbris,” cried Leheu, “I will adopt your son.”



risk if for money, but to save the * live

if L ne





r come back, and my





two cents next Sunday, don’t refias



“All right. Get us quickly Gossman’s boat.”
This hoa



was famous all along the coast for being
able to



arry sail in almost any weather. 1p was
called the Saint John.



“Twill let it go,” said Gossman, finding all eyes
fixed upon him, “but it is to Kalbris that I lend it,

thinking he will bring it home safely.”



My father took me in his arms. All were running



to the beach, where the Saint John was dr:



wn up high
and dry. A moment more, and the sail and rudder
were adjusted.

Besides my father and the pilot, a third man was
needed. One of our cousins offered himself; his
family remonstrated,

« Kalbris is going,” he said.

My fathel

a choked voice, “No or



in clasped me to his bosom, saying, in



nows what is now to hap-
pen. This embr



is for your mother.”



30 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

tumning out of port



ainst the wind was very dif.

ficult. They towed the boat along



fr as the piers

extended, but the mouth of the harbor was besieged



by great ves, and it seemed as if the Saint John





would never be able to live in them, — The lighthouse





keeper tied some small cables about hin nd while



the men strove to tow the Saint John down the chan-



nel, he lowered himself’ from the ps



‘apet and crept
for



rd to the extreme front of the pier, holding

fixed



with his hands to the iron railing which w







there. Ie did not expect by single strength to do the
work that five strong men failed to accomplish, but
only—and it was hard work—to pass the moving cable

through the bron



pulley-block, which is in. the



extremity of the pier, in such a manner that the boat
could not be dr:



cl back by the y



ves as soon as

the hold of the men on the tow



ropes relaxed. ‘Three
times he was covered with great waves, but he was



used to these watery avalanche



and, stubbornly
The Saint
John now began to make progress, but plunged so





resisting them, was able to fasten the rope.





deeply in the troughs of the sea that it seemed as if it
must fill and sink. But the cable held well, and at

last its work was done. The Saint John east it off, and



shed forward to the open sea. I leaped upon the
highest post of the pier



and clasped so closely with
arms and knees the mast set up for the signal lights











ROMAIN KALBRIS. 33,

that I could not be shaken down, ‘This mast swayed
and creaked as if it were yet a living tree balancing
itself on its own roots in its native forest.

I saw my father at the helm; near him the two men

braced themselves up, with shoulders to the wind.



The Saint John advanced by jumps. One instant it
seemed to hang suspended, then it leaped like a wild

horse across the crest of the next wave. It was con-



stantly disappearing in clouds of sp



The brig, as soon as it came in view, changed its
course and held tow:



rd the lighthouse. The Saint





John also altered its bearing and made for the ship, so
that after some minutes they came near together. The



boat passed under the bows of the big ship,and soon
swung around her as if on a pivot; the two were then
made fast to each other.

“The tow-line will not hold,” cried some one, “and

they will never be able to board the brig.”



This looked reasonable. How could the two get.
enough for Father Hou



‘d to get on the grea





Hither the boat would be mashed like an eg;



the pilot would drop into the sea.

Held together by ropes, lifted on the same huge wave,



the ship and the boat shivered near each other; when

‘ould the decks had been



the bowsprit plunged, y

swept clear, and no one



able to stand upon them.
Leap now! leap!” yelled M. Leheu,





34 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

‘Three times did Father Housard essay to spring, but
js asunder.



on the second the waves swept the two v



hed toward the Saint John, and as
1 y

his leap, and was clinging in the ship’

Finally the brig lun



the cloud of spray fe



aw that the pilot had made
hrouds.



‘The wind seemed to increase in fury, despising all



obstacles ; there were no lulls,no moment for breath;



the waves piled one upon the other in mountai



S.

The brig ran wildly before the tempest, carrying only
sail enough to direct it. As the ship rolled in the deep
troughs we could sce only the torn fragments of sail



high up on the masts;



finally, as it rose on a wave, we




perceived that its topsail had been torn off,and that it
seareely obeyed the helm, A simultaneous ery broke
from every mouth. ‘The Saint John, upon which my

father and cousin remained, followed the brig at a



little distance, fearful of going too near that tossing

ma



, which was now only two or three hundred rods
from the mouth of the harbor. ‘The boat did well until
a foremast was torn from the brig, which, lurching,
fell

of the large vessel ¢



across the boat’s path, and at once the huge mass



nd the fr
which held so much of our hopes.
‘Dwo minutes after the brig gained the channel.

Tt was the boat which [ followed with my



saw nothing else. Driven from its true route by the

motions of the ship, it missed the entrance and drove







OF A MIGHTY WAVE.







ROMAIN KALBRIS. 37

toward a

ordinarily in times of storm there was pretty good



nall cove to the right of the harbor, where

refuge.



But on this unhappy day, here as everywhere clse,

the sea was in furious commotion ; it seemed an abso-



lute impossibility to gain shore in the tecth of the wind ;

the sail was rent away, and the anchor dragged at on



and would not hold, and the frail boat presented its



broadside to the full force of huge waves which flung
themselves upon it from a prodigious height.

Again they strove toanchor. Between them and the



shore was a line of rocks which in half an hour more



would be covered by the rising tide, and give them a
last chance of gaining land. Would that anchor hold?
Would not the ropes break. One phinge on those
jagged rocks, and the little Saint John would be for
ever lost. Twas only a child, but I knew enough of
the sea to comprehend the full meaning and importance
of this last attempt.

Around me I heard dozens



asking questions of each
other. We had left the pier and run along the shore,

where we pressed closely together to resist the force of



the wind.
One said, “ Kalbris
“Ah, yes! but who could swim in that seething whirl-
pool?”
“Tf the Saint John rides at anchor, they are saf



is a stout swimm







38 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

if she breaks loose, she will go to pieces in two min-

utes.”



A mere plank herself, the little Saint John rode amid



a mass of débris of broken boards, sea-weeds, pebbles



boiled up from the bottom, surf and foam. As the



waves struck the rocks they were flung back with



fearful din, and piled up one upon the other.
While I stood breathless, my eyes on the Saint John,
J felt my

poor mother, who had run to me, having scen all the




trouble from our little cottage on the clill. Close by

usstood Captain Houel and some others. ‘They spok



kindly, seeking to cheer us. My mother stood silently





azing with wide-open, t
All at onc

“The anchor has broken loose!”



wild ery rose up to heaven :



My mother fell upon her knees, drawing me down
with her.
When L looked up, I saw the Saint John borne on the

crest of a mighty waves cu



ied by it like a feather on

s summit, she passed the barrier of rocks, but the wave



broke, the boat fell forward, turning over, and T saw



nothing more but a wh



Jing, seething mass of foam.
Two d
terribly

body of my cousin neyer came ashore.



after they found the body of my father,

mutilated, drifted among the rocks. ‘The









CHAPTER IV.

OR six years the place of my father had been
empty at our table, but our home had never




seemed so deso! so miserable, as it did the





8) sad morning which followed this catastrophe.

His death did not absolutely make us beggars, for

we had our cot and a little plot of land, but my





mother was compelled to work for our daily bread.

She had once been the best laundress in all the



country; and as the white bonnet, the common head-
gear of Port-Dicu, hus frequently to be ironed and
peculiarly polished in fine style, she went back to her
old business.

The Brothers Leheu came to our aid in this

fashion: ‘
4 20



40 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“My brotha

Mondays,” said the elder to my mother, “ An assured



and Twill engage you on alternate



day for work once a week is something worth having ;”



and that was all, Tt was a cheap manner of paying
for the life of a man.
‘A working day in those days lasted from sunrise

to sunset. I had then cach day, before and after



hool-time, several hours, when my mother was



absent, and I was left at liberty to please myself,
My chief delight

upon the sea-beach, according as the tide y



to stroll along the pier or

low or



high.

Tt was useless for my poor mother to try to keep
me in the narrow limits of our yard. I had always
many reasons which to. my idea fully justified my
escape. Indeed, few were the days when I did not
play truant, cither because the Newfoundland ships
were coming in, or because there was a marvellous
high tide or a glorious storm.

One day when there had been a spring-tide I ran
away from school, and made an acquaintance which
had a marked influence on my character and decided
my whole after life.

Tt was at the
Friday in retreating had laid bare a long ridge of
On

Friday morning, in place of going to school, I clam-



end of September, and the tide on



rocks which had not been seen for some yea



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 41



bered down the cliff, and while waiting for the tide to

run out Tate my Iuncheon, I had only two hours to



The s

turned one instant from the rock, it vanished in the



rose like an inundation ; and if the eye

flooding waters before there was time to look again,
drowned in the tide, which rose with a swiftness so
noiseless that it seemed rather that the rock had
melted away than that the sea had swelled over it.




There was no tumble of waves, nothing but a narrow
line of foam between the blue sea and yellow sand,
while far off on the horizon sight was lost in a gray
distance. One could sce farther off than ordinarily.
On the one side was the Cape Vauchel, on the other

the steep promontory of Aval. ‘These



ald only be
seen in remarkably clear weather.
‘The tide remained at its height what seemed to my

impatience a long while, but at last began to ebb with



the same swiftness with which it had flowed. I fol-

lowed the retiring waves. I had hidden my shoes



and my satchel in a cleft of the rock, and I trod bare-
footed along the sands, where every footprint at once

filled with water. Our shores are generally sandy,



but one finds rocks here and the



» which the greedy
sea has not been able to gnaw away. Among these
shoals little black Jakes form at low tide. 1 was

wa



ding in one of these lakes, hunting for lobsters



42 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

under the sea-weeds, when I heard some one hail me,

Those who are doing wrong are never brave. I was



terrified for a moment; but raising my eyes, I saw that

I had nothing to fear. The person who called me



was not sent from the schoolhouse, but was an old

gentleman with a white beard whom in our vill



we had nicknamed Mr. Sunday, because he had a



vant whom he called Saturday.



In fact, the gentleman was named M, de Bihorel,
and he lived on a little island fifteen minutes’ row
from Port-Dieu. Once upon a time this island had
been the end of a tongue of land, but it had been eut

off from the granite of the isthmus, and so transformed



to a true isle of ocean, being at high tide only access
ible by boat from any side.
M. de Biho

eccentric of men for forty miles around. He



1 had the reputation of being the



most.



owed this reputation to an immense umbrella which

he alw carried open over his head, the absolute



solitude in which he lived, and a mingling of harsh-
ness and benevolence in his bearing to his neighbors.

“Ha, little one!” he cried. “What are you doing



there
“You see yourself, sir, I am catching lobsters.”

“Very well. Let your lobsters alone, and come



with me, You can carry my wallet. Hurry, now,

and you will never repent it.”



ROMAIN KALBR



I did not answer, but my looks spoke for me.



“Ho, ho! you don’t want to?”
« Beeause—beeanse—”
“There, now! never mind telling your reasons.
What is your name?”
Romain Kalbris.”
“You are the son of that Kalbris who perished in
2

an attempé to save a brig last year? Your father was

worthy of being called a man.”



T was proud of my dear father, and these words
caused me to look less erossly at M. de Bihorel

Yon are eleven years old,” he said, taking me by
the hand, “To-day is Friday, and you have run
away from school.”

I looked down, blushing,

“You have played truant,” he said. “Tt is not
hard to guess that. Now, Tam going to tell you why.
Do not tremble, you little simpleton, Tam not a
wizard. Come, now, look me in the eyes. Did you
come out here to fish 2”

eV

The Dog’s Head is x vock which is rarely uncovered.

sir, and to see the Dog’s Head.”



“Well, well, Falso am going to see the Dog’s Head.

Pick up my wallet, my son, and come with me.”



I followed him without utte



we a sound, T was



so,
ashamed that he had found out my wrong-doing so

st



Although T knew him well, this was the é
oe





44 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



time that I had spoken to him, and Twas unaware that



his pleasure was to search out the sec



ot springs of ac
tion in those whom he met. Much aeuteness and ready

sympathy, with a long



perience, made him generally



correct in his estimates; and as he feared nobody, he



spoke out his sc
ngry.

Well, although I had little wish to speak, it became

timents, whatever they were, either



kindly or



necdfiul for me to do so, at least to reply to the ques-

tions which he did not fail to ask me.





Before a quarter of an hour was past I trotted along
by his side, telling him all that I knew about myself,
my mother, my father, all my family, and not failing

to relate all my romances about my uncle in India.



In this part of my tale he seemed especially interested.



“Curious,” said he, “this tin



less spirit of adventure.
Norman blood, mingled with the old Pheenician,



whenee are they called Calbris or Kalbris



This inquiry



1 general one, which he did not

expoct_me to answer; and now he began to pause to





examine tl nd over which he v



Iked, and to gather
from time to time shells and plants and sea-weeds,
which he bade me put in his wallet.
“What do
Nearly alw:

ou call that?” he said to everything.



ys IT remained mute, because T did not



know what to reply; though I knew the shell



and herbs



well, I did not know th



names,





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 4

“You ar

patiently ; “for you as for others the sea is only good to

a true child of your country,” he said, im-



pillage and ravage, and is an eternal foc against which

rsce that it isa boun-



toarm yourselves, Will you ney
tifal mother and nurse as well asthe land? ‘The sea has

ns, and these forests are



forests and plains and mour



n

peopled with animals as well as those of the earth; «
you never speak of this infinite horizon, these depths,
these waves, except in connection with storm and ship-
wreek ?”

He spoke vehemently, so that T was stupefied, being

but a child; and now T record rather the impression





of his words than the words themselves. Perhaps I
have illy remembered what 1 so little comprehended,
ile
that time, that J seem to sce the old man, sheltered by

jon haunts me of



but even yet such a liv





s umbrella, extending one arm to the high sea,

chaining my eyes to his own.



“Cone here,” he said, showing me a crack in the



rock from which the water had not withdrawn—* come

let me teach you a little of what is in the sea; what is
this?”

He pointed my finger toward a kind of little yellow



the top by a yellow corolla, bordered: by scallops and

raffles which were black and whit



“Tsitaplint? Tsitananimal? You know noth-



46 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



ing about it? Ab, well, it is an animal. If you have



time to stay here, you will perhaps see it loosen itself,
and you know that flowers are unable to walk off as
they choose. Mark it clea

thi



you are about to see

el



pparent flower lengthen itself, contract itself, bal-



ance itself like a ballet-dancer. Wise men call it a sea

anemone. But that you may be convinced that it is



an animal, watch it eatch a shrimp; you know that
flowers cannot cat.”
Saying this, he took a shrimp and threw it into the



corolla of the anemone; the seeming blossom closed,



and the shrimp was swallowed.



In a hollow full of water I caught a little ray-t
It had hidden in the sand, but its brown and white
spots betrayed it. I took it to M. de Bihorel.

“You have found that ray,” he s



id to me, “because

it has spots, and what has shown it to you makes



it known also to voracious fish who eat it. At the
bottom of the sea goes on a constant war, in which

rybody else, as



sometimes happens
These

swim badly, and would not fail to be exter-

everybody kills eve





ashore. ‘They fight for glory and for pleasure.



poor



minated if nature had not made provision for them.
ilof thi

and darts, therefore it cannot be attacked from be-



Look at the reature; it is armed with thorns

hind; its cnemies dare only approach before its coat



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 47

of armor, ‘There is in nature a Jaw of universal equi-
librium, or compensation ; you may to-day begin to
cateh



a glimpse of it; you will apprehend it better as



you grow older.”
Twas astounded, Can I express what an effect this

n produced upon a naturally inquisitive



object I



child, who never before had found any one able to
answer his innumerable questions? The fear whi



had until now closed my lips



immediately dis
pated.

Following always the retreating sea, we reached at
last the Dog’s Head. How long we rested there I
know not. I had lost all consciousness of time. I
ran from rock to rock, and I carried to M. de Bihorel
the shells and plants which T for the first time appre-

ciated. I filled my pockets with a store of treasures



which appeared to me very curious when I found



them, but which T soon cast out in favor of othei
which had the incontestable advantage of being
new.

the
It had vanished in a light fog. ‘The

Suddenly lifting my eyes, I could no longer s



sand-beach.



sky was a uniform pale gray. ‘The sea was so calm
that we could scarcely hear it washing about us.



Had I been alone, I would have hastened homeward,
for I know how difficult it becomes in time of fog

to find one’s way along the coast, but M. de Bihorel



48 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

said nothing, and I was too bashful to propose a
return.
Meanwhile, the fog, which enveloped us on all

lik

sides, drew clo



cloud of smoke mounting





from carth to s!
“Ah, ah! se aid M. de Bihorel. “Tf

we do not wish to play Hide and

the fog,”





eck in right
good carnest, we had better go back. Pick up my
wallet.”

But at that instant the fog touched us,



sped us

could see



closely, shut us in, and on all sides w



nothing, neither the sea nor five steps before us. We
were lost in a gray obseurity.
“The

disturbing himself, “We have only to walk



ais this way,” said M. de Bihorel, without



raight
before us.”
To walk straight forward on the sand, with noth-

ing to guide one, no sound, no sight, no trace of your



own steps to show which way you came, no uneyen-



ness to tell whether you go up or down, this is ve



ly
to play most seriously the game of “the green earpet

of Versailles,” in which one has his eyes blindfolde«





and is bidden to go, without deviating one step, from
the Garden of Latona to the Fountain of Apollo.
We, on the soundless sand, had this additional aggra-
vation of our trouble, that we were more than a mile

from the cliffs and high-water mark.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 49

We had not walked ten minutes before we stum-
bled upon a pile of rocks which I recognized.

“These are the Green Roel

“This is the Chicl

“No, sir,’ I per
Rocks.”

He gave me a little tap on the cheek.

“Why, what a wise little noddle you have!” he
said.

If these were the Green Rocks, we should turn to
the



r,” I said.




’s Head,” said my old friend.



isted, “these are the Green



ight in order to get to the village of Port-Dieu ;
but if they were the Chicken’s Head, we should turn
to the left, or we would have our ba¢
home.

toward



In fall day nothing is easier than to distinguish



between these two rocks, Even at night, if the moon-

light shone clearly, I could easily have re



them, but in the fog we could see rocks draped in



weed, and that was all,

“Hark,” said my friend, “the noise of the shore
will guide us.”

We listened, but heard nothing, not even the
ripple of the waves. There seemed to be no breath
We were as if buried in a bale
id. blinded

of wind on the sea.





ened our ear



of white cotton, which d



our ey
“Tt is the Chic



's Head,” said M. de Bihorel.



50 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



I dared contradict no longer, and turning fol-
to the left.

1d,” said he, in a soft



lowed my guide, taking the cours



“Come near to me, my



voice. “Give me your hand. Let us not lose each
other. So, now; we keep step.”

We hastened along for some ten minutes, then I
felt his hand clasp mine closely. We heard a faint
roaring of surf.

“You were right,” he said. “Those were the
Green Roel
Let us return.”



We should have gone to the right.

Return where? How should we guide our way?

We knew where was the sea, because we heard the



waves break softly, but on every hand we heard no
other sound, and we could not tell when we turned in

which direction to go. ‘The fog constantly thickened,



and now to the mist was added the natural obscurity
of evening. We could not trace our own footprints,
and only with the greatest difficulty could M. de
Bihorel tell the time by his watch. It was



o'clock, and now the tide was beginning to come in.
A high tide!
“Tt is needful for us to hurry,” he said. “If the



tide overtakes us, we shall fare badly. What a pity

ven-league boots !



that you and I do not wear s
He spoke cheerfully, for the trembling of my hand

told him that I was afraid.





ROMAIN KALBRIS, al

“Fear not, my child,” he said ; “ presently the wind

will blow from the land and scatter this fog. Besides,



we shall soon see the lighthouse, which wili_ presently
be lit.”

His words gave me no comfort. I knew very well
that we would not be able to see the blaze of the light-
house, For the next ten minutes I thought of three
women who the preceding year had been surprised
on the sands by a thick fog, and had been drowned.
‘Their bodies had heen found eight days after, and 1

saw them now before my eyes, all white and stiff in



their poor dripping rags. Although I desired to



restrain myself, [ began to ery.
Without any vexation M. de Bihorel tried to calm

me by kind words.



“Call aloud,” he said; “if there ard



is a const-g



pacing the cliff, he will hear us and answer.”

We both shouted—he with a tremendous voice, I
with a voice broken by my sobs. No answer came,
not even anecho, That mournful silence filled me
cemed to me that T was buried



with a great fear, Tt
at the bottom of the sea.

Come on,” he





aid; “can you walk briskly 2”

He took me by the hand, and we walked we knew
not where. By the words which he addressed to me
from time to time IT knew that he was anxious, and

had no confidence in his own encouraging suggestions,
5



w

ROMAIN KALBRIS,



Aft

all at once, and 1 flung mys



along half hour of travel despair seized me

-If upon the sand,



“Teave me, sir, leave me to die; T hinder you,” T
cried with loud sobs.
“ Porward cheerily,” he eried ; “we have seen enough

now. Do you wish to add to the water by floods of



tears? What will your mother do if you die? Up

now for her sak:



His words were useless; entirely overcome, T re-



mained without power to move. Then I broke into

ac



Sina
“What is it my child 2”

“Phere, there | stoop down her



“Do you want me to carry you, my poor little



“No, sir; take my hand, do.”
He gave me his hand, and T pressed it into the

beach beside mine.
“Well, what now?

“Don’t you kno





sir Feel the water.”



Our shores are for



ed of very fine sand, deep and
at low tide thi



spongy and is fall like a sponge,



and the water percolates it in a million invisible
streams, which follow the slope of the beach toward
the sea. It was upon one of these threads of water

that T laid my hand.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 53

“Oh, sir, the sea is that w



”” T said, reaching out
my arm in the direction of the running water. At
the same time I rose up, hope lending me new strength,
M. de Bihorel did not need to drag me forward.

I pressed _forw:



rd, cach moment bending to press





my finger into the sand to feel the course of the water,



by which I guided our way.
“You are a brave boy,” said my friend ; “without

your energy and knowledge we should surely have



heen lost.” Not five minutes after he had thus ey





pressed his anxieties it seemed to me that I felt no

more wat!



We went on some steps; then I put my
nd.

“There is no more water,” I said.



hand on the dry

He stooped and felt about with both hands; only
damp sand clung to our fingers. At the same instant
we heard a low roaring. He listened :

“Lad, you deceive yours



If; we are going to the
seal”?
“No, sir, I

went toward the sea the sand would be wetter and



sure you. Don’t you know that if we

wetter 2”

He said nothing, lifted himself up, and we stood



undecided, lost a second time, He took out his



ch; it was too dark to sce the hands, but he felt
them, and it was a quarter before seven. The tide

had been rising for an hour,



D4 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“Sir,” T said, “you see we are getting near the

shore.” As if to confirm my words, we heard behind



y that is befor



gul us,” he said.
“1 think so, sir”

These shores, because they are formed of a shifting



sand, are not entirely level. They form here and
there little hills, separated from each other by little

Although to the eye the whole stretch of



valley
beach looks even, and the differences of level are very
slight, they are indicated by the water; so much that
the tide r
while the hill

on all sides by the swelling flood, which separates



s in the little depressions and fills them,



wks vemain dry like islands, laved



them like small



rivers. We were facing one of the

rivers. Was it deep? All our future lay in this



“We must cross over this gully,” said M. de Biho-

rel; “take my hand.”



nd as T hesitated, he continued : “Which do you



r most, wetting your feet or your head? As for



me, I choose the fect. ‘There is now no
ill”

“Oh, but, sir, when we get into that water, we shall

anger like



standing

ha

to get out?”

ve lost our way, and how ean we tell on which side





5

ROMAIN



CALBRIS.

“But, boy, do you mean to stay here and be over-



taken by the s



», sir, But do you pass over first. 1 will stay



here and shout to you, and you will go straight before
my voice, When you are on the other side, call, and
I will come to you.”

“Go first, my child.”

«No, sir

“My brave child!” He ¢

if 1 had been his son. His tenderness



Tam a better swimmer than you are.”



ned me in his arms as





cheered my
heart. There was no time to lose. ‘The sea made
swift progress. Each second we heard it more plainly
washing in. He entered the water, and I began to

shout.



“Do not scream,”



id M. de Bihorel. “Do you

not know a song? — It is better to sing if you ¢



«Yes, siry” and T began to sing:

“Phere was a man in an land,



People ealled him Hammer-hand ;

His eyes like an owl's, his hair like wool,

With silver and gold his pockets were full.
‘Dra, Ja, Ja, Ja, tri Lilla?



T stopped a minute

& Ave you on your fe



“Yes, child; and I think the water gets shallower.

Sing on.”





56 ROMAIN KALBRIS,



“ THis lips were always as red as a beet,





He never was hungry when he had enough to eat.



His mouth was too small, for, as it appe:



Tt had to stop when it touched his ears,
‘Dra, Ia, la, la, tri fillah ??



T was going on with the third verse of this jolly
ditty, when M. de Bihorel cried, “‘Take your turn.
Th

began singing a song without words sad as a wail

water does not reach my knees, Come ;” and he



for the dead.

T entered the water, but being much shorter than
the old gentleman, I was soon beyond my depth.
‘That was nothing to me, for [ could swim like a fish.
The only trouble was that T had difficulty in direct-
ing my course aright, and it took me full a quarter of
an hour to reach him.

At last we were together again, and we made no
delay to get beyond the water upon the sand. He

stion which showed how



ve a deep sigh of satisfi



intense had been his anxiety.
He tri
uke a pinch, You have earned it,” he said; but



dd to jest. He held out his snuff-hox,



in dipping his fingers into the box he found it wet.



“My snuff from Paris, and my wateh which never



to keep time, are all fall of water, What will
my man Saturday say to that?”

T made no repl: T was wondering if all dan













59

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 59

were passed. Indeed, it was not. Before us lay
more road to be traversed than we had yet aceom-

plished. We were surrounded by the same danger



and we had the same difficulties in directing our steps





‘The fog seemed ever to thicken; and although we
seemed to be pressing toward the eliff, we could hear
no sounds from which we could decide in what direc-

tion the land lay. We heard no lowing of cattle, no



orman





rack of carter’s whip, no creaking of the



wagons—nothing, Before us was a profound still
ness; behind, the ominous roar of the ocean.

Still the tide rose h



‘That was our on





guide now, but one most dangerous and deceitful.

Tf we advanced too rapidly, we lost the



und ; if we
tarried, the water might swallow us up before we
could reach high ground or the steepness of the beach

should check its rate of ri





We recommenced, then, to wall hand in hand.
Often did T bend to feel the sand, but could perceive
no water init. We were upon a sort of hillock cut
up by hollows in which the water remained stagnant.

1 itself out in little sti



or spr ams, ‘The hope which

had animated me when we had successfully passed



the gully died away. ‘Then we both stopped at the
The
trokes penetrated the thick fog. After an in-

same moment. We had heard a clock strik





dl

terval of two or three seconds we heard another cloe





60 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and then a third. They were the church-clocks of
Port-Dicu. We had only to press forward in the
safe. With-

ccord we be



direction whence they came, and we were





out saying anything, with one :



n to



run,
“Hasten,” said M. de Bihorel. “The bells are

ringing for evening s



, but they only ring a short
time, ‘Phey really ought to ring longer.”

On we ran, not taking time to breathe, fearful of



lo:



ng one of those precious directing sounds. We
did not speak to cach other, but I knew well that if
we could not reach the high shores and a path before
the bells ceased ringing, we should only have been
saved for a few moments, to be lost again,

They ceased. We were yet far out upon the sands.
P
might take us to them. But in which dir

ps the cliffs were rods w



perhaps a step



jon



should that step be taken? We could only feel that



safety was yet far off, and that we were still in immi-



nent danger,





Stay,” said M. de Bihorel; “do not let us take
another step at a venture, Heel the sand, my boy.”

I felt it. I buried both hands in it. It was quite
dry.

“Taye you counted how many gullies we have
passed 2”

«No, s





ROMAIN KALBRIS, 61

Ain to,



“Phen you do not know whether any yet ren



be crossed. If we have got by all, we have only to
wait. When the sea reaches us we will walk on be-

fore it.”



“Yes, But if all are not passed ?”
He made no repl

that

for he only could have said in



what I alre



ly know—that if there were



another gully between us and the solid earth, while we

tarried the sca would silently fill it, and we could only



pass it by swimming, haying thus the danger of being
dragged down by the current, hurled maybe against
the rocks, unable to direct our course and hopeless of
ty.

We had a moment of terrible anxiety, remaining





on that dry sand knoll, not daring to decide whether

to moye or to stand still, to tum backward, forwa





right or let we did not move we knew



So long
that our faces were landward, looking where the bell-
strokes had come to us. As soon as we took a step

we could not tell but that we stepped away from our



desired haven. Oh, the agony of such uncertainty !
Our sole hope was that a puff of wind might litt

We

could expect no sound to guide us. We thought we



the veiling fog and show us the lighthow

were south of the village, opposite a deserted cliff,



where at almose any hour there would be no sounds

of life. The fog was so thick, so compact, so cold, so





OMAIN KALBRIS.

still, that to believe



would suddenly lift or break

was to believe we should see a miracle.



The miracle came to us. What do you think?

Once more the bells broke forth, now ringing for a



baptism, and in Normandy they baptize in churches,





and ring the joy-bells for half an hour if parents
are rich enough to pay the ringers.

Oh, jo

bound coast, the dry, green, happy land. We trod

In ten minutes we had reached the rock-



upon the tongue of rocks which ran out toward M.
de Bihorel’s island, In very deed we were safe. My
old friend ask



1 me to go home with him. We were
Hi

sure my poor mother was home from her long day’s



hungry, cold, wea house was near, but I felt



toil, and I did not wish to give her time to be terri-
fied on my account.
“Go, then, and tell your mother that T shall call on

her to-morrow evening.”



Twas sorry he meant to pay a visit which should

make known to my mother all the dangers I had



meant to conceal, but dared not say so.
Strangely cnough, my mother had not yet got
home. Presently she came in. By that time I had

lit the fir



and. put on dry clothing. I gaye her M.
de Bihorel’s message.

The next evening, as he had promised, he came, I



trembled when Th



d his step. I had hoped I



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 63,



should es



wpe having my truant-day and my. peril
discussed.

“ Has that boy told you what happened to him and
to me yestet



lay 2” he asked.



“No, sir,” replied my mother



© Very well, ma’am. He
all day.”

My poor mother regarded me with sorrowful un-

1 ay



ay from school for



sin ieving that she was about to hh



terrible accusation against me.
Ah, Romain!” said she, sadly.

“Do not gro:



1 over it,” interrupted M. de Bihorel

“for it was providentially made the means of saving



my life. ‘There, my lad! you need not tremble, You
behaved like a braye child, Madame Kalbris, you
have reason to be proud of him.”

He then related how he had found me at play, and



how we had both been caught in the fog.
“You sce,” he continued, “that without him I

would have been lost. Is not that plain, my dear



madame? In the morning I despised his ignorance

because he did not know the right name for the sea



weed; but when danger came, my science helped me
very little, and I leaned on the instinet of the child.
But for him crabs, lobsters and crayfish would now
be studying my anatomy.

it.

I am in debt to your son,





and now I must pay
a





64 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

My mother shook her head.

Do not be alarmed,” he said. “1 do not propose
anything which will hurt your feclings or be bencath
the service which I have received. I pereeive that

your child is ew



ious to see and to know. Let me

ion. [ have no childre:



take charge of his educs , but
I love them dearly, He will not be unhappy with
me, I am sure.”

My mother was overwhelmed with th

t it,



greatness of
this proposition, but she did not ac
“Stay,” said M. de Bihorel, holdin;

to her



out his hand





. “T know you are about to refuse me. You

love this child ardently. You love him for himself



and for the father he has lost.



He is your all, and
yon wish to keep him, Is not this true? Now, I
shall show you why, nevertheless, you should let me
have him, He has a fine mind which deserves to
be cultivated, Here in this village such cultivation



impossible, and without meddling with



our affai



it is impossible for you to send him away from home
to school. Let me add that a child of his venture
some and independent character needs governing and
watching. ‘Think of that. Do not answer me hastily:
Reflect on this subject when the first emotions of

ernal heart have



almed. I will come to-



your mi





1 he went out, we sat down to supper, but my



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 65



mother could not eat. She looked anxiously at me.

‘Thea, when her eyes met mine, she turned and looked



at the fire.
When I said good-night before going to bed, I felt
Why

‘as she not proud of me?

her tears falling on my check did those te
flow? Wi

tressed at what M. de Bihorel had told her?





Lis-
Was

ng at thought of our sep-

ssh







she grieving and ¢





ion?
Thad not thought before of parting from her, and
now the idea distressed me sorely.

“Do not cry, dear mother,” I said, hugging her

with a boy



rough fondness; “T shall never go away
from you.”

Ah, my child,” she replied, «I alr pe that it
right. I shall





is better for you. M. de Bihorel i:



ept his offer. I do so because T love you, my
precious child.”







CHAPTER V.




»ption at the house of M. de Bihorel fally
justified his wid



spread reputation for origin-



os * ality. When I reached his place, I fond him
“9° sta

me from afar, he had come to meet me,

nding at the house



door; for having seen



“Come here,” he said, without gi

Jook about.“ Hav



ing me time to



you ever written a letter? No?

Ah, well, you may now write one to your mother to



that you have reached here safe



y, and that Satur-



y will go to-day to buy you some clothing. By
that letter T shall find out how much you know.

Come in and sit down by my desk.”



He took me into a grand library full of boo
66



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 67

pointed me to a table on which lay paper, pens and

inkstands, and then left me alone. [ would much



have preferred ¢ busi-



ing to writing, for that bri



manner chilled me to the heart. After a few



nes





minutes of emotion I conquered my
The

ink on my paper, for 1 felt already home-

grief and set my-



self to ob



et is that 1 put quite as much



salt water 2



sick, and could think of nothing to say but “ Dea



mother, | have got here, Saturday is going to buy



me some clothes.” It was short enough, but it was

qnite impossible for me to put down another word.



T was about a half an hour in this wretched frame of

mind, and 1 do not know how much longer it would

have lasted had not my attention been interrupted 1



the following conversation, spoken in loud tones in

nt



the next room by M.de Bihorel and his s
Saturday.

“So, then,” growled Saturday, “this youngster has
got here.”



“Why, did you think he would not come
“T did not think he would upset the whole house

by getting here.”



“Tn what way, Saturday 2”

You, my master, br



Kfast about noon—I take my

bite early in the morning; shall this youngster wait



until midday to eat with you, or will he get a mouth-

ful with me about sunrise ?”



68 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and mouthfuls !”



onsense about your bites

«Bless me, s



T know what I am talking about.

T have never been a child’s nurse.”



“You have been a child, have you not? Re-



member your own experience. Come, now, take



your orders. ‘Treat this boy as you treated your-
self’; that will do very well, won't it, ch, ch, eh, Sat-



«No, sir, nothing of the kind, in your house. I



was a poor chap, and was brought up rough and hard.
If you want him raised in that style, you had better

better



m home again; there he will stand



send h
chance, My master, do not forget that you owe that
td

and his home.”



little fellow a gre I, having taken him from his

mother



“Don’t forget it yourself, Saturday, and act accord-
ingly.”

“Then I mean in the first place to give him sugar
in his bread and milk.”

“Saturday

at his age, or rather you must ask him what he like

you must give him whatever you liked





and then let him have it.”

“Tf you manage in that way, we will have jolly



times,” said the n
« Satun

ing «



nt, chuckling.



An-se1



do. you know what com

s of helping





and t



of young childreu

Saturday hesitated a moment, and replied :



ROMAIN KALBRL



A deal of broken crockery comes of it,and a hor-
rible waste of good provisions.”

“God sends us yet something else, my man, In



them he freshons our hearts, and gives us back the
childhood we have lost. He reunites us to the past,
and lets us have for a reality a vanished and beloved
dream.”

Hardly had he finished these words when he stood
before me in the library, taking up my wonderful

effort at letter-writing.



You know nothing at all,” he said, having looked



at my queer seribble, “So much the better; 1 will
not have the trouble of unlearning you a pack of
folly. Run off now, and play.”

That ishand was a queer place, From its shape it
was called the “Granite Glove,” and I haye never
seen anything like it, From the shore the isle pre-

sented the appearance of an elongated triangle, of



which the base was turned shoreward, and only sepa



rated from the main land by an arm of the sea some
four hundred feet wide. On this side all the slope was
covered with luxurious vegetation, herbs, trees and

blooming vines, which seemed to thrive in crevices of



the hard granite, which pierced in sharp needle-like

ks among them. On the seaward side all was bare,




i, pecled by the winds and scorched by salt

y and burning sunshine reflected from the shining





70 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

waters. The house was built on the vi



highest







point of this island, on the right side, where the ridges

united to form



little plateau; and in virtue of its



position it commanded a circular view, which em=

braced the sea and the land, looking to the hori



on on

cither side. Tt was also posed to the violence of





the wind from every quarter, and was the espe
mark of the fury of the storms, But neither winds,
nor swirling rains, nor thundering seas, prevailed
against this stone-built and rock-founded dwelling.

It had been ereeted a century before, in times of



with England, and had been fashioned to withstand
the brunt of battle. It was to have been the castle

ofa



rong coast-guard, and there were embrasures for



mounting guns, while the top had been made nearly
bomb-proof. When M. de Bihorel had bought this
odd little fi



rt, he had changed the exteri



by a gal-
lery and put up some wooden outbuildings and a
wing, while he had made the interior a handsome and

comfortable abode, dividing it into ha



Is and cham-
bers. It was not splendid, nor was it very large; but
he was not a man who cared for external shows, and
he gloried much in the strength and comfort of his
odd abode, which withstood the rage of the winds as
solidly as the rock upon which it was built.

These wild winds, enemies against which man must

defend himself, are at the same time friends of this



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 7



island. They give to it in wintera temperature higher

than that of the adjacent land—so much so t in the





crevices and nooks of the rocks flowers and shrubs are



to be found belonging to a more southerly latitude,
and which will not flourish on the coast, as, for in-
stance, rose-laurels, fuchsias and fig trees,
Much of the t

bounty of nature, but something also was to be ered-



due to the



auty of this spot was



ited to the united efforts of M. de Bihorel and his ser-
vant Saturday, who had transformed the island into
a luxuriant garden; only that part exposed to the west
had defied their toils. That, coutinually beaten by
wind and swept by the salt foam of the sca, served
only as a pasture for two little Breton cows and a
flock of black sheep. It was curious to contemplate
these wonders of transformation and renewal, and

consider that they had been wrought only by two pa





of hands, for M. de Bihorel never hired y labore



besides Saturday.





that M.

1 lived thus from avarice; after I went to

I had often hes
de Bio!
stay with him, I perceived that he was guided by high

‘d_ the country people s





principles of virtue.
“Bach man,” he said, “should be able to help him-

y was bestowed



self, and should not consider that mon
on him merely that he might pamper his appetite and

indulge in idleness. I wish to live what I believe.”





72 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Tle was



reful to carry out these theories in every
affair of his life

the fruits ¢

no matter how small. Ife lived on





F his orchard and garden, the milk of his



cows, fish caught by Satur bread made in the



house from coarse flour ground 1 little mill of his



own construction—a windmill—assuredly in his idea
ul skill. He

and, and pressed. ci



a wonder of mechani



grew his wheat

er in a portable



on his own it



press from his own apples.



To do Saturday justice, I mus s be-



say that he wa



hindhand in none of these labors. He had been a

cabin-boy, a sailor, the private servant of a state



officer, cook on board a coasting-vessel. He had
served an apprenticeship to nearly every trade under
the sun.

The intercourse of these two was not as master and
domestic, but as two friends. They ate at the same
table, the only distinction being that M. de Bihorel

oceupied the chief plac



Their life had in it something so simple, and



dignified, that it now astonishes me, though I was too



young to te it when T became a third in that



ppreei
little household.
“M

after my a



y child,” said M. de Bihorel to me some days



ival, “I haye no intention of making of



you a fine gentleman—that is, a lawyer or doctor-—but

merely a seaman and an honest man, It is needful



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 7B.

that I instruct you. L will give you lessons while
walking and playing. Will that method off study
be to your taste?”

T was too untrained to more than half comprehend
him, but the practice of our daily lives explained his
meaning.

Thad been somewhat surprised to hear that eduea-
tion could go on while one was playing. Twas
yet more astonished when he began the work that
same afternoon. Hitherto I had studied only from
dreary-looking books, under terror of the master’s

rod.



M. de Bihorel in a

nd suddenly he




accompanying

walk on the shore,



led me to stop.
We were on the edge of a little oak wood.

“What are these?” he demanded, pointing to some



ants which
“ Ants.”

“Well, and what are they doing ?”



‘an across the road.



“Oh, why they are carrying something or other.”



“Good! You shall follow them to their ant-hill,

watch them, and tell me if you see anything singular

about them. If you see nothing to-day, you will g



back to study them to-morrow and the next day, and



50 on until you have observed something.”



After two days spent cheerfully looking at ant-

hills, I saw that there were some ants which did







7A ROMAIN KALBRIS.

absolutely nothing, while there were others which





ingly, even giving food to the sluggards.”

toiled unc



“That is well,” he



tid, when Thad communicated



to him my observations; “you have seen the thing

most noteworthy. That is enough. — These ants which





do nothing are neither sick nor feeble, as you imag



ne;



and the others which work are



the maste:
Without the aid of th



they an



their slay



ves they



would be incapable of going to seck their food. Con-



sider, now: is it not often the same in our world
There are yet some lands where men who do nothing

y those who toil. Lf idleness could



ur



supported I



+ fact of sickness among the mas-



be explained by any
ters, nothing would be more natural than the labor of



some and the case of othe Such a state of th



would be necessary. But this is not the reason.
Among the ants the masters are exactly those which
nd

courage, as war, for instance. Let us go together to



are the mos rength



upt in all which demands

observe the habits of ants, and we shall, without





doubt, soon be witnesses of a pitched battle, Only



the masters will take part in that, and their whole
object will be to capture more slaves. While you sit
here waiting for the sight of a battle, I am going to
give you a book to read. In that book a wise man

named Huber g



ves an account of a great battle of ants

which went on exactly at the time when about a hun-



75



ROMAIN KALBRIS.

dred leagues away a great fight took place between
some armies of men, I do not know what made the

war among the inseets, but the men thought they had



the very best reasons for fighting, and the slaughter



x



terrible. I was in the midst of it, and only

escaped death as if by a miracle, We marched along



the bank of a river called the Elbe, and opposite us,

upon the right bank, the Russians had a formidable



battery of artillery, of which we continually heard the





roar, but of which we could not sce the execution, be-

nd whirlwinds of



cause we were hidden by fog, smoke
dust. All along the march T had but one thought;

that was that I had come to the day of my death, for



for us to pass under the fire of those



guns. I remembered that it was my mother’s birth-



day—an anniversary which we had always celebrated,

and on which I had often been most joyous. Sud-



denly I looked down, and saw, in a moist ditch in



which I was walking, a spray of myrtle in full bloom.

You must not believe that in battles things pass, as



you see represented in pictures, with a clock-w



regularity. We were deployed as skirmishers—that



we were free in our movements. Despite the dan-

gers of our position, those little blue flowers attracted



me. I went to gather the sp



rays of myrtle; at the same



moment I felt as if a terrible wind swept above me.



Then I heard a loud sound as of thunder, and my back
7



76. ROMAIN KALBRIS.



was coycred with a shower of loose earth. We were just





before the battery, and had received its full discharge.
If Thad not stooped so low to gather those fhir blue

blossoms of hope, T should, like many of my com-




rades, have fallen, shot through the chest. [remained
safe with my little bouquet. It did me good then,
as often, to think of my mother, By the time we
were

gain in re



of Russian fire, Marshal Ney had



captured their guns.”

All cagerness this narration of the battle of





Friedland, that sume evening I read Huber’s battle



of the ants. Huber was blind ; he suw only throug!
the eyes of the most devoted and intelligent of
friends, and to him he dictated the charming book he
If M. de Bihorel

had not thus recommended this reading, if he had



has written upon ants and bees

forced it on me asa task in place of giving it to me

asa reward, what effect would it have produced upon



child of my age, ignorant as I was? Thanks to

the manner of his presentation, the lesson entered a



mind fully prepared
the flight of )

in my memory

it, and to this day, despite



ears, 1 find Huber’s volume more fresh



ind more delightful, than books which
were read yesterda

M. de Bihorel did not
many books. He gave me the Bible, the Jmitation of
Chris





re to have me





, for Sundays, and for my sole pleasure-reading



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 17



a book which his h, child-like spirit held most

de



, which he quoted daily, and upon whieh he
the Granite Glove. It was



sought to model his life



the book which had inspired his toils, his servant’s



name, had given him the notion of his huge um-

The

of the famous castawa



bre! hook was 2



inson Crusoe, the history

and his man Friday.





“Read that,” he said, putting it in my han



You

ypy and busy



uv man of moral cou



“there is the story of

will sce how a man can live and be



alone; how one can begin alone to fashion for him-
self all needful articles; how he can dwell for years
with none to speak to but God.

“You will not see all this at one reading; it will
come to you by and by. Just now, like all other
readers, it will seem to you rather as a fascinating

tale than a grand moral lesson.”



I do not think there has ever been a child who
could read Robinson Crusoe indifferently. As for my-

self, T was tr



ported with delight in it.

I will be honest, however, and admit that I was not
charmed by
of the book—those

so muc



y the philosophy as by the romance

dvent 3 the de-

on the sea;





serted island; the shipwreck; the sava:



res; the fig!



the man Frida



At last my Indian unele had
rival.

T thought I found in this book a justification of





78 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

iy desives. Who does not put himself in fanc



the place of De Foe's hero, and does not ask, “Why:

do not such wonders happen to me? Why can I not



also have adventures 2”
Babes of six months are not the only creatures who.

p



believe if they stretch out their hands they can gi
the moon,



Saturday, who knew so much, did not know how
to read. Seeing my extravagant delight, he asked me
to read those adventures to him.

“ He will relate them,” said M. de Bihorel, “and that
will be pleasanter and more improving to both of you.
‘The primitive style was for people to recite the adven-

tures of heroes.”





Ten years of seat



ing had given to Si

perience, and he did not permit all my



ace



tain ¢



ments to pass unquestioned,
T had one sole reply to make: “It is written.”

“ Are you sure the book says so, my little Romain?”



T would then take the book and read aloud. Satur=
day would listen and rub his nose; then with blind
faith, he would say,

“Since it is written, it must be right; but, all the



same, I have been in Africa, and T never saw lions

swim out to a



tack boats. Go on, Romain; heaye
ahead !”
Saturc



ay had also sailed in northern seas, and he



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 79

repaid my recitals by stories of his voyages. One



year, surprised by ice, they had been obliged to remain
all winter, Six months they lay amid the snows.

More #



an half the erew died—the dogs were dead—
not of cold and hunger, but from loss of light. They
had no oil to keep their lamps burning, and they died
of the darkn Tt v sb

son, but sometimes it was too beautiful to be believed.



nearly a vutiful as Pobin-





“Ts that written?” L would demand.



Saturday was then obliged to convinee me that he
had not read, but that he had seen.

“What difference does seeing make, if it is not writ-
ten?” T would say.

Such companionship, such conversation and such
reading were cyidently not calculated to t



unquilli





my lively spirits or to set before me the glories off a



quiet home life. My poor mother, seeing all my yen-



turesome se



ging proclivities so amazingly encour





aged, a thousand times wished s



he had kept me ay
from M. de Bihorel.
“My dear

would give you hack your child if 1 could sce any



woman,” the good man would say, “1



way for you to guard, train and. provide for him, but

at the best you could not change his natural tempera-



ment. His desires



re born in his blood. Te eomes
of a venturesome race. Why seek to perform the im-

possible? Sailors are not



snevally very fortunate—I



80 ROMAIN KALBR:



agree with you there—but after all, some of them reach
great things.”

Such is the heedless ingratitude of children that at
that moment I would readily have left that noble

protection at the Granite Glove to go to sea.



M. de Bihorel had studied the voices of birds, and

in their evi



he persisted in believing that he had
found a language, for which he had composed + die-
hed me to learn this lexi

tionary. He wi on, but it



was absolutely impossible for me to comprehend it



This occasioned the only difficulty between us. On
account of my ignorance of “bird tongue” he would
fly into wrath. I would burst into tears.

His bird-language was, however whimsical, very
curious, and to this day I regret that I did not re-
member some of the words. Everything which a

ihorel affirmed that he



bird ought to express M. de

had been able to translate. According to him, tall: in



the trees ran this ways “I am hungry. . . . Come,



let us get some breakfast. . . . Save yourself, quickly.





«+ Let us build a nest... . Kia ouah tsioni, be-



hold a storm is rising.

v child and of a



But [ was altogether too much of
country boy to admit, upon any reasoning, that birds
and beasts could speak.

“Why,” said my old friend, “music is a language.

Among men it expresses much. Why can it not ex-















ROMAIN KALBRIS. 83.

press everything among birds? Our dogs, our horses,



all our domestic animals, know what we say to them.
Wi

means of talking with each other

y, then, is it impossible that they should have a



or that we should





Tearn what they Their language sounds no
an or Celtic d

My mother at first considered these pursuits a man-



lects.”,



more barbarous than Afi



ner of sacrilege, but M. de Bihorel puzzled her by his





argument



so she dropped her objections.

« You will see one day,” said M. de Bihorel to me,



&the usefulness of what appears to you absurd.



Your mother is a



aid that you will be a sailor, 1



have no anxiety about it, for if you entered the navy

to-day, in four or fiv



ye:



you would leave it with
It

ion of your family, and we must in

disgust. But you have a passion for travellin





is the ruling p:



some way manage to satisty your wishes and at the



same time accord with the desires of your mother, I



wish you would become such a man as Ande

Michaux, whose life you were reading the other d



ited Japan,



or as



iebold, the Dutch physician who
or like that Englishman, Robert Fortune, I wish you

would be able to trayel in unknown countries ; that



you could return and enrich France by your gco-





graphical discoveries, by new varieties of animals and



plants; that you might become the soldier of science,

Would not this be better than to spend your days as



84 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

a sailor, ever on the seas



frolicking ashore in the

cafés of Rio Janeiro or Havre,



ad flying from Liver-

pool to Caleutta? If ever you live to. re





wishes for you, you will see that these stu



ure, of animals and birds are not useless.”

It was a cha



rming dream, Unfortunately, it was





only a dream, Whether I should ever have directed
my life in accordance with these hopes of M. de
Bihorel, I cannot tell, for he ceased to have charge of

me at the very tim



» when T needed him most, and



began most to profit by the example and lessons of a

nian truly excellent, despite his numerous oddities, I





must now rel



ate this great misfortune—the loss of my

second



her.





I habitually accompanied M. de Bihorel in all his



pedestrian or boating excursions. We loved to be to-
gether. Sometimes, however, he took a little sail-

boat and went ont alone, that he might study at his



le



ure the habits of the birds in the island of Cranes,
about three long leagues from Port-Dicu.

One day he went off thus carly, before I had risen,



and we were gre: at he did not return



tly surprised th



home in time for dinner,



“He has lost the help of the incoming tide, and
now he will not get in until evening,” said Satur
day.

The we



ther was calm, the sea smooth as glass.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 85

there was no appearance of any danger, but Saturday

seemed unquict.



Evening came, but M. de Bihorel did not return,



and Saturday, instead of going to sleep, lit a g

und.



bonfire upon the highest point of the i



«L me to,



T wished to remain near him, but he ore

go to bed. Before daybreak I vose and joined him.
He p:
flames of
to listen. We heard noth

uullen roar from the shoals, a



1 to and fro with long strides, feeding the red





om time to time



his signal-fire, stopping

put the low murmurs of



sometime



ad of birds which the light had dis-



turbed in their nests in the cliff, and which flew in



circles blindly above our beacon.

A white light lit th



uustern sky,





“Surely something has happened to him; it is day-



break,” said poor Saturday. “Let us take the boat,
called Gossman, and go to the island of Cranes.”
The island of ¢

which is only inhabited by sea-birds. We took the

nes is a mass of ite rock





boat, as the man said, and had soon explored the

eof M.



whole of the little island, but found no
de Bihorel or his shallop.
At Port-Dicu © ted, f

his oddities M. de Bihorel was dearly loved, and his



rin spite of



‘y one was e



disappearance was inexplicable,

“He has been drowned,” said some.



86 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Phen we should haye found the boat,” said others.
“Where would the current have driven it or the
body 2” people asked.
As for Satur
paced the shore. When the tide ebbed, he followed



Â¥y, he said nothing; but every day he



the retreating waters, searching every meoyered rock,

every shallow, every crevice. He extended his explo-



rations for six leagues on cither side of Port-Dien.
He did not speak. I never heard him mention the
name of M, de Bihorel; only when he met a fisher
man coming home from sea, he would ery out,

“ Any news?”



And the fisher, understanding all he meant, would



say,
«No news.”
Then, if he detected a tear in my eyes, he would

pat my head, and say, “ You are a good boy



a very
good boy.”
Five days after the strange absence of M. de Biho-

rel there came from Lower Normandy to the Granite



Glove a M. de la Berryaise. He was the nephew and



ntleman.



only relation of our dear old gx

After we had given a lengthy account of M. de
Bihorel’s departure, and all that had been said and
done, he hired twelve fishermen of Port-Dieu and

ordered a thorough exploration of the coast.



The search lasted three da;



The evening of the





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 87

third day the men came back, saying that all farther



effort was useless, for that M. de Bihorel was surely



dead, and boat and body must somehow have been



swept out to the open sca.



“What do you know” cried Saturday, furiously.



“ How dave you say he is dead? He is not drowned.



On the contrary, he has probably gone to England,



and I have no doubt but he will be home to-morrow



No one a



nswered his reproaches. All respected his
great love and sorrow, but no on

The next day M. de la Be

ced. his opinion.



called us to him,



Saturday and me, and told us that as sole heir he took



possession of the Granite Glove. We need remain

there no longer, for he meant to shut the place up, and



a farmer in the



sinity would take care of the live-

mame to sell it.



stock until the legal tim
that



Saturday was so suffocated with grief and ri
he could only utter a few indistinct words. Then at

las



, turning to me, he said, “Pack up your bag, and





let us leave here immediate



As we left the island we met M. de la Bi





upon the shore. Saturd

jay marched up to him.



Sir,” said he, “you m



be perhaps



as his heir doing
right in the eyes of the law, but not in my eyes—not
in the eyes of a bluff old tar.”

Tt had been a



nged that Saturday should accept



the hospit:
8

ity of my mother until he knew what he



88 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

would do with himself, but the poor fellow did not



arry with us long.

Every morning he went along the coast, continuing



his search. This he did for three weeks. Then he



told us one evening that next day he should set out

on hi



s travels, Maybe he would go to England.



“Do you not know that the sea never ke



"he said. “Lt always casts up its prey. ‘There-



if it has not
d him.”

ied tor

ast ont to us my master, it is be-

ase it never hi



My mothe on with him, but he would



say nothing further,



L went with him upon a little cutter on which he

set forth on his journe:



As Lsadly bade him good-bye, he said, “You a



a good boy. You shall some day go back to Granite



nd feed the black cow with salt. She lov



Glove



yon well.”







CHAPTER VI.

bris blood of whom f
od

the land to the sea. [fe was an auctioneer at



ITAD an uncle of |

have not yet spoken, and who had pr



the town of Dol, and passed for rich,

My mother, not knowing what to do with me after
the loss of M. de Bihorel, feeling that I needed to.
le:

me, wrote to this uncle for advice. A month after her

some business and to have some one to govern



Jeter he arrived at Port-Dicu.
«I did not answer your letter,” he said, “because I
meant to come here; and money is too hard to earn to

I did not come sooner be-



be wasted paying postage.



cause I waited for a chance. IT found a market-man

sy)



90 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

who brought me five leagues for twelve cents. I
footed it the rest of the journey.”

As may be guessed from this language, my uncle
Simon was, to say the least of it, an economical man.
He soon gave another cvidence of that disposition.
When he had heard all the particulars of our situa

tion, he said,



“There! I see how it is: you do not want that boy



to go to sea. You are right, my sister-in-law. Sea

going wins a dog’s pa



one never grows rich at it.



You would prefer for him to follow the line of life
indicated for him by old Sunday, eh? But, save the
mark, you don’t expect me to help you at it?”

“ Brother-in-law, I have never asked for your
money,” said my mother, with gentle pride.

“Oh, as to money, I haven’t any. People say I am



h, but they are mistaken. I owe more debts than I
am worth. I have been obliged to buy a home, and
that has about ruined me.”

“Our minister has explained to me,” said my
mother, “that the services my husband rendered the

state a:



a marine will enable my son to enter a gov-

ae

“And who will pay his travelling expenses
I. And his clothes
and I will not go to worrying the few influential peo-



ernment college free of ¢



Not
count them. T have no time,





ple whom I know. I may necd help from them for



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 91

inyself some day. No, no; I can tell you a bette





game than that. The Brothers Leheu promised to:

take care of the boy if his father got drowned, and



now it is their duty to pay his expenses.”



“They now 1 no offers of the kind,” said my
mother.
“J don’t care; T shall speak to them myself.”

Here my mother was about to object, but. my uncle



nt on obstinately

“Phat is all a false delicney. We only ask what it

to do. The shame is theirs that they





is their duts



leave you to ask it, not yours that you are forced to
request a favor, Do you see that?”

My poor mother was foreed to yield to a step against



which she protested. Her pride, her f choice



for me, availed nothing, My uncle was a man re-



solved to have his own way.



You know,

“that Tea

he said, in concluding the matter,

for the sake of



rot derange my own al



helping you. When T take the trouble to come here,

the least you can do is to accept my advice.”



He was a man who never lost time.



«for you,” he said, turning to me, “come with



me ately to the house of M. Leheu; we will sec



mimes



them both in the office. You may look if they are



2; Lwill wait in the strect. You ean let me know

the



I know their



when both are in, and we will ente





92 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



ners. Tf we see them sepa



utely, the one whom

we s



ill commence to promise everything, provided

his brother approves, and the brother who is absent,



no matter which it is, never approves of anything. It



is thei



style of doing business, but PII get the better



of the rascals.”

As they were both in the office, we entered, and I
assisted at a strange scene, of which the least details
remain in my memory. ‘The brothers appeared struck

with my looks, for I opened their door with a defiant



manner, Instinetively I felt that it was dishonoring

my noble father thus to demand help on account of





his dying agonie:

blushed to the e

and filled with intense shame, [

8.



While listening to the proposition which my uncle
deliberately and clearly set forth, the two brothers
showed all the evidences of profound astonishment,

and twisted on their chairs as if the



y sat upon thorns,

“Support him while at college?” eried the youngest.



“At college?” shrieked the elder.

“We, the Leheu Brothers?” they screamed together.



“My Goodness! did you not freely promise to adopt
him?” demanded my unele.

“ Adopt him, 12” said the elder.

“Adopt him, you?” shouted the younger.

«Adopt him, we?” they roared in concert.

Then began a conf



and deafening dispute



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 93.

Each response of the younger brother was exactly
repeated by the clder, only in a ten times higher
voice. One exclaimed, the other yelled.

In the midst of all this
permit himself to speak; but when finally the two
, “We already

than we promised. We give his mother a day’s work



uproar my uncle did not



brothers repeated in chor do more





y week,” he smiled a little dry smile which,



falling on their turbulence, strangely produced an
immediate calm,
Finally, as for the fifth or sixth time they renewed

that line of argument, he made a little motion of



impatience. He said, coolly:

“Upon my word, one would think that you were
ruined—the most completely rained of any people I
ever saw. You give—you give— To hear you, one

would imagine that you



ve your whole fortune; and

you give—what do you give? Wh



aday’s work!





What do you pay for work? Ten cents and board.
Do you pay his mother one copper more than any
other workwoman?”

“We pay the usual price,” said the youngest, with
an air of righteous satisfaction, “and we are disposed

we, Tay, )



+s, We—are sometimes quite willing, if



asked, to pay a little orer the ordinary rates if it
would be just to other workpeople. When you say

Kalbris died to save our fortune, you strain a point.



94 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



He died to save mm ors like himself, who might



ny si

have swum ashore for ali he knew. You know very



well that is none of our business; it is the affair of



the government, and you should go to the state pt



for payment for those who risk their lives as a mere
matter of heroism. Ah, well; it is all one, When
that boy is grown up, if he knows how to work and
we will give him just as much work
Will we not,

comes to us, why





he wants at the usual rate of wages.



Jerome?”



ashe wan



© Work!” said the elder; “yes, as mneh
That was all the satisfaction my uncle could get
from these two.

“Look at the gentlemen !” he cried as we went out.



I expected to hear a long-continued explosion off
rage, but he proceeded :

“ Behold the admira



ble gentlemen! Tet them serve

you for an example. ‘They know how to sty no. La



that word up in your memory, It is better than a



bank. It will serve you as well as them. It is



sure

means of keeping what one has gained.”





My uncle then preserved silence, bei stu




pefied at finding some one harder than himself,

Finding that the purse of the Brothers Leheu was



ants, my uncle proposed



not to be open to supply my

to my mother that I should go home with him. He



said he necded a clerk, assistant, errand-boy, all in one,



ROMAIN KALBRI 95.



but if 1
board during the first years, and was



L was too young: for the phice ume for my



indentured to

him for five years, I would in the end make up to him



he remembered



for my carly deficiencies. Moreover,
that I was his nephew, and he wanted to do some-
thing for the family.



Alas! this was



all. Here ended my mother’s ambi-

tious dreams of educating me. But here she suw a



means of keeping me from being a sailor, and so, after
much reluctance, my mother consented, and 1 set out
with my uncle—a sad departure. T wept; my mother
wept even more than [ did, My uncle, unable to

sympathize with cither of us, rudely tore us asunder,



The appearance of Dol, which is assured



y pies



turesque and attractive to an ordinary tourist, made

upon m



the first melancholy impression which I had

ever received from natural obje





Tt was night when we arrived there, and an iey rain



was falling. Having left Port



Dicu in the morning

in a carrien’s ¢



rt which went to the village of Can-



cale, we were set down some five or six leagues from

the city of Dol, and we were forced to make the



at
of the journey on foot, across great’ marshy plains
cut up by ditches full of water. My uncle strode on

before; I followed him with difficulty, still ove



me





by the memory of that mournful parting, Besides

my sori



ssed by a hunger which made



96 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

me tremble; but as my uncle, during all that long

journey, had not spoken of stopping to eat, [did not





dare to mention it. Finally



we perceived the lights

of the city; and after haying traversed two or three



deserted streets, my uncle stopped before a mansio



n

front of which was a large porch resting on heavy



Zz

stone pi » Tle took out a key and unlocked a





door; [stepped forward to enter, but he checked me





—the opening of this door was not finished. LHe took

asecond key, and used it; then a third which



was of enormous size, ‘The hinges turned with a
loud grating noise which L have since heard used in
theatres to signal the opening of dungeon doors.
The undoing of so many locks awed me. At home
At M.de

Bihorel’s we had merely a button. Why did my uncle

we had only a wooden latch with a stri





take all these precaution
He shut the door

me to take his hand, that he might lead me in the



he had opened it. Then he told

darkness across two halls which appeared to me very

larg

ge, and which echoed to our footsteps like a de-



serted church, ‘The house was filled with a strange
heavy smell which I soon Tearned to know. It was:

that of old



hments



{piles of damp paper. ‘The



atmosphere was laden with the woes and cares of men
and of broken households.

He lit

candle, and T saw that we were in a sort





ROMAIN KALB. 97



of

sideboar



itchen, but i



was so encumbered with furniture,



s, dressers, old chairs, black oak tables and
stoves that I could scarcely see floor or walls.
Des

jumped for



te its disagreeable appearance, 1 could ha



oe





joy, for here at last was a chanee to get
warm and find something to eat.

“What! do you wish me to light a fire



said my



uncle—* a fire?”

He spoke in a voice so wrathful that T dared not



say Twas half frozen, though my teeth chattered in
my head.

& We will have supper and get to bed,” he remarked.
He went toa cupboard, and took a roll of bread and
cut off two slices. On cach he laid a small morsel of
cheese. Tle gave me one, laid his own on the table,

and carefully replacing the roll and the cheese-pape



locked them up.
L do not know how a prisoner feels when he hears

the key grate in the lock as he is shut in from liberty



and happiness, but L hope he does not feel much
worse than I did when I heard that cupboard locked.
Tt was evident that it would be useless for me to ask
for more bread, though T could have eaten half a
dozen slices such as my uncle had bestowed upon
me.

‘At the same moment three lean eats sprang into the

kiteh



nd ran to rub aga



my unele’s knees.



98: ROMAIN KALBRIS.

This gave me a ray of hope. ‘The eats had come for

thei dif the cupboard were opened, I



would hay nee to get one more fragment of food.
My uncle did not disturb himself,
©The wretches are thirsty,” he said.“ It is bad to
leave them without drink.” ‘Therefore he gaye them
a dish of water,
“As T shall leay

house,” he said, “T want you 2



you frequently in charge of the

Iways to recollect to





give my eats plenty of water to drink.”
“And th
“There are plenty of rats, mice and roaches if they

ir food 2”



will catch them. If you stuff them with food, you

make them lazy, and they become too fat.”





Our supper being specdily



finished, my uncle told

L

me that he would show me to the room wh



should sleep.

The encumbrances which I had noticed in the
airs, Well was it
that the room was unusually large. [t was with diffi-

kitchen were multiplied above:



culty that one could foree a passage. On every hand



were piled bureaus, wardrobes, fire-irons, clocks,



tues:



and yases in wood and stone,



brackets, stands, pier



tables, pottery and ornaments of the most. singular
and diverse forms, and dozens of articles of which
L did not know the name, Upon the walls hung

pictures, curtains, mirrors, swords, helmets, robes ;





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 99

and in the flickering, uncertain light their wavering
shadows increased for me their mysterious and weird
appearance.

What in the world did my uncle do with this im-
mense collection of movable





‘This question puzzled me, and I found no reply to



it, for it was only after some time that I learned that

to the business of auctioneer he added another much



more lucrative.
Going from Port-Dieu in his carly youth, he had

entered the employ of a pawnbroker in Paris, where



he remained twenty-one years, He left ostensibly to



work as ¢



be auctioneer of Dol, but in



ality

only covered up a more prof



able trade in second=
hand goods, pawned articles and antiquities and euri-

y variet; where to be

osities of eve



Going eve





nt at sales, he had a rare chance to make good

ains, and knew better than most people how to



cover of a fict



profit by them. Under tious name he
knocked down goods to himself’ at low prices, and

rt or fashionable knickknack



ur



Levery treasure of 3



which came in his way. ‘These he sold at enormous
profits to great merchants in Paris with whom he car

ried on a lively trade. Thus it was that his house



from cellar to garret was made a regular magazine of
antiques and of second-hand furnishings.

As every room in that old house seemed to have
9



100 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

been built for giants, the bedroom in which my uncl



established me was immense; yet it was so well filled



with his properties that he had to show me the bed



and how to climb into it. Upon the walls were tape:





tries woven with life-size fi



ures; upon shelves were



stuffed animals—a cormorant, a crocodile, a gray cagle





-, behind a box
it of
mounted by a helmet, which looked :

with wide-spread wings; in a corne





which hid the legs, stood a full



rior, sur

if it held a





living \



rior.

“Are you afraid?” asked my uncle, seeing me



staring.

I dared not admit it, so I said I was cold.



“Ah, well, move about quickly. [am going to
take away the light. You can tumble into bed with-
out a candle.”

T jumped into bed, but hardly had be shut the
door when I shricked after him, Ife returned. He
came to the bed and glared at me :

“Never call after me again, you little fool, or you
and I will have trouble.”

During the next half hour I remained hidden under
the damp bedclothes, shivering with fear, cold and
hungry. ‘Chen, finally, forced to subdue my emotions,

T found a little courage and



ised my head, openin



my eyes.



The storm had ceased ; the ni



t had grown clear: