by Jules Verne
The sailor hastened with rapid steps to his house, which stood on the quay, whence could be seen the Northern Ocean, of which he seemed so proud.
Jean Cornbutte had amassed a comfortable sum at his calling. After having long commanded the vessels of a rich shipowner of Havre, he had settled down in his native town, where he had caused the brig "Jeune-Hardie" to be constructed at his own expense. Several successful voyages had been made in the North, and the ship always found a good sale for its cargoes of wood, iron, and tar. Jean Cornbutte then gave up the command of her to his son Louis, a fine sailor of thirty, who, according to all the coasting captains, was the boldest mariner in Dunkirk.
Louis Cornbutte had gone away deeply attached to Marie, his father's niece, who found the time of his absence very long and weary. Marie was scarcely twenty. She was a pretty Flemish girl, with some Dutch blood in her veins. Her mother, when she was dying, had confided her to her brother, Jean Cornbutte. The brave old sailor loved her as a daughter, and saw in her proposed union with Louis a source of real and durable happiness.
The arrival of the ship, already signalled off the coast, completed an important business operation, from which Jean Cornbutte expected large profits. The "Jeune-Hardie," which had left three months before, came last from Bodoë, on the west coast of Norway, and had made a quick voyage thence.
On returning home, Jean Cornbutte found the whole house alive. Marie, with radiant face, had assumed her wedding-dress.
"I hope the ship will not arrive before we are ready!" she said.
"Hurry, little one," replied Jean Cornbutte, "for the wind is north, and she sails well, you know, when she goes freely."
"Have our friends been told, uncle?" asked Marie.
"They have."
"The notary, and the curé?"
"Rest easy. You alone are keeping us waiting."
At this moment Clerbaut, an old crony, came in.
"Well, old Cornbutte," cried he, "here's luck! Your ship has arrived at the very moment that the government has decided to contract for a large quantity of wood for the navy!"
"What is that to me?" replied Jean Cornbutte. "What care I for the government?"
"You see, Monsieur Clerbaut," said Marie, "one thing only absorbs us,--Louis's return."
"I don't dispute that," replied Clerbaut. "But--in short--this purchase of wood--"
"And you shall be at the wedding," replied Jean Cornbutte, interrupting the merchant, and shaking his hand as if he would crush it.
"This purchase of wood--"
"And with all our friends, landsmen and seamen, Clerbaut. I have already informed everybody, and I shall invite the whole crew of the ship."
"And shall we go and await them on the pier?" asked Marie.
"Indeed we will," replied Jean Cornbutte. "We will defile, two by two, with the violins at the head."
Jean Cornbutte's invited guests soon arrived. Though it was very early, not a single one failed to appear. All congratulated the honest old sailor whom they loved. Meanwhile Marie, kneeling down, changed her prayers to God into thanksgivings. She soon returned, lovely and decked out, to the company; and all the women kissed her on the check, while the men vigorously grasped her by the hand. Then Jean Cornbutte gave the signal of departure.
It was a curious sight to see this joyous group taking its way, at sunrise, towards the sea. The news of the ship's arrival had spread through the port, and many heads, in nightcaps, appeared at the windows and at the half-opened doors. Sincere compliments and pleasant nods came from every side.
The party reached the pier in the midst of a concert of praise and blessings. The weather was magnificent, and the sun seemed to take part in the festivity. A fresh north wind made the waves foam; and some fishing-smacks, their sails trimmed for leaving port, streaked the sea with their rapid wakes between the breakwaters.
The two piers of Dunkirk stretch far out into the sea. The wedding-party occupied the whole width of the northern pier, and soon reached a small house situated at its extremity, inhabited by the harbour-master. The wind freshened, and the "Jeune-Hardie" ran swiftly under her topsails, mizzen, brigantine, gallant, and royal. There was evidently rejoicing on board as well as on land. Jean Cornbutte, spy-glass in hand, responded merrily to the questions of his friends.
"See my ship!" he cried; "clean and steady as if she had been rigged at Dunkirk! Not a bit of damage done,--not a rope wanting!"
"Do you see your son, the captain?" asked one.
"No, not yet. Why, he's at his business!"
"Why doesn't he run up his flag?" asked Clerbaut.
"I scarcely know, old friend. He has a reason for it, no doubt."
"Your spy-glass, uncle?" said Marie, taking it from him. "I want to be the first to see him."
"But he is my son, mademoiselle!"
"He has been your son for thirty years," answered the young girl, laughing, "and he has only been my betrothed for two!"
The "Jeune-Hardie" was now entirely visible. Already the crew were preparing to cast anchor. The upper sails had been reefed. The sailors who were among the rigging might be recognized. But neither Marie nor Jean Cornbutte had yet been able to wave their hands at the captain of the ship.
"Faith! there's the first mate, André Vasling," cried Clerbaut.
"And there's Fidèle Misonne, the carpenter," said another.
"And our friend Penellan," said a third, saluting the sailor named.
The "Jeune-Hardie" was only three cables' lengths from the shore, when a black flag ascended to the gaff of the brigantine. There was mourning on board!
A shudder of terror seized the party and the heart of the young girl.
The ship sadly swayed into port, and an icy silence reigned on its deck. Soon it had passed the end of the pier. Marie, Jean Cornbutte, and all their friends hurried towards the quay at which she was to anchor, and in a moment found themselves on board.
"My son!" said Jean Cornbutte, who could only articulate these words.
The sailors, with uncovered heads, pointed to the mourning flag.
Marie uttered a cry of anguish, and fell into old Cornbutte's arms.
André Vasling had brought back the "Jeune-Hardie," but Louis Cornbutte, Marie's betrothed, was not on board.
CHAPTER II.
Jean Cornbutte's Project.
As soon as the young girl, confided to the care of the sympathizing friends, had left the ship, André Vasling, the mate, apprised Jean Cornbutte of the dreadful event which had deprived him of his son, narrated in the ship's journal as follows:--
[Illustration: André Vasling, the mate, apprised Jean Cornbutte of the dreadful event]
"At the height of the Maëlstrom, on the 26th of April, the ship, putting for the cape, by reason of bad weather and south-west winds, perceived signals of distress made by a schooner to the leeward. This schooner, deprived of its mizzen-mast, was running towards the whirlpool, under bare poles. Captain Louis Cornbutte, seeing that this vessel was hastening into imminent danger, resolved to go on board her. Despite the remonstrances of his crew, he had the long-boat lowered into the sea, and got into it, with the sailor Courtois and the helmsman Pierre Nouquet. The crew watched them until they disappeared in the fog. Night came on. The sea became more and more boisterous. The "Jeune-Hardie", drawn by the currents in those parts, was in danger of being engulfed by the Maëlstrom. She was obliged to fly before the wind. For several days she hovered near the place of the disaster, but in vain. The long-boat, the schooner, Captain Louis, and the two sailors did not reappear. André Vasling then called the crew together, took command of the ship, and set sail for Dunkirk."
After reading this dry narrative, Jean Cornbutte wept for a long time; and if he had any consolation, it was the thought that his son had died in attempting to save his fellow-men. Then the poor father left the ship, the sight of which made him wretched, and returned to his desolate home.
The sad news soon spread throughout Dunkirk. The many friends of the old sailo
r came to bring him their cordial and sincere sympathy. Then the sailors of the "Jeune-Hardie" gave a more particular account of the event, and André Vasling told Marie, at great length, of the devotion of her betrothed to the last.
When he ceased weeping, Jean Cornbutte thought over the matter, and the next day after the ship's arrival, when Andre came to see him, said,--
"Are you very sure, André, that my son has perished?"
"Alas, yes, Monsieur Jean," replied the mate.
"And you made all possible search for him?"
"All, Monsieur Cornbutte. But it is unhappily but too certain that he and the two sailors were sucked down in the whirlpool of the Maëlstrom."
"Would you like, André, to keep the second command of the ship?"
"That will depend upon the captain, Monsieur Cornbutte."
"I shall be the captain," replied the old sailor. "I am going to discharge the cargo with all speed, make up my crew, and sail in search of my son."
"Your son is dead!" said André obstinately.
"It is possible, Andre," replied Jean Cornbutte sharply, "but it is also possible that he saved himself. I am going to rummage all the ports of Norway whither he might have been driven, and when I am fully convinced that I shall never see him again, I will return here to die!"
André Vasling, seeing that this decision was irrevocable, did not insist further, but went away.
Jean Cornbutte at once apprised his niece of his intention, and he saw a few rays of hope glisten across her tears. It had not seemed to the young girl that her lover's death might be doubtful; but scarcely had this new hope entered her heart, than she embraced it without reserve.
The old sailor determined that the "Jeune-Hardie" should put to sea without delay. The solidly built ship had no need of repairs. Jean Cornbutte gave his sailors notice that if they wished to re-embark, no change in the crew would be made. He alone replaced his son in the command of the brig. None of the comrades of Louis Cornbutte failed to respond to his call, and there were hardy tars among them,--Alaine Turquiette, Fidèle Misonne the carpenter, Penellan the Breton, who replaced Pierre Nouquet as helmsman, and Gradlin, Aupic, and Gervique, courageous and well-tried mariners.
Jean Cornbutte again offered André Vasling his old rank on board. The first mate was an able officer, who had proved his skill in bringing the "Jeune-Hardie" into port. Yet, from what motive could not be told, André made some difficulties and asked time for reflection.
"As you will, André Vasling," replied Cornbutte. "Only remember that if you accept, you will be welcome among us."
Jean had a devoted sailor in Penellan the Breton, who had long been his fellow-voyager. In times gone by, little Marie was wont to pass the long winter evenings in the helmsman's arms, when he was on shore. He felt a fatherly friendship for her, and she had for him ah affection quite filial. Penellan hastened the fitting out of the ship with all his energy, all the more because, according to his opinion, André Vasling had not perhaps made every effort possible to find the castaways, although he was excusable from the responsibility which weighed upon him as captain.
Within a week the "Jeune-Hardie" was ready to put to sea. Instead of merchandise, she was completely provided with salt meats, biscuits, barrels of flour, potatoes, pork, wine, brandy, coffee, tea, and tobacco.
The departure was fixed for the 22nd of May. On the evening before, André Vasling, who had not yet given his answer to Jean Cornbutte, came to his house. He was still undecided, and did not know which course to take.
Jean was not at home, though the house-door was open. André went into the passage, next to Marie's chamber, where the sound of an animated conversation struck his ear. He listened attentively, and recognized the voices of Penellan and Marie.
The discussion had no doubt been going on for some time, for the young girl seemed to be stoutly opposing what the Breton sailor said.
"How old is my uncle Cornbutte?" said Marie.
"Something about sixty years," replied Penellan.
"Well, is he not going to brave danger to find his son?"
"Our captain is still a sturdy man," returned the sailor. "He has a body of oak and muscles as hard as a spare spar. So I am not afraid to have him go to sea again!'"
"My good Penellan," said Marie, "one is strong when one loves! Besides, I have full confidence in the aid of Heaven. You understand me, and will help me."
"No!" said Penellan. "It is impossible, Marie. Who knows whither we shall drift, or what we must suffer? How many vigorous men have I seen lose their lives in these seas!"
"Penellan," returned the young girl, "if you refuse me, I shall believe that you do not love me any longer."
André Vasling understood the young girl's resolution. He reflected a moment, and his course was determined on.
"Jean Cornbutte," said he, advancing towards the old sailor, who now entered, "I will go with you. The cause of my hesitation has disappeared, and you may count upon my devotion."
"I have never doubted you, André Vasling," replied Jean Cornbutte, grasping him by the hand. "Marie, my child!" he added, calling in a loud voice.
Marie and Penellan made their appearance.
"We shall set sail to-morrow at daybreak, with the outgoing tide," said Jean. "My poor Marie, this is the last evening that we shall pass together.
"Uncle!" cried Marie, throwing herself into his arms.
"Marie, by the help of God, I will bring your lover back to you!"
"Yes, we will find Louis," added André Vasling.
"You are going with us, then?" asked Penellan quickly.
"Yes, Penellan, André Vasling is to be my first mate," answered Jean.
"Oh, oh!" ejaculated the Breton, in a singular tone.
"And his advice will be useful to us, for he is able and enterprising.
"And yourself, captain," said André. "You will set us all a good example, for you have still as much vigour as experience."
"Well, my friends, good-bye till to-morrow. Go on board and make the final arrangements. Good-bye, André; good-bye, Penellan."
The mate and the sailor went out together, and Jean and Marie remained alone. Many bitter tears were shed during that sad evening. Jean Cornbutte, seeing Marie so wretched, resolved to spare her the pain of separation by leaving the house on the morrow without her knowledge. So he gave her a last kiss that evening, and at three o'clock next morning was up and away.
The departure of the brig had attracted all the old sailor's friends to the pier. The curé, who was to have blessed Marie's union with Louis, came to give a last benediction on the ship. Rough grasps of the hand were silently exchanged, and Jean went on board.
The crew were all there. André Vasling gave the last orders. The sails were spread, and the brig rapidly passed out under a stiff north-west breeze, whilst the cure, upright in the midst of the kneeling spectators, committed the vessel to the hands of God.
Whither goes this ship? She follows the perilous route upon which so many castaways have been lost! She has no certain destination. She must expect every peril, and be able to brave them without hesitating. God alone knows where it will be her fate to anchor. May God guide her!
CHAPTER III.
A RAY OF HOPE.
At that time of the year the season was favourable, and the crew might hope promptly to reach the scene of the shipwreck.
Jean Cornbutte's plan was naturally traced out. He counted on stopping at the Feroë Islands, whither the north wind might have carried the castaways; then, if he was convinced that they had not been received in any of the ports of that locality, he would continue his search beyond the Northern Ocean, ransack the whole western coast of Norway as far as Bodoë, the place nearest the scene of the shipwreck; and, if necessary, farther still.
André Vasling thought, contrary to the captain's opinion, that the coast of Iceland should be explored; but Penellan observed that, at the time of the catastrophe, the gale came from the west; which, while it gave hope that the unfortuna
tes had not been forced towards the gulf of the Maëlstrom, gave ground for supposing that they might have been thrown on the Norwegian coast.
It was determined, then, that this coast should be followed as closely as possible, so as to recognize any traces of them that might appear.
The day after sailing, Jean Cornbutte, intent upon a map, was absorbed in reflection, when a small hand touched his shoulder, and a soft voice said in his ear,--
"Have good courage, uncle."
[Illustration: A soft voice said in his ear, "Have good courage, uncle."]
He turned, and was stupefied. Marie embraced him.
"Marie, my daughter, on board!" he cried.
"The wife may well go in search of her husband, when the father embarks to save his child."
"Unhappy Marie! How wilt thou support our fatigues! Dost thou know that thy presence may be injurious to our search?"
"No, uncle, for I am strong."
"Who knows whither we shall be forced to go, Marie? Look at this map. We are approaching places dangerous even for us sailors, hardened though we are to the difficulties of the sea. And thou, frail child?"
"But, uncle, I come from a family of sailors. I am used to stories of combats and tempests. I am with you and my old friend Penellan!"
"Penellan! It was he who concealed you on board?"
"Yes, uncle; but only when he saw that I was determined to come without his help."
"Penellan!" cried Jean.
Penellan entered.
"It is not possible to undo what you have done, Penellan; but remember that you are responsible for Marie's life."
"Rest easy, captain," replied Penellan. "The little one has force and courage, and will be our guardian angel. And then, captain, you know it is my theory, that all in this world happens for the best."
The young girl was installed in a cabin, which the sailors soon got ready for her, and which they made as comfortable as possible.
A week later the "Jeune-Hardie" stopped at the Feroë Islands, but the most minute search was fruitless. Mo wreck, or fragments of a ship had come upon these coasts. Even the news of the event was quite unknown. The brig resumed its voyage, after a stay of ten days, about the 10th of June. The sea was calm, and the winds were favourable. The ship sped rapidly towards the Norwegian coast, which it explored without better result.