Mare Nostrum (Our Sea)

"Come along, Señora…. Leave it to me, my child."

Upon reaching the deck he continued driving her towards his dominions. Freya found herself seated in the galley, without knowing just exactly where she was. Through her tears she saw this obese old man of sacerdotal benevolence, going from side to side gathering bottles together and mixing liquids, stirring the spoon around in a glass with a joyous tinkling.

"Drink without fear…. There is no trouble that resists this medicine."

The cook offered her a glass and she, vanquished, drank and drank, making a wry face because of the alcoholic intensity of the liquid. She continued weeping at the same time that her mouth was relishing the heavy sweetness. Her tears were mingled with the beverage that was slipping between her lips.

A comfortable warmth began making itself felt in her stomach, drying up the moisture in her eyes and giving new color to her cheeks. Caragol was keeping up his chat, satisfied with the outcome of his handiwork, making signs to the glowering Toni,—who was passing and repassing before the door, with the vehement desire of seeing the intruder march away, and disappear forever.

"Don't cry any more, my daughter…. Cristo del Grao! The very idea! A lady as pretty as you, who can find sweethearts by the dozen, crying!… Believe me; find somebody else. This world is just full of men with nothing to do…. And always for every disappointment that you suffer, have recourse to my cordial…. I am going to give you the recipe."

He was about to note down on a bit of paper the proportions of brandy and sugar, when she arose, suddenly invigorated, looking around her in wonder…. But where was she? What had she to do with this good, kind, half-dressed man, who was talking to her as though he were her father?…

"Thanks! Many thanks!" she said on leaving the kitchen.

Then on deck she stopped, opening her gold-mesh bag, in order to take out the little glass and powder box. In the beveled edge of the oval glass she saw the faun-like countenance of Toni hovering behind her with glances of impatience.

"Tell Captain Ferragut that I shall never trouble him again…. All has ended…. Perhaps he may hear me spoken of some time, but he will never see me again."

And she left the boat without turning her head, with quickened step as though, fired by a sudden suggestion, she were hastening to put it into effect.

Toni ran also, but toward Ulysses' stateroom window.

"Has she gone yet?" asked the captain impatiently.

The mate nodded his head. She had promised not to return.

"Be it so!" said Ferragut.

Toni experienced the same desire. Would to God they might never again see this blonde who always brought them misfortune!…

In the days following, the captain rarely left his ship. He did not wish to run the risk of meeting her in the city streets for he was a little doubtful of the hardness of his character. He feared that upon seeing her again, weeping and pleading, he might yield to her beseeching.

Ulysses' uneasiness vanished as soon as the loading of the vessel was finished. This trip was going to be shorter than the others. The Mare Nostrum went to Corfu with war material for the Serbs who were reorganizing their battalions destined for Salonica.

On the return trip Ferragut was attacked by the enemy. One day at dawn just as he mounted the bridge to relieve Toni, the two spied at the same time the tangible form that they were always seeing in imagination. Within the circle of their glasses there framed itself the end of a stick, black and upright, that was cutting the waters rosy in the sunrise, leaving a wake of foam.

"Submarine!" shouted the captain.

Toni said nothing, but shoving aside the helmsman with a stroke of his paw, he grasped the wheel, making the boat swerve in another direction. The movement was opportune. Only a few seconds had passed by when there began to be seen upon the water a black back of dizzying speed headed directly for the steamer.

"Torpedo!" shouted the captain.

The anxious waiting lasted but a few seconds. The projectile, hidden in the water, passed some six yards from the stern, losing itself in space. Had it not been for Toni's rapid tacking, the boat would have been hit squarely in the side.

Through the speaking tube connecting with the engine-room the captain shouted energetic orders to put on full speed. Meanwhile the mate, clamped to the wheel, ready to die rather than leave it, was directing the boat in zigzags so as not to offer a fixed point to the submarine.

All the crew were watching from the rail the distant and insignificant upright periscope. The third officer had rushed out of his stateroom, almost naked, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Caragol was in the stern, his loose shirt-tail flapping away as he held one hand to his eyebrows like a visor.

"I see it!… I see it perfectly…. Ah, the bandit, the heretic!"

And he extended his threatening fist toward a point in the horizon exactly opposite to the one upon which the periscope was appearing.

Through the blue circle of the glasses Ferragut saw this tube climbing up and up, growing larger and larger. It was no longer a stick, it was a tower; and from beneath this tower was coming up on the sea a base of steel spouting cascades of smoke,—a gray whale-back that appeared little by little to be taking the form of a sailing vessel, long and sharp-pointed.

A flag was suddenly run up upon the submarine. Ulysses recognized it.

"They are going to shell us!" he yelled to Toni. "It's useless to keep up the zigzagging. The thing to do now is to outspeed them, to go forward in a straight line."

The mate, skillful helmsman that he was, obeyed the captain. The hull vibrated under the force of the engines taxed to their utmost. Their prow was cutting the waters with increasing noise. The submersible upon augmenting its volume by emersion appeared, nevertheless, to be falling behind on the horizon. Two streaks of foam began to spring up on both sides of its prow. It was running with all its possible surface speed; but the Mare Nostrum was also going at the utmost limit of its engines and the distance was widening between the two boats.

"They are shooting!" said Ferragut with the glasses to his eyes.

A column of water spouted near the prow. That was the only thing that Caragol was able to see clearly and he burst into applause with a childish joy. Then he waved on high his palm-leaf hat. "Viva el Santo Cristo del Grao!…"

Other projectiles were falling around the Mare Nostrum, spattering it with jets of foam. Suddenly it trembled from poop to prow. Its plates trembled with the vibration of an explosion.

"That's nothing!" yelled the captain, bending himself double over the bridge in order to see better the hull of his ship. "A shell in the stern. Steady, Toni!…"

The mate, always grasping the wheel, kept turning his head from time to time to measure the distance separating them from the submarine. Every time that he saw an aquatic column of spray, forced up by a projectile, he would repeat the same counsel.

"Lie down, Ulysses!… They are going to fire at the bridge!"

This was a recollection of his far-away youth when, as a contrabandist, he used to stretch himself flat on the deck of his bark, manipulating the wheel and the sail under the fire of the custom-house officers on watch. He feared for the life of his captain while he was standing, constantly offering himself to the shots of the enemy.

Ferragut was storming from side to side, cursing his lack of means for returning the aggression. "This will never happen another time!… They won't get another chance to amuse themselves chasing me!"

A second projectile opened another breach in the poop. "If it only won't hit the engines!" the captain was thinking. After that the Mare Nostrum received no more damage, the following shots merely raising up columns of water in the steamer's wake. Every time now, these white phantasms leaped up further and further away. Although out of the range of the enemy's gun, it continued shooting and shooting uselessly. Finally the firing ceased and the submarine disappeared from the view of the glasses and completely submerged, tired of vain pursuit.

"That'll never happen again!" the captain kept repeating. "They'll never attack me another time with impunity!"

Then it occurred to him that this submarine had attack him knowing just who he was. On the side of his vessel were painted the colors of Spain. At the first shot from the gun, the third officer had hoisted the flag, but the shots did not cease on that account. They had wished to sink it "without leaving any trace." He believed that Freya, in her relations with the directors of the submarine campaign, must have advised them of his trip.

"Ah,… tal! If I meet her another time!…"

He had to remain several weeks in Marseilles while the damage to his steamer was being repaired.

As Toni lacked occupation during this enforced idleness, he accompanied him many times on his strolls. They liked to seat themselves on the terrace of a café in order to comment upon the picturesque differences in the cosmopolitan crowd.

"Look; people from our own country!" said the captain one evening.

And he pointed to three seamen drawn into the current of different uniforms and types of various races flowing familiarly around the tables of the café.

He had recognized them by their silk caps with visors, their blue jackets and their heavy obesity of Mediterranean sailors enjoying a certain prosperity. They must be skippers of small boats.

As though Ferragut's looks and gestures had mysteriously notified them, the three turned, fixing their eyes on the captain. Then they began to discuss among themselves with a vehemence which made it easy to guess their words.

"It is he!…" "No, it isn't!…"

Those men knew him but couldn't believe that they were really seeing him.

They went a little way off with marked indecision, turning repeatedly to look at him once more. In a few moments one of them, the oldest, returned, approaching the table timidly.

"Excuse me, but aren't you Captain Ferragut?…" He asked this question in Valencian, with his right hand at his cap, ready to take it off.

Ulysses stopped his salutation and offered him a seat. Yes, he was Ferragut. What did he want?…

The man refused to sit down. He wished to tell him privately two special things. When the captain presented to him his mate as a man in whom they could have complete confidence, he then sat down. The two companions, breaking through the human current, were standing on the edge of the sidewalk, turning their backs to the café.

He was skipper of a small craft; Ferragut had not been mistaken. He was speaking slowly, as though taken up with his final revelation to which all that he was saying was merely an introduction.

"The times are not so bad…. Money is to be gained in the sea; more than ever. I am from Valencia…. We have brought three boats from there with wine and rice. A good trip, but it was necessary to navigate close to the coast, following the curve of the gulf, without venturing to pass from cape to cape for fear of the submarine…. I have met a submarine."

Ulysses suspected that these last words contained the real motive which had made the man, overcoming his timidity, venture to address him.

"It was not on this trip nor on the one before," continued the man of the sea. "I met it two days before last Christmas. In the winter I devote myself to fishing. I am the owner of a pair of fishing smacks…. We were near the island Columbretas when suddenly we saw a submarine appear near us. The Germans did not do us any harm; the only vexatious thing was that we had to give them a part of our fish for what they wished to give us. Then they ordered me to come aboard the deck of a submarine in order to meet the commander. He was a young fellow who could talk Castilian as I have heard it spoken over there in the Americas when I was a youngster sailing on a brigantine."

The man stopped, rather reserved, as though doubtful whether to continue his story.

"And what did the German say?" asked Ferragut, in order to encourage him to continue.

"Upon learning that I was a Valencian, he asked me if I was acquainted with you. He asked me about your steamer, wanting to know if it generally sailed along the Spanish coast. I replied that I knew you by name, no more, and then he …"

The captain encouraged him with a smile on seeing that he was beginning to hesitate again.

"He spoke badly about me. Isn't that so?…"

"Yes, sir; very badly. He used ugly words. He said that he had an account to adjust with you and that he wished to be the first one to meet you. According to what he gave me to understand, the other submarines are hunting for you, too…. It is an order without doubt."

Ferragut and his mate exchanged a long look. Meanwhile the captain continued his explanations.

The two friends who were waiting a few steps off had seen the captain in Valencia and Barcelona many times. One of them had recognized him immediately; but the other was doubtful whether it might be he, and, as a matter of conscience, the old skipper had come back to give him this warning.

"We countrymen must help one another…. These are bad times!"

Seeing him standing, his two comrades now came up to Ferragut. "What would you like to drink?" He invited them to seat themselves at the table, but they were in a hurry. They were on their way to see the consignees of their boats.

"Now you know it, Captain," said the skipper on bidding him farewell. "These demons are after you in order to pay you up for something in the past. You know what for…. Be very careful!"

The rest of the evening Ferragut and Toni talked very little together. The two had exactly the same thought in their brain, but avoided putting it in shape because, as energetic men, they feared that some cowardly construction might be put upon such thoughts.

At nightfall when they returned to the steamer the pilot ventured to break the silence.

"Why do you not quit the sea?… You are rich. Besides, they'll give you whatever you ask for your ship. To-day boats are worth their weight in gold."

Ulysses shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't thinking of money. What good would that do him?… He wanted to pass the rest of his life on the sea, giving aid to the enemies of his enemies. He had a vengeance to fulfill…. Living on land, he would be abandoning this vengeance, though remembering his son with even greater intensity.

The mate was silent for a few moments.

"The enemies are so many," he then said in dismay. "We are so insignificant!… We only escaped by a few yards being sent to the bottom on our last trip. What has not happened yet will surely happen some day…. They have sworn to do away with you; and they are many … and they are at war. What could we do, we poor peaceable sailors?…"

Toni did not add anything further but his silent thoughts were divined by Ulysses.

He was thinking about his family over there in the Marina, enduring an existence of continual anxiety while he was aboard a vessel for which irresistible menace was lying in wait. He was thinking also of the wives and mothers of all the men of the crew who were suffering the same anguish. And Toni was asking himself for the first time whether Captain Ferragut had the right to drag them all to a sure death just because of his vengeful and crazy stubbornness.

"No; I have not the right," Ulysses told himself mentally.

But at the same time his mate, repentant of his former reflection, was affirming in a loud voice with heroic simplicity:

"If I counsel you to retire, it is for your own good; don't think it is because I am afraid…. I will follow you wherever you sail. I've got to die some time and it would be far better that it should be in the sea. The only thing that troubles me is worrying about my wife and children."

The captain continued walking in silence and, upon reaching his ship, spoke with brevity. "I was thinking of doing something that perhaps you would all like. Before next week your future will have been decided."

He passed the following day on land. Twice he returned with some gentlemen who examined the steamer minutely, going down into the engine room and the holds. Some of these visitors appeared to be experts in matters pertaining to the sea.

"He wants to sell the boat," said Toni to himself.

And the mate began to repent of his counsels. Abandon the Mare Nostrum, the best of all the ships on which he had ever sailed!… He accused himself of cowardice, believing that it was he who had impelled the captain to reach this decision. What were the two going to do on land when the steamer was the property of others?… Would he not have to sail on an inferior boat, running the same risks?… He decided to undo his work, and was about to counsel Ferragut again, declaring that his ideas were mere conjecture and that he must continue living as he was at present, when the captain gave the order for departure. The repairs were not yet entirely completed.

"We are going to Brest," said Ferragut laconically, "It's the last trip."

And the steamer put to sea without cargo as though going to fulfill a special mission.

"The last trip!" Toni admired his ship as though seeing it under a new light, discovering beauties hitherto unsuspected, lamenting like a lover the days that were running by so swiftly and the sad moment of separation that was approaching.

Never had the mate been so active in his vigilance. His seaman's superstition filled him with a certain terror. Just because it was the last voyage something horrible might occur to them. He paced the bridge for entire days, examining the sea, fearing the apparition of a periscope, varying the course in agreement with the captain, who was seeking less-frequented waters where the submarines could not expect to find any prey.

He breathed more freely upon entering one of the three semi-circular sea-ledges which enclose the roadstead of Brest. When they were anchored in this bit of sea, foggy and insecure, surrounded with black mountains, Toni awaited with anxiety the result of the captain's excursions ashore.

During the entire course of the trip Ferragut had not been inclined to be confidential. The mate only knew that this voyage to Brest was the last. Who was going to be the new owner of the Mare Nostrum?…

One rainy evening, upon returning to the boat, Ulysses gave orders that they should hunt up the mate while he was shaking out his waterproof in the entry to the stateroom.

The roadstead was dark with its foamy waves, choppy and thick, leaping like sheep. The men-of-war were sending out smoke from their triple chimneys ready to confront the bad weather with their steam engines.

The ship, anchored in the commercial port, was dancing restlessly, tugging at its hawsers, with a mournful croaking. All the nearby boats were tossing in the same way, just as though they were out on the high seas.

Toni entered the saloon, and one look at the captain's face made him suspect that the moment for knowing the truth had arrived. Avoiding his glance, Ulysses told him curtly, trying to evade by the conciseness of his language all signs of emotion.

He had sold the ship to the French:—a rapid and magnificent piece of business…. Whoever would have said when he bought the Mare Nostrum that some day they would give him such an enormous sum for it?… In no country could they find any vessels for sale. The invalids of the sea, rusting in the harbors as old iron, were now bringing fabulous prices. Boats, aground and forgotten on remote coasts, were placed afloat for enterprises that were gaining millions by this resurrection. Others, submerged in tropical seas, had been brought up to the surface after a ten years' stay under the water, renewing their voyages. Every month a new shipyard sprang into existence, but the world war could never find enough vessels for the transportation of food and instruments of death.

Without any bargaining whatever, they had given Ferragut the price that he had exacted; fifteen hundred francs per ton,—four million and a half for the boat. And to this must be added the nearly two millions that it had gained in its voyages since the beginning of the war.

"I am rotten with money," concluded the captain.

And he said it sadly, remembering with a homesick longing the days of peace when he was wrestling with the problems of a badly paying business. But then his son was living. Of what avail was all this wealth that was assaulting him on all sides as though it were going to crush him with its weight?… His wife would be able to lavish money with full hands on works of charity; she would be able to give her nieces the dowry suitable for daughters of high-born personages…. Nothing more! Neither he nor she could for one moment resuscitate their past. These useless riches could only bring him a certain tranquillity in thinking of the future of his wife, who was his entire family. She was at liberty henceforth to dispose freely of her existence. Cinta, on his death, would fall heir to millions.

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

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

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

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

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

"And you?" he asked.

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

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

Because the Mare Nostrum belonged to a neutral country, it could not be sold to one of the belligerent nations while hostilities lasted. Because of this, he had transferred it in a way that would not make it necessary to change the flag. Although no longer its owner, he would stay on board as its captain, and the ship would continue to be Spanish the same as before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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