Whohasnotseenpoorbirdscaughtbytheirfeetinthelime？Atfirsttheycanscarcelybelievetheyarecaught；itchangesnothingintheiraspect；buttheysoonaresurethattheyareheldfast，andindangerofnevergettingfreeagain。Andwhentheystruggletogetfree，andthestickystuffsoilstheirwingsandheads，theygraduallyassumethatpitifullookofadumbcreatureindistress，abouttodie。Suchwasthecasewiththe/Marie/。Atfirstitdidnotseemmuchtobeconcernedabout；shecertainlywascareenedalittleononeside，butitwasbroadmorning，andtheweatherwasfairandcalm；onehadtoknowsuchthingsbyexperiencetobecomeuneasy，andunderstandthatitwasaseriousmatter。
Thecaptainwastobepitied。Itwashisfault，ashehadnotunderstoodexactlywheretheywere。Hewrunghishands，saying:"Godhelpus!Godhelpus!"inavoiceofdespair。
Closetothem，duringaliftingofthefog，theycoulddistinguishaheadland，butnotrecognizeit。Butthemistscovereditanew，andtheysawitnolonger。
Therewasnosailorsmokeinsight。Theyalljostledabout，hurryingandknockingthedecklumberover。TheirdogTurc，whodidnotusuallymindthemovementofthesea，wasgreatlyaffectedtoobythisincident，thesesoundsfromdownbelow，theseheavywallowingswhenthelowswellpassedunder，andthesuddencalmthatafterwardsfollowed；heunderstoodthatallthiswasunusual，andhidhimselfawayincorners，withhistailbetweenhislegs。Theygotouttheboatstocarrythekedgesandsetthemfirm，andtriedtorowheroutofitbyunitingalltheirforcestogetheruponthetow-lines——aheavypieceofworkthis，whichlastedtensuccessivehours。So，wheneveningcame，thepoorbark，whichhadonlythatmorningbeensofreshandlight，lookedalmostswamped，fouled，andgoodfornothing。Shehadfoughthard，flounderedaboutonallsides，butstillremainedthere，fixedasinadock。
Nightwasovertakingthem；thewindandthewaveswererising；thingsweregrowingworse，when，allofasudden，towardssixo'clock，theywereletgoclear，andcouldbeoffagain，tearingasunderthetow-
lines，whichtheyhadlefttokeepherheadsteady。Themenwept，rushingaboutlikemadmen，cheeringfromstemtostern——"We'reafloat，boys!"
Theywereafloat，withajoythatcannotbedescribed；whatitwastofeelthemselvesgoingforwardsonabuoyantcraftagain，insteadofonthesemi-wreckitwasbefore，nonebutaseamanfeels，andfewofthemcantell。
Yann'ssadnesshaddisappearedtoo。Likehisship，hebecamelivelyoncemore，curedbythehealthymanuallabour；hehadfoundhisrecklesslookagain，andhadthrownoffhisglumthoughts。
Nextmorning，whenthekedgeswerefishedup，the/Marie/wentonherwaytoIceland，andYann'sheart，toallappearance，wasasfreeasinhisearlyyears。
CHAPTERXIII
HOMENEWS
Thehomeletterswerebeingdistributedonboardthe/Circe/，atanchoratHa-Long，overontheothersideoftheearth。Inthemidstofagroupofsailors，thepursercalledout，inaloudvoice，thenamesofthefortunatemenwhohadletterstoreceive。Thiswentonatevening，ontheship'sside，allcrushingroundafunnel。
"Moan，Sylvestre!"Therewasoneforhim，postmarked"Paimpol，"butitwasnotGaud'swriting。Whatdidthatmean？fromwhomdiditcomeelse？
Afterhavingturnedandflourisheditabout，heopeneditfearingly，andread:
"PLOUBAZLANEC，March5th，1884。
"MYDEARGRANDSON:"
So，itwasfromhisdearoldgranny。Hebreathedfreeagain。Atthebottomofthelettersheevenhadplacedhersignature，learnedbyheart，buttremblinglikeaschool-girl'sscribble:"WidowMoan。"
"WidowMoan!"Withaquickspontaneousmovementhecarriedthepapertohislipsandkissedthepoorname，asasacredrelic。Forthisletterarrivedatacriticalmomentofhislife；to-morrowatdawn，hewastosetoutforthebattlefield。
ItwasinthemiddleofApril；Bac-NinhandHong-Hoahadjustbeentaken。TherewasnogreatwarfaregoingoninTonquin，yetthereinforcementsarrivingwerenotsufficient；sailorsweretakenfromalltheshipstomakeupthedeficitinthecorpsalreadydisembarked。
Sylvestre，whohadlanguishedsolonginthemidstofcruisesandblockades，hadjustbeenselectedwithsomeotherstofillupthevacancies。
Itistruethatnowpeacewasspokenof，butsomethingtoldthemthattheyyetwoulddisembarckingoodtimetofightabit。Theypackedtheirbags，madealltheirotherpreparations，andsaidgood-bye，andalltheeveningthroughtheystrolledaboutwiththeirunfortunatemateswhohadtoremain，feelingmuchgranderandprouderthanthey。
Eachinhisownwayshowedhisimpressionatthisdeparture——someweregraveandserious，othersexuberantandtalkative。
Sylvestrewasveryquietandthoughtful，thoughimpatient；only，whentheylookedathim，hissmileseemedtosay，"Yes，I'moneofthefightingparty，andhuzza!theactionisforto-morrowmorning!"
Ofgunshotsandbattleheformedbutanincompleteideaasyet；buttheyfascinatedhim，forhecameofavaliantrace。
ThestrangewritingofhislettermadehimanxiousaboutGaud，andhedrewnearaportholetoreadtheepistlethrough。Itwasdifficultamidallthosehalf-nakedmenpressinground，intheunbearableheatofthegundeck。
Ashethoughtshewoulddo，inthebeginningofherletterGrannyMoanexplainedwhyshehadhadtotakerecoursetotheinexperiencedhandofanoldneighbour:
"Mydearchild，Idon'taskyourcousintowriteformeto-day，assheisingreattrouble。Herfatherdiedsuddenlytwodaysago。ItappearsthathiswholefortunehasbeenlostthroughunluckygamblinglastwinterinParis。Sohishouseandfurniturewillhavetobesold。Nobodyintheplacewasexpectingthis。Ithink，dearchild，thatthiswillpainyouasmuchasitdoesme。
"Gaos，theson，sendsyouhiskindremembrance；hehasrenewedhisarticleswithCaptainGuermeurofthe/Marie/，andthedepartureforIcelandwasratherearlythisyear，fortheysetsailonthefirstofthemonth，twodaysbeforeourpoorGaud'strouble，andhedon'tknowofityet。
"Butyoucaneasilyimaginethatweshallnotgetthemwednow，forshewillbeobligedtoworkforherdailybread。"
Sylvestredweltstupor-stricken；thisbadnewsquitespoiledhisgleeatgoingouttofight。
PARTIII
INTHESHADOW
CHAPTERI
THESKIRMISH
Hark!abullethurtlesthroughtheair!
Sylvestrestopsshorttolisten!
Heisuponaninfinitemeadow，greenwiththesoftvelvetcarpetofspring。Theskyisgray，lowering，asiftoweighuponone'sveryshoulders。
Theyaresixsailorsreconnoitringamongthefreshrice-fields，inamuddypathway。
Hist!againthewhizz，breakingthesilenceoftheair——ashrill，continuoussound，akindofprolonged/zing/，givingoneastrongimpressionthatthepelletsbuzzingbymighthavestungfatally。
ForthefirsttimeinhislifeSylvestrehearsthatmusic。Thebulletscomingtowardsamanhaveadifferentsoundfromthosefiredbyhimself:thefar-offreportisattenuated，ornotheardatall，soitiseasiertodistinguishthesharprushofmetalasitswiftlypassesby，almostgrazingone'sears。
Crack!whizz!ping!againandyetagain!Theballsfallinregularshowersnow。Closebythesailorstheystopshort，andareburiedinthefloodedsoiloftherice-fields，accompaniedbyafaintsplash，likehailfallingsharpandswiftinapuddleofwater。
Themarineslookedatoneanotherasifitwasallapieceofoddfun，andsaid:
"OnlyJohnChinaman!pish!"
Tothesailors，Annamites，Tonquinese，or"BlackFlags"areallofthesameChinesefamily。Itisdifficulttoshowtheircontemptandmockingrancour，aswellaseagernessfor"bowlingoverthebeggars，"
whentheyspeakof"theChinese。"
Twoorthreebulletsarestillflyingabout，morecloselygrazing；
theycanbeseenbouncinglikegrasshoppersinthegreen。Theslightshowerofleaddidnotlastlong。
Perfectsilencereturnstothebroadverdantplain，andnowherecananythingbeseenmoving。Thesamesixarestillthere，standingonthewatch，scentingthebreeze，andtryingtodiscoverwhencethevolleycame。Surelyfromoveryonder，bythatclumpofbamboos，whichlookslikeanislandoffeathersintheplain；behinditseveralpointedroofsappearhalfhidden。Sotheyallmadeforit，theirfeetslippingorsinkingintothesoakedsoil。Sylvestrerunsforemost，onhislonger，morenimblelegs。
Nomorebuzzofbullets；theymighthavethoughttheyweredreaming。
Asinallthecountriesoftheworld，somefeaturesarethesame；thecloudygrayskiesandthefreshtintsoffieldsinspring-time，forexample；onecouldimaginethisuponFrenchmeadows，andtheseyoungfellows，runningmerrilyoverthem，playingaverydifferentsportfromthisgameofdeath。
Butastheyapproach，thebamboosshowtheexoticdelicacyoftheirfoliage，andthevillageroofsgrowsharperinthesingularityoftheircurves，andyellowmenhiddenbehindadvancetoreconnoitre；
theirflatfacesarecontractedbyfearandspitefulness。Thensuddenlytheyrushoutscreaming，anddeployintoalongline，trembling，butdecidedanddangerous。
"TheChinese!"shoutthesailorsagain，withtheirsamebravesmile。
Butthistimetheyfindthatthereareagoodmany——toomany；andoneofthemturningroundperceivesotherChinesecomingfrombehind，springingupfromthelongtallgrass。
Atthismoment，youngSylvestrecameoutgrand；hisoldgrannywouldhavebeenproudtoseehimsuchawarrior。Sincethelastfewdayshehadaltered。Hisfacewasbronzed，andhisvoicestrengthened。Hewasinhisownelementhere。
Inamomentofsupremeindecisionthesailorshitbythebulletsalmostyieldedtoanimpulseofretreat，whichwouldcertainlyhavebeendeathtothemall；butSylvestrecontinuedtoadvance，clubbinghisrifle，andfightingawholeband，knockingthemdownrightandleftwithsmashingblowsfromthebutt-end。Thankstohimthesituationwasreversed；thatpanicormadnessthatblindlydeceivesallintheseleaderlessskirmisheshadnowpassedovertotheChineseside，anditwastheywhobegantoretreat。
Itwassoonallover；theywerefairlytakingtotheirheels。Thesixsailors，reloadingtheirrepeatingrifles，shotthemdowneasily；uponthegrasslaydeadbodiesbyredpools，andskullswereemptyingtheirbrainsintotheriver。
Theyfled，coweringlikeleopards。Sylvestreranafterthem，althoughhehadtwowounds——alance-thrustinthethighandadeepgashinhisarm；butfeelingnothingsavetheintoxicationofbattle，thatunreasoningfeverthatcomesofvigorousblood，givesloftycouragetosimplesouls，andmadetheheroesofantiquity。
Onewhomhewaspursuingturnedround，andwithaspasmofdesperateterrortookadeliberateaimathim。Sylvestrestoppedshort，smilingscornfully，sublime，tolethimfire，andseeingthedirectionoftheaim，onlyshiftedalittletotheleft。ButwiththepressureuponthetriggerthebarreloftheChinesejingaldeviatedslightlyinthesamedirection。Hesuddenlyfeltasmartrapuponhisbreast，andinaflashofthoughtunderstoodwhatitwas，evenbeforefeelinganypain；
heturnedtowardstheothersfollowing，andtriedtocryouttothemthetraditionalphraseoftheoldsoldier，"Ithinkit'sallupwithme!"Inthegreatbreaththatheinhaledafterhavingrun，torefillhislungswithair，hefelttheairrushinalsobyaholeinhisrightbreast，withahorriblegurgling，liketheblastinabrokenbellows。Inthatsametimehismouthfilledwithblood，andasharppainshotthroughhisside，whichrapidlygrewworse，untilitbecameatrociousandunspeakable。Hewhirledroundtwoorthreetimes，hisbrainswimmingtoo；andgaspingforbreaththroughtherisingredtidethatchokedhim，fellheavilyinthemud。
CHAPTERII
"OUT，BRIEFCANDLE!"
Aboutafortnightlater，astheskywasdarkeningattheapproachoftherains，andtheheatmoreheavilyweighedoveryellowTonquin，SylvestrebroughttoHanoi，wassenttoHa-Long，andplacedonboardahospital-shipabouttoreturntoFrance。
Hehadbeencarriedaboutforsometimeondifferentstretchers，withintervalsofrestattheambulances。Theyhaddonealltheycouldforhim；butundertheinsufficientconditions，hischesthadfilledwithwateronthepiercedside，andthegurglingairenteredthroughthewound，whichwouldnotcloseup。
Hehadreceivedthemilitarymedal，whichgavehimamoment'sjoy。Buthewasnolongerthewarriorofold——resoluteofgait，andsteadyinhisresoundingvoice。Allthathadvanishedbeforethelong-sufferingandweakeningfever。Hehadbecomeahome-sickboyagain；hehardlyspokeexceptinansweringoccasionalquestions，inafeebleandalmostinaudiblevoice。Tofeeloneselfsosickandsofaraway；tothinkthatitwantedsomanydaysbeforehecouldreachhome!Wouldheeverliveuntilthen，withhisstrengthebbingaway？Suchaterrifyingfeelingofdistancecontinuallyhauntedhimandweighedateverywakening；andwhen，afterafewhours'stupor，heawokefromthesickeningpainofhiswounds，withfeverishheatandthewhistlingsoundinhispiercedbosom，heimploredthemtoputhimonboard，inspiteofeverything。Hewasveryheavytocarryintohisward，andwithoutintendingit，theygavehimsomecrueljoltsontheway。
Theylaidhimononeoftheironcampbedsteadsplacedinrows，hospitalfashion，andthenhesetoutinaninversedirection，onhislongjourneythroughtheseas。Insteadoflivinglikeabirdinthefullwindofthetops，heremainedbelowdeck，inthemidstofthebadairofmedicines，wounds，andmisery。
Duringthefirstdaysthejoyofbeinghomewardboundmadehimfeelalittlebetter。Hecouldevenbearbeingproppedupinbedwithpillows，andattimesheaskedforhisbox。Hisseaman'schestwasadealbox，boughtinPaimpol，tokeepallhislovedtreasuresin；
insidewerelettersfromGrannyYvonne，andalsofromYannandGaud，acopy-bookintowhichhehadcopiedsomesea-songs，andoneoftheworksofConfuciusinChinese，caughtupatrandomduringpillage；ontheblanksidesofitsleaveshehadwrittenthesimpleaccountofhiscampaign。
Neverthelesshegotnobetter，andafterthefirstweek，thedoctorsdecidedthatdeathwasimminent。TheywereneartheLinenow，inthestiflingheatofstorms。Thetroop-shipkeptonhercourse，shakingherbeds，thewoundedandthedying；quickerandquickershespedoverthetossingsea，troubledstillasduringtheswayofthemonsoons。
SinceleavingHa-Longmorethanonepatientdied，andwasconsignedtothedeepwateronthehighroadtoFrance；manyofthenarrowbedsnolongerboretheirsufferingburdens。
Uponthisparticulardayitwasverygloomyinthetravellinghospital；onaccountofthehighseasithadbeennecessarytoclosetheironport-lids，whichmadethestiflingsick-roommoreunbearable。
Sylvestrewasworse；theendwasnigh。Lyingalwaysuponhiswoundedside，hepresseduponitwithbothhandswithallhisremainingstrength，totryandallaythewaterydecompositionthatroseinhisrightlung，andtobreathewiththeotherlungonly。Butbydegreestheotherwasaffectedandtheultimateagonyhadbegun。
Dreamsandvisionsofhomehauntedhisbrain；inthehotdarkness，belovedorhorriblefacesbentoverhim；hewasinanever-endinghallucination，throughwhichfloatedapparitionsofBrittanyandIceland。Inthemorningwascalledinthepriest，andtheoldman，whowasusedtoseeingsailorsdie，wasastonishedtofindsopureasoulinsostrongandmanlyabody。
Hecriedoutforair，air!buttherewasnoneanywhere；theventilatorsnolonggaveany；theattendant，whowasfanninghimwithaChinesefan，onlymovedunhealthyvapoursoverhimofsickeningstaleness，whichrevoltedalllungs。Sometimesfierce，desperatefitscameoverhim；hewishedtotearhimselfawayfromthatbed，wherehefeltdeathwouldcometoseizehim，andrushaboveintothefullfreshwindandtrytoliveagain。Oh!tobelikethoseothers，scramblingaboutamongtherigging，andlivingamongthemasts。Buthisextremeeffortonlyendedinthefeebleliftingofhisweakenedhead；
somethingliketheincompletedmovementofasleeper。Hecouldnotmanageit，butfellbackinthehollowofhiscrumpledbed，partlychainedtherebydeath；andeachtime，afterthefatigueofalikeshock，helostallconsciousness。
Topleasehimtheyopenedaportatlast，althoughitwasdangerous，theseabeingveryrough。Itwasgoingonforsixintheevening。Whenthediskwasswungback，aredlightentered，gloriousandradiant。
Thedyingsunappeareduponthehorizonindazzlingsplendour，throughatornriftinagloomysky；itsblindinglightglancedoverthewaves，andlitupthefloatinghospital，likeawavingtorch。
Butnoairrushedin；thelittletherewasoutside，waspowerlesstoenteranddrivebeforeitthefeveredatmosphere。Overallsidesofthatboundlessequatorialsea，floatedawarmandheavymoisture，unfitforrespiration。Noaironanyside，notevenforthepoorgaspingfellowsontheirdeathbeds。
Onevisiondisturbedhimgreatly；itwasofhisoldgrandmother，walkingquicklyalongaroad，withaheartrendinglookofalarm；fromlow-lyingfunerealcloudsaboveher，fellthedrizzlingrain；shewasonherwaytoPaimpol，summonedthithertobeinformedofhisdeath。
Hewasstrugglingnow，withthedeath-rattleinhisthroat。Fromthecornersofhismouththeyspongedawaythewaterandblood，whichhadwelledupinquantitiesfromhischestinwrithingagony。Stillthegrand，glorioussunlitupall，likeaconflagrationofthewholeworld，withblood-ladenclouds；throughtheapertureoftheport-hole，awidestreakofcrimsonfireblazedin，and，spreadingoverSylvestre'sbed，formedahaloaroundhim。
AtthatverymomentthatsamesunwastobeseeninBrittany，wheremiddaywasabouttostrike。Itwas，indeed，thesamesun，beheldattheprecisemomentofitsnever-endinground；buthereitkeptquiteanotherhue。Higherupinthebluishsky，itkeptsheddingasoftwhitelightongrandmotherYvonne，sittingoutatherdoor，sewing。
InIceland，too，whereitwasmorning，itwasshiningatthatsamemomentofdeath。Muchpalerthere，itseemedasifitonlyshoweditsfacebysomemiracle。Sadlyitsheditsraysoverthefjordwhere/LaMarie/floated；andnowitsskywaslitupbyapurenorthernlight，whichalwaysgivestheideaofafrozenplanet'sreflection，withoutanatmosphere。Withacoldaccuracy，itoutlinedalltheessentialsofthatstonychaosthatisIceland；thewholeofthecountryasseenfrom/LaMarie/seemedfixedinonesameperspectiveandheldupright。
Yannwasthere，litupbyastrangelight，fishing，asusual，inthemidstofthislunar-likescenery。
Asthebeamoffieryflamethatcamethroughtheport-holefaded，andthesundisappearedcompletelyunderthegildedbillows，theeyesofthegrandsonrolledinwardtowardhisbrowasiftofallbackintohishead。
Theyclosedhiseyelidswiththeirownlonglashes，andSylvestrebecamecalmandbeautifulagain，likearecliningmarblestatueofmanlyrepose。
CHAPTERIII
THEGRAVEABROAD
IcannotrefrainfromtellingyouaboutSylvestre'sfuneral，whichI
conductedmyselfinSingapore。WehadthrownenoughotherdeadintotheSeaofChina，duringtheearlydaysofthehomevoyage；andastheMalaylandwasquitenear，wedecidedtokeephisremainsafewhourslonger；toburyhimfittingly。
Itwasveryearlyinthemorning，onaccountoftheterriblesun。Intheboatthatcarriedhimashore，hiscorpsewasshroudedinthenationalflag。Thecitywasinsleepaswelanded。Awagonette，sentbytheFrenchConsul，waswaitingonthequay；welaidSylvestreuponit，withawoodencrossmadeonboard——thepaintstillwetuponit，forthecarpenterhadtohurryoverit，andthewhitelettersofhisnameranintotheblackground。
WecrossedthatBabelintherisingsun。AndthenitwassuchanemotiontofindtheserenecalmofanEuropeanplaceofworshipinthemidstofthedistastefulturmoiloftheChinesecountry。Underthehighwhitearch，whereIstoodalonewithmysailors，the"/DiesIroe/，"chantedbyamissionarypriest，soundedlikeasoftmagicalincantation。Throughtheopendoorswecouldseesightsthatresembledenchantedgardens，exquisiteverdureandimmensepalm-trees，thewindshookthelargefloweringshrubsandtheirperfumedcrimsonpetalsfelllikerain，almosttothechurchitself。Thencewemarchedtotheceremony，veryfaroff。Ourlittleprocessionofsailorswasveryunpretentious，butthecoffinremainedconspicuouslywrappedintheflagofFrance。WehadtotraversetheChinesequarter，throughseethingcrowdsofyellowmen；andthentheMalayandIndiansuburbs，wherealltypesofAsiaticfaceslookeduponuswithastonishment。
Thencametheopencountryalreadyheated；throughshadygroveswhereexquisitebutterflies，onvelvetybluewings，flittedinmasses。Oneitherside，wavedtallluxuriantpalms，andquantitiesofflowersinsplendidprofusion。Atlastwecametothecemetery，withmandarins'
tombsandmany-colouredinscriptions，adornedwithpaintingsofdragonsandothermonsters；amidastoundingfoliageandplantsgrowingeverywhere。ThespotwherewelaidhimdowntorestresembledanookinthegardensofIndra。Intotheearthwedrovethelittlewoodencross，lettered:
SYLVESTREMOAN，AGED19。
Andwelefthim，forcedtogobecauseofthehotrisingsun；weturnedbackoncemoretolookathimunderthosemarvelloustreesandhugenoddingflowers。
CHAPTERIV
TOTHESURVIVORS，THESPOILS
ThetroopercontinueditscoursethroughtheIndianOcean。Downbelowinthefloatinghospitalotherdeath-sceneswenton。Ondecktherewascarelessnessofhealthandyouth。Roundabout，overthesea，wasaveryfeastofpuresunandair。
Inthisfinetrade-windweather，thesailors，stretchedintheshadeofthesails，wereplayingwithlittlepetparrotsandmakingthemrunraces。InthisSingapore，whichtheyhadjustleft，thesailorsbuyallkindsoftameanimals。Theyhadallchosenbabyparrots，withchildishlooksupontheirhooknosefaces；theyhadnotailsyet；theyweregreen，ofawonderfulshade。Astheywentrunningoverthecleanwhiteplanks，theylookedlikefreshyoungleaves，fallenfromtropicaltrees。
Sometimesthesailorsgatheredthemalltogetherinonelot，whentheyinspectedoneanotherfunnily；twistingabouttheirthroats，tobeseenunderallaspects。Theycomicallywaddledaboutlikesomanylamepeople，orsuddenlystartedoffinagreathurryforsomeunknowndestination；andsomefelldownintheirexcitement。Andthereweremonkeys，learningtricksofallkinds，anothersourceofamusement。
Someweremosttenderlylovedandevenkissedextravagantly，astheynestledagainstthecallousbosomsoftheirmasters，gazingfondlyatthemwithwomanisheyes，half-grotesqueandhalf-touching。
Uponthestrokeofthreeo'clock，thequartermastersbroughtondecktwocanvasbags，sealedwithhugeredseals，bearingSylvestre'sname；
forbyorderoftheregulationsinregardtothedead，allhisclothesandpersonalworldlybelongingsweretobesoldbyauction。Thesailorsgailygroupedthemselvesaroundthepile；for，onboardahospitalship，toomanyofthesesalesofeffectsareseentoexciteanyparticularemotion。Besides，Sylvestrehadbeenbutlittleknownuponthatship。
Hisjacketsandshirtsandblue-stripedjerseyswerefingeredandturnedoverandthenboughtupatdifferentprices，thebuyersforcingthebiddingjusttoamusethemselves。
Thencametheturnofthesmalltreasure-box，whichwassoldforfiftysous。Thelettersandmilitarymedalhadbeentakenoutofit，tobesentbacktothefamily；butnotthebookofsongsandtheworkofConfucious，withtheneedles，cotton，andbuttons，andallthepettyrequisitesplacedtherebytheforethoughtofGrannyMoanforsewingandmending。
Thenthequartermasterwhoheldupthethingstobesolddrewouttwosmallbuddhas，takeninsomepagodatogivetoGaud，andsofunnyweretheythattheyweregreetedwithageneralburstoflaughter，whentheyappearedasthelastlot。Butthesailorslaughed，notforwantofheart，butonlythroughthoughtlessness。
Toconclude，thebagsweresold，andthebuyerimmediatelystruckoutthenameonthemtosubstitutehisown。
Acarefulsweepofthebroomwasafterwardgiventoclearthescrupulouslycleandeckofthedustandoddsandends，whilethesailorsreturnedmerrilytoplaywiththeirparrotsandmonkeys。
CHAPTERV
THEDEATH-BLOW
Oneday，inthefirstfortnightofJune，asoldYvonnewasreturninghome，someneighbourstoldherthatshehadbeensentforbytheCommissionerfromtheNavalRegistryOffice。Ofcourseitconcernedhergrandson，butthatdidnotfrightenherintheleast。ThefamiliesofseafarersareusedtotheNavalRegistry，andshe，thedaughter，wife，mother，andgrandmotherofseamen，hadknownthatofficeforthepastsixtyyears。
Doubtlessithadtodowithhis"delegation"；orperhapstherewasasmallprize-moneyaccountfrom/LaCirce/totakethroughherproxy。
Assheknewwhatrespectwasdueto"/MonsieurleCommissaire/，"sheputonherbestgownandacleanwhitecap，andsetoutabouttwoo'clock。
Trottingalongswiftlyonthepathwaysofthecliff，shenearedPaimpol；andmusinguponthesetwomonthswithoutletters，shegrewabitanxious。
Shemetheroldsweetheartsittingoutathisdoor。Hehadgreatlyagedsincetheappearanceofthewintercold。
"Eh，eh!Whenyou'reready，youknow，don'tmakeanyceremony，mybeauty!"That"suitofdeal"stillhauntedhismind。
ThejoyousbrightnessofJunesmiledaroundher。Ontherockyheightstherestillgrewthestuntedreedswiththeiryellowblossoms；butpassingintothehollownooksshelteredagainstthebitterseawinds，onemetwithhighsweet-smellinggrass。Butthepooroldwomandidnotseeallthis，overwhoseheadsomanyrapidseasonshadpassed，whichnowseemedasshortasdays。
Aroundthecrumblinghamletwithitsgloomywallsgrewroses，pinks，andstocks；andevenuponthetopsofthewhitewashedandmossyroofs，sprangthefloweretsthatattractedthefirst"miller"
butterfliesoftheseason。
Thisspring-timewasalmostwithoutloveinthelandofIcelanders，andthebeautifullassesofproudrace，whosatoutdreamingontheirdoorsteps，seemedtolookfarbeyondthevisiblethingswiththeirblueorbrowneyes。Theyoungmen，whoweretheobjectsoftheirmelancholyanddesires，wereremote，fishingonthenorthernseas。
Butitwasaspring-timeforallthat——warm，sweet，andtroubling，withitsbuzzingoffliesandperfumeofyoungplants。
Andallthissoullessfreshnesssmileduponthepooroldgrandmother，whowasquicklywalkingalongtohearofthedeathofherlast-borngrandson。Shenearedtheawfulmomentwhenthisevent，whichhadtakenplaceinthesodistantChineseseas，wastobetoldtoher；shewastakingthatsinisterwalkthatSylvestrehaddivinedathisdeath-hour——thesightofthathadtornhislastagonizedtearsfromhim；hisdarlingoldgrannysummonedtoPaimpoltobetoldthathewasdead!
Clearlyhehadseenherpassalongthatroad，runningstraighton，withhertinybrownshawl，herumbrella，andlargehead-dress。Andthatapparitionhadmadehimtossandwritheinfearfulanguish，whilethehuge，redsunoftheEquator，disappearinginitsglory，peeredthroughtheport-holeofthehospitaltowatchhimdie。Buthe，inhislasthallucination，hadseenhisoldgrannymovingunderarain-ladensky，andonthecontraryajoyouslaughingspring-timemockedheronallsides。
NearingPaimpol，shebecamemoreandmoreuneasy，andimprovedherspeed。Nowsheisinthegraytownwithitsnarrowgranitestreets，wherethesunfalls，biddinggood-daytosomeotheroldwomen，hercontemporaries，sittingattheirwindows。Astonishedtoseeher；theysaid:"Whereverisshegoingsoquickly，inherSundaygown，onaweek-day？"
"MonsieurleCommissaire"oftheNavalEnlistmentOfficewasnotinjustthen。Oneuglylittlecreature，aboutfifteenyearsold，whowashisclerk，satathisdesk。Ashewastoopunytobeafisher，hehadreceivedsomeeducationandpassedhistimeinthatsamechair，inhisblacklinendust-sleeves，scratchingawayatpaper。
Withalookofimportance，whenshehadsaidhername，hegotuptogettheofficialdocumentsfromoffashelf。
Therewereagreatmanypapers——whatdiditallmean？Parchments，sealedpapers，asailor'srecord-book，grownyellowonthesea，andoverallfloatedanodourofdeath。Hespreadthemalloutbeforethepooroldwoman，whobegantotrembleandfeeldizzy。ShehadjustrecognizedtwooftheletterswhichGaudusedtowriteforhertohergrandson，andwhichwerenowreturnedtoherneverunsealed。ThesamethinghadhappenedtwentyyearsagoatthedeathofhersonPierre；
thelettershadbeensentbackfromChinato"MonsieurleCommissaire，"whohadgiventhemtoherthus。
Nowhewasreadingoutinaconsequentialvoice:"Moan，Jean-Marie-
Sylvestre，registeredatPaimpol，folio213，number2091，diedonboardthe/BienHoa/，onthe14thof。"
"What——whathashappenedtohim，mygoodsir？"
"Discharged——dead，"heanswered。
Itwasn'tbecausethisclerkwasunkind，butifhespokeinthatbrutalway，itwasthroughwantofjudgment，andfromlackofintelligenceinthelittleincompletebeing。
Ashesawthatshedidnotunderstandthattechnicalexpression，hesaidinBreton:
"/Marweo/!"
"/Marweo/!"Heisdead。
Sherepeatedthewordsafterhim，inheragedtremulousvoice，asapoorcrackedechowouldsendbacksomeindifferentphrase。Sowhatshehadpartlyforeseenwastrue；butitonlymadehertremble；nowthatitwascertain，itseemedtoaffecthernomore。Tobeginwith，herfacultytosufferwasslightlydulledbyoldage，especiallysincethislastwinter。Paindidnotstrikeherimmediately。Somethingseemedtofallupsidedowninherbrain，andsomehoworanothershemixedthisdeathupwithothers。Shehadlostsomanyofthembefore。
Sheneededamomenttograspthatthiswasherverylastone，herdarling，theobjectofallherprayers，life，andwaiting，andofallherthoughts，alreadydarkenedbythesombreapproachofsecondchildhood。
Shefeltasortofshameatshowingherdespairbeforethislittlegentlemanwhohorrifiedher。Wasthatthewaytotellagrandmotherofherdarling'sdeath？Sheremainedstandingbeforethedesk，stiffened，andtearingthefringesofherbrownshawlwithherpooragedhands，soreandchappedwithwashing。
Howfarawayshefeltfromhome!Goodness!whatalongwalkbacktobegonethrough，andsteadily，too，beforenearingthewhitewashedhutinwhichshelongedtoshutherselfup，likeawoundedbeastwhohidesinitsholetodie。Andsoshetriednottothinktoomuchandnottounderstandyet，frightenedaboveallatthelonghome-journey。
Theygaveheranordertogoandtake，astheheiress，thethirtyfrancsthatcamefromthesaleofSylvestre'sbag；andthentheletters，thecertificates，andtheboxcontainingthemilitarymedal。
Shetookthewholeparcelawkwardlywithopenfingers，unabletofindpocketstoputthemin。
ShewentstraightthroughPaimpol，lookingatnoone，herbodybentslightlylikeoneabouttofall，witharushingofbloodinherears；
pressingandhurryingalonglikesomepooroldmachine，whichcouldnotbewoundup，atagreatpressure，forthelasttime，withoutfearofbreakingitssprings。
Atthethirdmileshewentalongquitebentintwoandexhausted；fromtimetotimeherfootstruckagainstthestones，givingherapainfulshockuptotheveryhead。Shehurriedtoburyherselfinherhome，forfearoffallingandhavingtobecarriedthere。
CHAPTERVI
ACHARITABLEASSUMPTION
"OldYvonne'stipsy!"wasthecry。
Shehadfallen，andthestreetchildrenranafterher。ItwasjustattheboundaryoftheparishofPloubazlanec，wheremanyhousesstragglealongtheroadside。Butshehadthestrengthtoriseandhobblealongonherstick。
"OldYvonne'stipsy!"
Theboldlittlecreaturesstaredherfullintheface，laughing。Her/coiffe/wasallawry。Someoftheselittleoneswerenotreallywicked，andthese，whentheyscannedhercloserandsawthesenilegrimaceofbitterdespair，turnedaside，surprisedandsaddened，daringtosaynothingmore。
Athome，withthedoortightlyclosed，shegaveventtothedeepscreamofdespairthatchokedher，andfelldowninacorner，herheadagainstthewall。Hercaphadfallenoverhereyes；shethrewoffroughlywhatformerlyhadbeensowelltakencareof。HerSundaydresswassoiled，andathinmeshofyellowishwhitehairstrayedfrombeneathhercap，completingherpitiful，poverty-strickendisorder。
CHAPTERVII
THECOMFORTER
ThusdidGaud，cominginfornewsintheevening，findher；herhairdishevelled，herarmshangingdown，andherheadrestingagainstthestonewall，withafallingjawgrinning，andtheplaintivewhimperofalittlechild；shescarcelycouldweepanymore；thesegrandmothers，growntooold，havenotearsleftintheirdried-upeyes。
"Mygrandsonisdead!"Shethrewtheletters，papers，andmedalintohercaller'slap。
Gaudquicklyscannedthewhole，sawthenewswastrue，andfellonherkneestopray。Thetwowomenremainedtheretogetheralmostdumb，throughtheJunegloaming，whichinBrittanyislongbutinIcelandisnever-ending。Onthehearththecricketthatbringsjoywaschirpinghisshrillmusic。
ThedimduskenteredthroughthenarrowwindowintothedwellingofthoseMoans，whohadallbeendevouredbythesea，andwhosefamilywasnowextinguished。
AtlastGaudsaid:"/I'll/cometoyou，goodgranny，tolivewithyou；
I'llbringmybedthatthey'veleftme，andI'lltakecareofyouandnurseyou——youshan'tbeallalone。"
Shewept，too，forherlittlefriendSylvestre，butinhersorrowshewasledinvoluntarilytothinkofanother——hewhohadgonebacktothedeep-seafishery。
TheywouldhavetowritetoYannandtellhimSylvestrewasdead；itwasjustnowthatthefisherswerestarting。Wouldhe，too，weepforhim？Mayhaphewould，forhehadlovedhimdearly。Inthemidstofherowntears，Gaudthoughtagreatdealofhim；nowandagainwaxingwrothagainstthehard-heartedfellow，andthenpityinghimatthethoughtofthatpainwhichwouldstrikehimalso，andwhichwouldbeasalinkbetweenthemboth——onewayandanother，herheartwasfullofhim。
CHAPTERVIII
THEBROTHER'SGRIEF
OnepaleAugustevening，theletterthatannouncedYann'sbrother'sdeath，atlengtharrivedonboardthe/Marie/，upontheIcelandseas；
itwasafteradayofhardworkandexcessivefatigue，justastheyweregoingdowntosupandtorest。Witheyesheavywithsleep，hereaditintheirdarknookbelowdeck，litbytheyellowbeamofthesmalllamp；atthefirstmomenthebecamestunnedandgiddy，likeonedazedoutoffairunderstanding。VeryproudandreticentinallthingsconcerningthefeelingswasYann，andhehidtheletterinhisbluejersey，nexthisbreast，withoutsayinganything，assailorsdo。Buthedidnotfeelthecouragetositdownwiththeotherstosupper，anddisdainingeventoexplainwhy，hethrewhimselfintohisberthandfellasleep。SoonhedreamedofSylvestredead，andofhisfuneralgoingby。
Towardsmidnight，beinginthatstateofmindthatispeculiartoseamanwhoareconsciousofthetimeofdayintheirslumber，andquiteclearlyseethehourdrawnightwhentoawakenforthewatch——hesawthefuneral，andsaidtohimself:"Iamdreaming；luckilythematewillcomeandwakemeup，andthevisionwillpassaway。"
Butwhenaheavyhandwaslaiduponhimandavoicecriedout:"Tumbleout，Gaos!watch，boy!"heheardtheslightrustlingofpaperathisbreast，afineghastlymusicthataffirmedthefactofthedeath。Yes，theletter!Itwastrue，then？Themorecruel，heartrendingimpressiondeepened，andhejumpedupsoquicklyinhissuddenstart，thathestruckhisforeheadagainsttheoverheadbeam。Hedressedandopenedthehatchwaytogoupmechanicallyandtakehisplaceinthefishing。
CHAPTERIX
WORKCURESSORROW
WhenYannwasondeck，helookedaroundhimwithsleep-ladeneyes，overthefamiliarcircleofthesea。Thatnighttheillimitableimmensityshoweditselfinitsmostastonishinglysimpleaspects，inneutraltints，givingonlytheimpressionofdepth。Thishorizon，whichindicatednorecognisableregionoftheearth，orevenanygeologicalage，musthavelookedsomanytimesthesamesincetheoriginoftime，that，gazinguponit，onesawnothingsavetheeternityofthingsthatexistandcannothelpexisting。
Itwasnotthedeadofnight，forapatchoflight，whichseemedtooozefromnoparticularpoint，dimlylitupthescene。Thewindsobbedasusualitsaimlesswail。Allwasgray，aficklegray，whichfadedbeforethefixedgaze。Thesea，duringitsmysteriousrest，hiditselfunderfeebletintswithoutaname。
Abovefloatedscatteredclouds；theyhadassumedvariousshapes，for，withoutform，thingscannotexist；inthedarknesstheyhadblendedtogether，soastoformonesinglevastveiling。
Butinoneparticularspotofthesky，lowdownonthewaters，theyseemedadark-veinedmarble，thestreaksclearlydefinedalthoughverydistant；atenderdrawing，asiftracedbysomedreamyhand——somechanceeffect，notmeanttobeviewedforlong，andindeedhasteningtodieaway。Eventhatalone，inthemidstofthisbroadgrandeur，appearedtomeansomething；onemightthinkthatthesad，undefinedthoughtofthenothingnessaroundwaswrittenthere；andthesightinvoluntarilyremainedfixeduponit。
Yann'sdazzledeyesgrewaccustomedtotheoutsidedarkness，andgazedmoreandmoresteadilyuponthatveininginthesky；ithadnowtakentheshapeofakneelingfigurewitharmsoutstretched。Hebegantolookuponitasahumanshadowrenderedgiganticbythedistanceitself。
Inhismind，wherehisindefinitedreamsandprimitivebeliefsstilllingered，theominousshadow，crushedbeneaththegloomysky，slowlycoalescedwiththethoughtofhisdeadbrother，asifitwerealasttokenfromhim。
Hewasusedtosuchstrangeassociationsofideas，thatthriveinthemindsofchildren。Butwords，vagueastheymaybe，arestilltooprecisetoexpressthosefeelings；onewouldneedthatuncertainlanguagethatcomesindreams，ofwhichuponawakening，oneretainsmerelyenigmatical，senselessfragments。
Lookinguponthecloud，hefeltadeepanguish，fullofunknownmystery，thatfrozehisverysoul；heunderstoodfullwellnowthathispoorlittlebrotherwouldnevermorebeseen；sorrow，whichhadbeensometimepenetratingthehard，roughrindofhisheart，nowgushedinandbrimmeditover。HebeheldSylvestreagainwithhissoftchildisheyes；atthethoughtofembracinghimnomore，aveilfellbetweenhiseyelidsandhiseyes，againsthiswill；and，atfirst，hecouldnotrightlyunderstandwhatitwas——neverhavingweptinallhismanhood。Butthetearsbegantofallheavilyandswiftlydownhischeeks，andthensobsrenthisdeepchest。
Hewentonwithhisfishing，losingnotimeandspeakingtonoone，andhistwomates，thoughhearinghiminthedeepsilence，pretendednottodoso，forfearofirritatinghim，knowinghimtobesohaughtyandreserved。
Inhisopiniondeathwastheendofitall。Outofrespectheoftenjoinedinthefamilyprayersforthedead，buthebelievedinnoafter-lifeofthesoul。Betweenthemselves，intheirlongtalks，thesailorsallsaidthesame，inablunttaken-for-grantedway，asawell-knownfact；butitdidnotstopthemfrombelievinginghosts，havingavaguefearofgraveyards，andanunlimitedconfidenceinprotectingsaintsandimages，andabovealladeeprespectfortheconsecratedeartharoundthechurches。
SoYannhimselffearedtobeswallowedupbythesea，asifitwouldannihilatehim，andthethoughtofSylvestre，sofarawayontheothersideoftheearth，madehissorrowmoredarkanddesperate。Withhiscontemptforhisfellows，hehadnoshameorconstraintinweeping，nomorethanifhewerealone。
Aroundtheboatthechaosgrewwhiter，althoughitwasonlytwoo'clock，andatthesametimeitappearedtospreadfarther，hollowinginafearfulmanner。Withthatkindofrisingdawn，eyesopenedwider，andtheawakenedmindcouldconceivebettertheimmensityofdistance，astheboundariesofvisiblespacerecededandwidenedaway。
Thepaleauroraincreased，seemingtocomeintinyjetswithslightshocks；eternalthingsseemedtolightupbysheertransparency，asifwhite-flamedlampshadslowlybeenraisedupbehindtheshapelessgrayclouds，andheldtherewithmysteriouscare，forfearofdisturbingthecalm，evenrestofthesea。Belowthehorizonthatcolossalwhitelampwasthesun，whichdraggeditselfalongwithoutstrength，beforetakingitsleisurelyascent，whichbeganinthedawn'seyeabovetheocean。
Onthisday，theusualrosytintswerenotseen；allremainedpaleandmournful。Onboardthegrayship，Yannweptalone。Thetearsofthefierceelderbrother，togetherwiththemelancholyofthissurroundingwaste，wereasmourning，worninhonourofthepoor，obscure，younghero，upontheseseasofIceland，wherehalfhislifehadbeenpassed。
Whenthefulllightofdayappeared，Yannabruptlywipedhiseyeswithhissleeveandceasedweeping。Thatgriefwasovernow。Heseemedcompletelyabsorbedbytheworkofthefishery，andbythemonotonousroutineofsubstantialdeeds，asifheneverhadthoughtofanythingelse。
Thecatchingwentonapace，andtherewerescanthandsforthework。
Aroundaboutthefishers，intheimmensedepths，atransformationscenewastakingplace。Thegrandopeningoutoftheinfinitude，thatgreatwonderofthemorning，hadfinished，andthedistanceseemedtodiminishandcloseinaroundthem。Howwasitthatbeforetheseahadseemedsoboundless!
Thehorizonwasquiteclearnow，andmorespaceseemednecessary。Thevoidfilledinwithflecksandstreamersthatfloatedabove，somevagueasmist，otherswithvisiblyjaggededges。Theyfellsoftlyamidanuttersilence，likesnowygauze，butfellonallsidestogether，sothatbelowthemsuffocationsetinswiftly；ittookawaythebreathtoseetheairsothickened。
ItwasthefirstoftheAugustfogsthatwasrising。Inafewmomentsthewinding-sheetbecameuniversallydense；allaroundthe/Marie/awhitedamplayunderthelight，andinitthemastfadedanddisappeared。
"Here'sthecursedfognow，forsure，"grumbledthemen。Theyhadlongagomadetheacquaintanceofthatcompulsorycompanionofthesecondpartofthefishingseason；butitalsoannounceditsendandthetimeforreturningtoBrittany。
Itcondensedintofine，sparklingdropsintheirbeards，andshoneupontheirweather-beatenfaces。Lookingathwartshiptooneanother，theyappeareddimasghosts；andbycomparison，nearerobjectswereseenmoreclearlyunderthecolourlesslight。Theytookcarenottoinhaletheairtoodeeply，forafeelingofchillandwetpenetratedthelungs。
Butthefishingwasgoingonbriskly，sothattheyhadnotimelefttochatter，andtheyonlythoughtoftheirlines。Everymomentbigheavyfishweredrawninondeck，andslappeddownwithasmacklikeawhip-
crack；theretheywriggledaboutangrily，flappingtheirtailsonthedeck，scatteringplentyofsea-waterabout，andsilveryscalestoo，inthecourseoftheirdeath-struggle。Thesailorwhosplitthemopenwithhislongknife，sometimescuthisownfingers，inhishaste，sothathiswarmbloodmingledwiththebrine。
CHAPTERX
THEWHITEFOG
Caughtinthefog，theyremainedtendaysinsuccessionwithoutbeingabletoseeanything。Thefishingwentonhandsomelythewhile，andwithsomuchtodotherewasnotimeforweariness。Atregularintervalsoneofthemblewalongfog-horn，whenceissuedasoundlikethehowlingofawildbeast。
Sometimes，outofthedepthsofwhitefog，anotherbellowingansweredtheircall。Thenasharperwatchwaskept。Iftheblastswereapproaching，allearswereturnedinthedirectionofthatunknownneighbour，whomtheymightperhapsneversee，butwhosepresencewasneverthelessadanger。Conjecturesweremadeaboutthestrangevessel；