gaspard, though a man full-grown and a man, moreover, who had passed his life in touch with the brutal side of things, had still in his nature very much of the child. the proven?al rarely grows old, he withers at last in the sun and comes to die, but the child in him remains a child; imaginative, impulsive, easily moved to laughter or tears, good or naughty, with a passion for colour, and movement, and sound, and exaggeration. and so he remains a poet in his way.
go all over the earth, and you will find man imitating the insect in this particular, that he is the colour of the leaf he was born on. gaspard was the colour of provence, and all the coal-dust of the stokehold, the sordidness of the life had not altered his essential colour; the something tragic, something gay, something vivacious, something lazy which is part of the southern land of black shadows, white roads, blue skies, keen mistral, and poignantly scented flowers still clung to his personality.
even sagesse shewed something of a trace of this in the exaggeration of his own doings, in his vivacity, and in the flower which he carried in his button-hole when ashore.
but there was little of the child about sagesse and much of the master. as day followed day, and the working of the vessel shewed itself more and more to gaspard, astonishment filled him at the extraordinary discipline amidst77 the hands, and the way sagesse worked them. when he was out of sight they would shout and chatter amongst themselves, but the instant he appeared silence took the deck as it takes a grove of chattering birds when a hawk appears in the sky overhead. orders were executed at a run, yet he never swore or raised his voice louder than was necessary; occasionally when a man got in the way, as on the night of gaspard’s boarding the vessel, he would give him a kick just as a master might kick a dog, but beyond that his rule seemed kindly. they were all barbadians, these blacks, and english-speaking, with the exception of jules who was haitian born, but sagesse could talk to them fluently in their own language. he could talk four languages, french, spanish, english, and portuguese; he had picked the three foreign languages up as a means to trade, and it was to his mastery of them, as much as his own astuteness, that he owed his success in life.
one night, sultry and cloudless with the sea like frosted silver under the starlight and the warm breathing of the wind, gaspard, going into the deck-house found sagesse seated at the table before a chart.
“if this wind holds,” said sagesse, “we should sight martinique at dawn.” he spoke with his eyes upon the chart, then, looking up: “what do you propose to do when you get there?”
“oh, as for me i don’t know,” said gaspard taking a seat opposite the other. “report myself to the compagnie transatlantique—draw what pay is owing to me, and try and get recompense for my kit.”
“well,” said sagesse, “if i were in your place, i would let all that slip.”
“how?”
“ma foi, how?—say nothing, or as little as you can, report yourself, but do not trouble about compensation.”
78 “and why?”
sagesse laughed, “because my friend, it is not well to stir muddy water; you get before one of these infernal clerks with a pen in his hand, and he takes notes of what you say, you ask for compensation and he says, ‘yes, yes, that is just, compensation, certainly, but first my friend, prove yourself to be whom you say you are, and give us your story in detail.’ then with the point of his pen he turns you inside out and,” said sagesse tapping on the table with his thumb, “it is not well to be turned inside out if one has anything to conceal.”
“to conceal?”
“for instance,” went on sagesse, “the official of the compagnie transatlantique might say, ‘who was your engineer-in-chief, who was your second engineer, had you a chum, what was his name?’”. sagesse watching gaspard narrowly saw the sweat start on his forehead, laughed, and finished, “and you would not say, ‘his name is yves, he escaped with me, we landed on an island, he had a belt about his waist and a pouch containing a number of valuable gold coins which he had stolen, and i killed him and took the money.’ you would not say that, perhaps, with your tongue, but your face might give a hint, or your manner, and a hint might lead to a suspicion, and a suspicion to a search—you should have burned that body.”
gaspard, staring at the man before him, felt as though an ice-cold blade had been driven through his heart, his flesh crawled. he had told all, then, to this man, and more than all. he felt nothing of what the criminal feels whose crime has been discovered, for he felt himself innocent of crime or criminal intent. it was the horror of the fact that he had given himself away, and under the influence of drink had described the affair in such a manner79 that sagesse believed him a murderer—this it was that paralysed him for the moment.
for a moment only, then, thrusting his hands out as though he were putting something away from him, he burst out, “i did not kill him for money—it’s a lie. if i said so i lied—it was an accident. true, we quarrelled about the money, but i did not kill him for it. the knife only scratched him and he dropped. i had saved his life; does a man murder another whose life he has saved? when i spoke, i was mad with your cursed drink. if i had murdered him would i have told of it? i did not kill him for money—do you believe me?”
“my friend,” replied sagesse quite unmoved, “i believe you. but you yourself admit the fact that you killed him.”
“yes, by accident.”
“and took his money?”
“it did not belong to him. he had only just found it amidst the bushes, the belt and the pouch. why do you shake your head, do you not believe me?”
“whether i believe you or not, does it matter—? this man had found money, you killed him—by accident, with a knife, and took his money. does your reason not tell you that such a tale is enough to hang the archbishop of paris—but it is all your affair, and as i said just now, my advice is to let the thing lie. do not disturb dead bones. let us forget it, and be practical. if i chose, i could hand you over to the authorities at martinique to-morrow. i have marked on the chart the position where you boarded me, and the position of that island, which is the only one in that vicinity. but it would not be of the least profit to me to get you into trouble. not in the least. i would much sooner help you. well, to business. that money will be your worst friend, instead of your best if you try to use80 it ashore as it is, you must change it for good american dollars. put it on the table and i will change it for you.”
“before god,” burst out gaspard, “i will do nothing unless you believe me when i say that i came by it rightly, that there is no stain of blood on it, that what happened there on the island was an accident, and that i am no murderer!”
sagesse, who knew man thoroughly, and who ever since the first morning of their acquaintance had been studying him minutely, rose to his feet and slapped his right hand down on the table palm uppermost.
“i believe you, there, the words are said and let us say no more on the matter—how far others would believe you, it is not for me to say, but there, let the matter end and come to business.”
he sat down again, and gaspard opening the pouch at his waist put the coins on the table in a heap.
sagesse counted them. “dieu,” said he, holding one in his hand and examining it. “fancy trying to change this lot at a banker’s or bureau de change, they would be enough to raise a blister on the reputation of a saint. i can get rid of them, though; with difficulty it is true, but still i can get rid of them. but i don’t take risks without a chance of good profits. i will give you forty dollars for the lot.”
“less than two dollars apiece?”
“slightly.”
“mordieu,” said gaspard. “i would as soon throw them overboard.”
sagesse put both his elbows on the table and laughed. then the haggling began. gaspard, the son of a tradesman, had something of the business man in his nature. it was a strange picture, and not without its romantic side. the two southerners seated opposite to each other81 at the table of the dingy deck-house, the swinging lamp overhead casting its light on the chart, the pieces of gold, and the strenuous faces of the barterers.
one might imagine that sagesse, having the game, seemingly, in his hands, would have forced his terms on the other; but that would be without counting on the character of the captain and the laws which governed his life. “never appeal to social laws unless in the last extremity. never use force against a man stronger than yourself. take the pyx, but leave the priest the chalice (in other words—do not strip a man so bare that he will turn upon you in desperation)”—these were three of the laws governing this wise man’s actions. he was an artist in scoundrelism, for he knew the value of restraint.
“sixty dollars, then,” said sagesse, after they had been haggling for half an hour or more. “you agree, good, of course i will make my profit on them, but what would you have? i am a trader, vé—, and i will give you more than sixty dollars; i will give you advice.”
“yes?”
“don’t go back to the stokehold. with sixty dollars in martinique you may start a little business. go shares in a fishing boat, deal in fruit—you are young and active, and in martinique sixty dollars are equal to six hundred at havre or in paris. i will shew you the ropes, as the english say. do you know, monsieur, that i, pierre sagesse, have started by my advice and help a dozen people in martinique who are now prospering?”
he had risen, and all the time he was talking he was searching in the locker where he kept his charts. at last he drew forth a little chamois bag and, opening it, shot out on the table the money it contained. the little bag held exactly sixty dollars in gold coin and some silver.
82 “ma foi, the exact sum; that is odd and ought to be a sign of luck. there is your money, and i will not take the belt and pouch; you can keep them.”
gaspard pocketed the money. it was more than odd that the little chamois leather bag held the exact sum in question. he felt certain that sagesse, days before, had worked out the problem of what he should pay for the coins, and had placed this sum in readiness.
the character of the man lay revealed in that act, as also in the way he had kept dumb about yves till the moment of his purpose.
gaspard felt certain that had it suited his interests sagesse would have betrayed him to the authorities. he left the deck-house, and leaning against the starboard bulwarks, looked over the starlit sea.
though he had left the island blue leagues behind, it still pursued him, and, in the form of sagesse, still had a hold upon him, the island and the deed committed there.
he could see it still, just as he saw it when making his escape. the sun-stricken palms, the white beach, the white surf breaking on the beach, the white gulls—he could hear their voices calling to him.
“hi, hi, hi! you there in the boat! come back! come back! hi! think you to escape us? ha! ha! hi! fishing, wheeling! calling! o the weariness, the blueness, the waves, the wind, the sun. they are ours and they are yours forever—forever—forever. hi!”
