LITMIR.BIZ

      And what a string of oaths, terrestrial and maritime! And how the captain swore high and low when he beheld the tranquil, fresh-coloured face of his companion, betraying not the least sign of discomfort!

      “A thousand thunders!” he exclaimed, “Would you believe it. Here am I, a coasting captain, yet not having set foot on a boat for ten years, much more sick than a bargeman.”

      “But I am not sick at all,” said Tregomain, favouring him with one of his sweetest smiles.

      “You are not? And why are you not?”

      “I am surprised at it”

      “But the Rance is not like this Iroise.”

      “Not at all.”

      “And you do not seem to be in the least upset.”

      “I am sorry for it, if it annoys you,” said Tregomain.

      But this illness of Captain Antifer did not last long. Before the Steersman had sighted Cape Ortegal, at the north-west corner of Spain, while she was still in the Gulf of Gascony, so terribly lashed by the Atlantic surges, Antifer had regained both his sea-legs and his sailor’s stomach. What had happened to him happens to many others—even to the most experienced sailors, when they have been away from the sea for a time. His mortification was none the less extreme, and his self-conceit considerably cooled, at finding that this mere fresh-water sailor had remained unaffected while he had been almost turned inside out.

      It was a rough night, during which the Steersman passed off Ferrol, and Captain Chip would have lain to, had not Antifer persuaded him to drive ahead. Long delays would cause anxiety as to catching the mail-boat at Suez, which only starts once a month for the Persian Gulf. The equinox was near, and there was always a chance of bad weather; so it was better to drive on as long as there was no obvious danger in continuing the voyage.

      The Steersman gave a wide berth to the reefs along the coast of Spain. Vigo Bay and the three sugar-loaves at its entrance were left on the port hand, as was also the coast of Portugal. The day afterwards, the Berlings were left to starboard, those islands formed by Providence for the site of the lighthouses which mark the proximity of the Continent for ships coming from seaward.

      You may easily imagine that during these long hours, our friends were talking about this extraordinary voyage and its certain results. Antifer had recovered completely. With his legs wide apart, he looked defiantly at the horizon, striding about the deck, and watching the cheery face of the bargeman for some symptom of the sickness which obstinately refused to appear.

      “What do you think of the ocean?”

      “There is a good deal of water in it.”

      “Yes, rather more than in the Rance?”

      “Undoubtedly, but we need not scoff at a river which has its charm.”

      “I do not scoff at it, I despise it, bargeman.”

      “Uncle,” said Juhel, “you should not despise anyone; a river may have its value—”

      “As well as an island!” added Tregomain. And at the word, Antifer raised his ear, for he was hit in a sensitive place.

      “Certainly,” he said, “there are islands worth putting in the first class—mine, for example!”

      The pronoun showed what had been working in the Breton’s brain. This island in the Gulf of Oman belonged to him by inheritance.

      “With regard to this island, Juhel. Are you verifying your chronometer every day?”

      “Certainly, and I have seldom seen a more perfect instrument.”

      “And your sextant?”

      “It is as good as the chronometer.”

      “Thank goodness; they cost enough.”

      “If they are going to bring us four millions,” judiciously insinuated Tregomain, “we can hardly look at their price.”

      “Quite so, Mr. Bargeman.”

      But if Captain Antifer and his two companions had reason to place implicit confidence in their instruments, they mistrusted—and very justly mistrusted—Ben Omar. They were often talking about this, and one day the uncle said to his nephew,—

      “I do not like the looks of this Ben Omar at all; and I shall keep a very close watch on him.”

      “Who knows if we shall meet him at Suez?” asked the bargeman, in a dubious tone.

      “Oh!” said Antifer, “he will wait for us for weeks if need be. Did not the scoundrel come to St. Malo solely to steal my latitude?”

      “I think, uncle,” said Juhel, “that you will not be far wrong in keeping an eye on these Egyptians. I don’t think much of the notary, and I think still less of his clerk.”

      “I agree with you, Juhel,” added the bargeman. “This Nazim is no more like a clerk than I am.”

      “It is a pity he does not speak French,” said Antifer. “We might pump him.”

      “Pump him!” said Juhel. “If you have not got much out of the master, you are not likely to get more out of the clerk. I fancy you had much better give a thought to this Saouk—”

      “What Saouk?”

      “The son of Mourad, the cousin of Kamylk Pasha, the man who was disinherited in favour of you.”

      “I will know how to deal with him when I come across him. Was not the will in proper form? What can he do then, this descendant of pashas, whose tails I may have to cut?”

      “However, uncle—”

      “I care no more for him than I do for Ben Omar—and if this manufacturer of contracts does not walk straight—”

      “Take care, my friend,” said Tregomain. “You cannot get rid of the notary. It is his right and his duty to accompany you, to follow you to the island—”

      “My island.”

      “Yes, your island! The will expressly says so; and he has a commission of one per cent., that is forty thousand pounds—”

      “Forty thousand kicks!” said Antifer, whose irascibility was increasing at the thought of the enormous amount to which Ben Omar was entitled.

      During the night the Steersman sighted the lights of Cadiz and passed the Bay of Trafalgar, and during the morning she entered the Straits of Gibraltar.