Chapter 75: The Debt Collector: III
Penelon spat tobacco juice to the side and began his tale. "Well, Mr. Morrel, we were sailing between two capes with good wind, after a week of dead calm, when Captain Gaumard comes up to me, I was manning the wheel, and says, ’Penelon, what do you think of those clouds building up?’
I was already watching them myself. ’Captain,’ I says, ’they’re rising too fast and they’re too black for my liking.’
’My thoughts exactly,’ he says. ’We’re carrying too much sail. All hands! Reduce sail immediately!’
It was just in time. The squall hit us hard, and the ship started listing badly. ’Still too much canvas!’ the captain shouts. ’Lower the mainsail!’
Five minutes later it was down, but I could see more trouble coming. The wind was like a dust storm, and luckily our captain knew his business. ’Reef the topsails!’ he ordered. ’Secure everything!’"
"That wasn’t enough for those waters," the Englishman interrupted unexpectedly, his firm voice startling everyone. "I would have taken four reefs and furled the spanker entirely."
Penelon squinted at this stranger who dared criticize his captain’s seamanship. "We did better than that, sir," he said respectfully. "We turned to run before the storm and struck our topsails, sailing under bare poles."
"Risky, for an old vessel."
"Aye, and that’s what did us in. After pitching and rolling for twelve hours, we sprang a leak. ’Penelon,’ the captain says, ’I think we’re sinking. Take the wheel while I check below.’
"I went down, already three feet of water in the hold. ’All hands to the pumps!’ I shouted, but it was too late. The more we pumped, the more came in.
After four hours of that, I says, ’Well, if we’re sinking, we’re sinking. We can only die once.’
’Is that the example you’re setting?’ the captain roars back. He goes to his cabin and comes back with two pistols. ’I’ll shoot the first man who abandons the pumps!’"
"Good for him!" the Englishman said approvingly.
"Nothing gives you courage like a good reason," Penelon continued. "The wind died down and the sea calmed, but the water kept rising. Just two inches an hour, but that adds up. In twelve hours, that’s two feet, plus the three we already had.
Finally the captain says, ’We’ve done everything we could. Mr. Morrel will have nothing to reproach us with. We tried to save the ship, now let’s save ourselves. To the boats!’
Now, Mr. Morrel, a sailor loves his ship, but he loves his life more. We didn’t need to be told twice, especially with the deck sinking under our feet. We launched the boat and got all eight of us in. The captain was last to leave, actually, he wouldn’t leave at all. I had to grab him around the waist and throw him into the boat, then jump after him.
Just in time, too. Right after I jumped, the deck exploded like a cannon blast. Ten minutes later, she pitched forward, spun around, and that was the end of the Pharaon.
We drifted for three days without food or water, getting so desperate we started talking about drawing lots to see who would... well, you know... when we spotted La Gironde. We signaled for help, she saw us and picked us all up.
That’s the whole truth, Mr. Morrel, on a sailor’s honor. Isn’t that right, boys?"
The other sailors murmured their agreement.
"I know no one is to blame but fate," Morrel said quietly. "It was God’s will. What wages do I owe you?"
"Oh, let’s not talk about that now, Mr. Morrel."
"No, we will talk about it."
"Well... three months’ pay."
"Cocles, pay each of these good men two hundred francs," Morrel ordered. "In better times, I would have given you a bonus as well, but..." He spread his hands helplessly. "The little money I have left isn’t really mine anymore."
Penelon exchanged glances with his companions. "About the money, Mr. Morrel... we talked it over. Fifty francs each will do us fine for now. We can wait for the rest."
"Thank you, my friends," Morrel said, his voice breaking. "Take it, and if you can find work elsewhere, you’re free to go."
The sailors looked stricken. "What, Mr. Morrel?" Penelon said in dismay. "You’re sending us away? Are you angry with us?"
"No, no, quite the opposite. But I have no more ships, so I don’t need sailors."
"No more ships? Well, you’ll build new ones. We’ll wait."
"I have no money to build ships, Penelon," the ruined merchant said sadly.
"No money? Then don’t pay us at all! We can get by on nothing, just like the Pharaon under bare poles!"
"Enough!" Morrel cried, overwhelmed. "Please, leave me now. Emmanuel, go with them and see that they’re paid."
"We’ll see each other again, won’t we, Mr. Morrel?" Penelon asked anxiously.
"I hope so. Now go."
After everyone left, Morrel turned to his wife and daughter. "Please leave me alone with this gentleman."
The women glanced at the Englishman, who had remained motionless throughout the entire scene, and departed. As Julie left, she gave the stranger a pleading look, which he answered with a surprisingly gentle smile.
When they were alone, Morrel slumped in his chair. "Well, sir, you’ve heard everything. I have nothing more to tell you."
"I see that fresh and undeserved misfortune has struck you," the Englishman replied. "This only increases my desire to help."
"Oh, sir!" Morrel gasped.
"Let me be clear, I am one of your largest creditors."
"Your bills are certainly the first that will come due."
"Would you like time to pay?"
"A delay would save my honor, and therefore my life."
"How long do you need?"
Morrel thought carefully. "Two months."
"I’ll give you three," the stranger said calmly.
"But will Thomson & French agree to this?"
"I’ll take full responsibility. Today is June 5th."
"Yes."
"Then renew these bills until September 5th. On September 5th at eleven o’clock", he glanced at the clock, which showed exactly eleven, "I will return for payment."
"I’ll be expecting you," Morrel said. "And I will pay you... or I will be dead."
The bills were renewed, the old ones destroyed, and the desperate shipping merchant found himself with three months to somehow find the money. The Englishman accepted his grateful thanks with typical British reserve, and Morrel escorted him to the staircase.
On the stairs, the stranger encountered Julie, who was pretending to go down but was clearly waiting for him.
"Oh, sir!" she said, clasping her hands together.
"Miss," the stranger said, "one day you will receive a letter signed ’Sinbad the Sailor.’ Do exactly what it tells you, no matter how strange it may seem."
"Yes, sir," Julie replied.
"Do you promise?"
"I swear it."
"Good. Farewell, miss. Continue being the good, sweet girl you are now, and I believe heaven will reward you by giving you Emmanuel as a husband."
Julie gasped softly, blushed crimson, and had to lean against the banister for support.
The stranger waved and continued down the stairs. In the courtyard, he found Penelon still standing there with a hundred-franc roll in each hand, seemingly unable to decide whether to keep the money.
"Come with me, my friend," the Englishman said. "I want to talk to you."