Treasure Hunt Tales: The Star of the South & Captain Antifer. Жюль Верн
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bad-tempered to say so.
And this was of all the more importance to the girl as her marriage was to take place when he passed his examination. The two young people really loved each other, and would probably be happy for the rest of their lives. Nanon was delighted to see the day coming of this wedding, which was approved of by all the family. What obstacle could there be if the all-powerful head gave his consent—or rather, refrained from giving it until Juhel had won his captaincy? Juhel had served a complete apprenticeship to his trade, first on vessels belonging to Le Baillifs, then in government vessels, and then as mate for three years in the mercantile marine. He knew his trade in practice and theory. And Captain Antifer was really proud of his nephew. But perhaps he had dreamt of a richer alliance for him, because he was a lad of real merit; perhaps he had even wished for a better husband for his niece, than whom there was no better-looking girl in the whole district. And if a million had fallen into his hands—and he was as happy with his five thousand pounds in the funds—it is not impossible that he would have lost his head and indulged in some such senseless dream.
Enogate and Nanon soon introduced a little order into the room of this terrible man, if not into his brain. Antifer strode about rubbing his eyes, in which the lightning still lurked—a sign that the storm was not yet over and a flash might come at any minute. And when he looked at his barometer hung on the wall, his anger awoke again because the scrupulous and faithful instrument remained at fine weather.
“And so Juhel has not come back?” he asked, turning towards Enogate.
“No, uncle.”
“And it is ten o’clock!”
“No, uncle.”
“You will see he will miss the train.”
“No, uncle.”
“Ah! Are you going to do nothing but contradict me?”
“No, uncle.”
Nanon might gesticulate in vain, for evidently the young Breton was resolved to defend her cousin against the unjust accusation of her boisterous uncle.
Evidently the thunder-clap was not far off. But was there not a lightning-conductor to take off the whole of the electricity accumulated in Captain Antifer’s reservoirs?
Perhaps so. That was why Nanon and her daughter hastened to obey him when he yelled in the voice of a stentor, “Send Tregomain here!”
They rushed from the room, opened the street door and ran out in search of Tregomain.
“It is to be hoped he is at home!” they said to each other.
He was, and five minutes afterwards he was in the presence of Captain Antifer.
Gildas Tregomain, fifty-one. Points of resemblance with his neighbour—a bachelor as he was, had navigated as he had, no longer navigated as he no longer navigated, had retired as he had, was a native of Saint Malo as he was. There the resemblance ended. Gildas Tregomain was as calm as Antifer was stormy, as philosophical as Antifer was the reverse, as accommodating as Antifer was difficult to get on with. Physically the friends were even more unlike if possible. They were close friends, but the friendship of Antifer for Tregomain was far more intelligible than that of Tregomain for Antifer. To be the friend of such a man was not without its drawbacks.
We have said that Tregomain had “navigated,” but there are navigators and navigators. Antifer had visited the principal seas of the globe, not so his neighbour. Tregomain, being the son of a widow, had been exempt from serving the State, and he had never been on the sea.
Never! He had seen the Channel from the heights of Cancale and even from Cape Frehel, but he had never ventured on it. He had been born in the painted cabin of a canal barge, and in a barge he had spent his life. First as a “hand,” then as “captain” of the Charmante Amélie, he had been up and down the Rance from Dinard to Dinan, from Dinan to Plumaugat, to return with a load of wood, of wine, of coal, according to the trade. He hardly knew of any other river. He was a fresh-water sailor no more and no less, while Antifer was the saltest of salts—a mere boatman by the side of a coaster captain; and so he lowered his flag in the presence of his neighbour and friend, who had no difficulty in keeping him at a distance.
Tregomain lived in a pretty little house, about a hundred yards away from Antifer’s, at the end of the Rue de Toulouse, near the ramparts. One view looked out to sea, the other over the mouth of the Rance. He was a powerful man, of extraordinary breadth of shoulder—nearly a yard—five feet six inches high, a body like a box, invariably wearing a huge waistcoat with two rows of bone buttons, a brown jacket, always very clean, with great folds in the back and at the armholes. From this trunk came two huge arms big enough for the thighs of an ordinary man, terminated by enormous hands, big enough for the feet of a grenadier of the Old Guard. With such limbs and muscles, Tregomain could not be otherwise than of enormous strength. But he was a gentle Hercules. Never had he abused his strength, and never did he shake hands but with his thumb and index finger, for fear of smashing your fingers. Strength was latent in him. It never went was far as blows, but manifested itself without effort.
To compare him with machines, he was less of the sledge-hammer than of the hydraulic press. That came from the circulation of his blood, great and generous, slow and insensible.
From his shoulders rose a big head, wearing a high hat with a broad brim. His hair was flat, his whiskers mutton-chop, his nose curved, his mouth smiling, his lower lip projecting, his chin double and even treble, his teeth white, one incisor in the top row missing—teeth which had never been stained with the smoke of a pipe—eyes limpid and kind, under thick brows, colour brick-red, due to the breezes of the Rance, and not to the stormy gales of the ocean.
Such was Gildas Tregomain, one of those obliging men to whom you can say, Come at twelve o’clock, come at two o’clock, and they will always be there.
He was also a sort of unshakable rock, against which the surges of Captain Antifer beat in vain. When his neighbour was in one of his whirlwind moods he was sent for, and he came to placidly take all the buffetings of this tumultuous personage.
And so the ex-captain of the Charmante Amélie was adored in the house—by Nanon to whom he served as a rampart, by Juhel who had vowed eternal friendship for him, by Enogate who did not hesitate to kiss his rounded cheeks and his wrinkleless forehead, that incontestable sign of a calm and conciliating temperament, according to the physiognomists.
As the boatman mounted the wooden staircase that led to the first floor, the steps groaned under the heavy weight. Pushing open the door, he found himself in the presence of Captain Antifer.
CHAPTER V.
“So you have come at last?”
“I came as soon as you sent for me, my friend.”
“Not without taking your time!”
“The time to come here—”
“Indeed! One would think you had taken your passage on the Charmante Amélie!”
Tregomain took no notice of this allusion to the slow progress of canal-boats compared with that of sea-going ships. He saw that his neighbour was in a bad temper, in which there was nothing astonishing, and he made up his mind to put up with it, as was his custom.
Antifer stretched out a finger, which he gently squeezed between his thumb and index of his large hand.
“Eh! Not so strong! You always squeeze too tight!”
“Excuse me. I took particular care—”
“Well, you could not have made a worse mess of it.”
And with a gesture Captain Antifer invited Tregomain to sit down at