The Man Who Laughs. Victor Hugo

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СКАЧАТЬ "and," he added, "it's a snow-cloud."

      "La nube de la nieve," said the skipper, as if trying to understand the word better by translating it.

      "Do you know what a snow-cloud is?" asked the doctor.

      "No."

      "You'll know by-and-by."

      The skipper again turned his attention to the horizon.

      Continuing to observe the cloud, he muttered between his teeth, —

      "One month of squalls, another of wet; January with its gales, February with its rains – that's all the winter we Asturians get. Our rain even is warm. We've no snow but on the mountains. Ay, ay; look out for the avalanche. The avalanche is no respecter of persons. The avalanche is a brute."

      "And the waterspout is a monster," said the doctor, adding, after a pause, "Here it comes." He continued, "Several winds are getting up together – a strong wind from the west, and a gentle wind from the east."

      "That last is a deceitful one," said the skipper.

      The blue cloud was growing larger.

      "If the snow," said the doctor, "is appalling when it slips down the mountain, think what it is when it falls from the Pole!"

      His eye was glassy. The cloud seemed to spread over his face and simultaneously over the horizon. He continued, in musing tones, —

      "Every minute the fatal hour draws nearer. The will of Heaven is about to be manifested."

      The skipper asked himself again this question, – "Is he a madman?"

      "Skipper," began the doctor, without taking his eyes off the cloud, "have you often crossed the Channel?"

      "This is the first time."

      The doctor, who was absorbed by the blue cloud, and who, as a sponge can take up but a definite quantity of water, had but a definite measure of anxiety, displayed no more emotion at this answer of the skipper than was expressed by a slight shrug of his shoulders.

      "How is that?"

      "Master Doctor, my usual cruise is to Ireland. I sail from Fontarabia to Black Harbour or to the Achill Islands. I go sometimes to Braich-y-Pwll, a point on the Welsh coast. But I always steer outside the Scilly Islands. I do not know this sea at all."

      "That's serious. Woe to him who is inexperienced on the ocean! One ought to be familiar with the Channel – the Channel is the Sphinx. Look out for shoals."

      "We are in twenty-five fathoms here."

      "We ought to get into fifty-five fathoms to the west, and avoid even twenty fathoms to the east."

      "We'll sound as we get on."

      "The Channel is not an ordinary sea. The water rises fifty feet with the spring tides, and twenty-five with neap tides. Here we are in slack water. I thought you looked scared."

      "We'll sound to-night."

      "To sound you must heave to, and that you cannot do."

      "Why not?"

      "On account of the wind."

      "We'll try."

      "The squall is close on us."

      "We'll sound, Master Doctor."

      "You could not even bring to."

      "Trust in God."

      "Take care what you say. Pronounce not lightly the awful name."

      "I will sound, I tell you."

      "Be sensible; you will have a gale of wind presently."

      "I say that I will try for soundings."

      "The resistance of the water will prevent the lead from sinking, and the line will break. Ah! so this is your first time in these waters?"

      "The first time."

      "Very well; in that case listen, skipper."

      The tone of the word "listen" was so commanding that the skipper made an obeisance.

      "Master Doctor, I am all attention."

      "Port your helm, and haul up on the starboard tack."

      "What do you mean?"

      "Steer your course to the west."

      "Caramba!"

      "Steer your course to the west."

      "Impossible."

      "As you will. What I tell you is for the others' sake. As for myself, I am indifferent."

      "But, Master Doctor, steer west?"

      "Yes, skipper."

      "The wind will be dead ahead."

      "Yes, skipper."

      "She'll pitch like the devil."

      "Moderate your language. Yes, skipper."

      "The vessel would be in irons."

      "Yes, skipper."

      "That means very likely the mast will go."

      "Possibly."

      "Do you wish me to steer west?"

      "Yes."

      "I cannot."

      "In that case settle your reckoning with the sea."

      "The wind ought to change."

      "It will not change all night."

      "Why not?"

      "Because it is a wind twelve hundred leagues in length."

      "Make headway against such a wind! Impossible."

      "To the west, I tell you."

      "I'll try, but in spite of everything she will fall off."

      "That's the danger."

      "The wind sets us to the east."

      "Don't go to the east."

      "Why not?"

      "Skipper, do you know what is for us the word of death?"

      "No."

      "Death is the east."

      "I'll steer west."

      This time the doctor, having turned right round, looked the skipper full in the face, and with his eyes resting on him, as though to implant the idea in his head, pronounced slowly, syllable by syllable, these words, —

      "If to-night out at sea we hear the sound of a bell, the СКАЧАТЬ