“Ah, this good prelate was a true seaman,” said he. “He knew the tides like a mackerel. He knew as much as I do, myself, and that is saying a good deal.”
Jean Bart chuckled at the vanity of Monsieur Valbué.
“The good Bishop was standing on the rocks upon a stormy evening,” continued the captain, “when he saw some fisher boats making for the harbor. One of them was bearing too close to the shore. One of them was going to go upon the rocks. One of them was steered by a poor fellow who knew neither the reefs nor the shoals. ‘Voilà!’ cried the good bishop. ‘Voilà! I will save this dull-witted sailor.’ And, forthwith, what do you think that he did,—?”
A small knot of seamen had, by this time, collected around the talkative captain. They all shook their heads.
JEAN BART.
“Fools,” cried Captain Valbué. “Fools! Why, he strode into the sea, of course. Being a pure man of God and a member of the true church, he walked upon the surface of the water. The boat coming in was manned by Huguenots, by unbelievers, mark you! By fellows who had neither the sense nor the grace to be members of the true church. They could not walk upon the water. Oh! No! But the good Bishop he walked as easily as a stormy petrel, for he was a man of God. And, as he reached the boat he made the sign of the cross, saying, ‘Beware of the rocks which you sail down upon! Bear off to the left! When you see the red buoy, bear to the right, and then come home by keeping your bow pointed for the spire of the big church!’ And they did so. They were saved by the good Bishop, whom I know well. As for me. I would have let the foolish Huguenots get their just deserts. It would have been one heretic less and good riddance.”
At this one of the seamen was plainly angered.
“Piff!” said he. “Piff!” That was all. But Monsieur Valbué had noticed it and Monsieur Valbué grew angry in a moment. Seizing a half-empty cider mug, from which he had been drinking, he hurled it at the head of the fellow who had made the remark.