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Updated: June 20, 2025
The important thing for him was to continue treading the deck of the vessel. The captain had to give in. This old fellow represented a remnant of his past. He could betake himself from time to time to the galley to talk over the far-away days in which they first met. And Caragol retired, content with his success. "As for those Frenchmen," he said before departing, "just leave them to me.
He wanted to run to the galley in search of cotton and bandages. He was something of a quack doctor and always kept things necessary for such cases. Ulysses stopped him. He would accept his services, but he wished something more. "I want to eat, Uncle Caragol," he said gayly. "I shall be content with whatever you have.... Fright has given me an appetite."
For Caragol there was not the slightest doubt as to the fate of every submarine that should venture to attack them; the "lad from Vannes" would send them to smithereens at the first shot. A picture post-card, a gift of the lad from Brittany, showing the tomb of the saint, occupied the position of honor in the galley.
Caragol preached morality to Ferragut's son, morality from his standpoint, interrupted by frequent caresses of the glass. "Esteban, my son, respect your father greatly. Imitate him as a seaman. Be good and just toward the men that you command.... But avoid the females!" The women!... There was no better theme for his piously drunken eloquence. The world inspired his pity.
"There wasn't in the whole world a drink that could do him any harm...." And after a second "refresco" from Uncle Caragol, he became submersed in a placid nirvana, seeing everything rose-colored and considerably enlarged, the sea, the nearby boats, the docks, and Montjuich in the background.
Freya was not listening to him. Near the door she again turned her head, beginning her return toward the captain's stateroom. "Ulysses!... Ulysses!" she cried. "Trust in God, Señora," said Caragol again, while he was pushing her along with his flabby abdomen and shaggy breast. A charitable idea was taking possession of his thoughts.
At other times, suddenly inimical, without knowing why, they would shake their fists over the railing, yelling insults at each other in which, between every two or three words, would appear the names of the Virgin and her holy Son. This was the signal for Uncle Caragol, religious soul, to return in haughty silence to his galley. Toni, the mate, used to make fun of his devout enthusiasm.
"Let Toni go!... I'm going to stay.... I've got to stay. When the captain goes, then Uncle Caragol will go." Ulysses enumerated the great dangers that the boat was about to face. The German submarines were lying in wait for it with deadly determination; there would be combats ... they would be torpedoed.... The old man's smile showed contempt of all such dangers.
When he reached the saloon some one entered at the same time from the deck. It was Caragol, who was trying to block the passage of a woman; but she, laughing and taking advantage of his purblind eyes, was slipping little by little in between his body and the wooden partition. On seeing the captain, Freya ran toward him, throwing out her arms. "You!" she cried in a merry voice.
The sailors' families were waiting for them on the wharf, and Caragol had occasion to become acquainted with many Breton women, mothers, sisters, or fiancées of his new friends.
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