leak; and the vessel continued on with all sails spread, carrying
the king, the ladies of his court, and the retinue of mail-clad barons.
Twenty days afterward they arrived at Valencia safe and sound like all
sailors who in moments of danger ask aid of the _Virgen del Puig_. Upon
inspecting the hull of the galley, the master calkers beheld a
monstrous fish detach itself from its bottom with the tranquility of an
upright person who has fulfilled his duty. It was a dolphin sent by the
most holy Senora in order that his side might stop up the open breach.
And thus, like a plug, it had sailed from Naples to Valencia without
allowing a drop of water to pass in.

The _chef_ would not admit any criticisms nor protests. This miracle
was undeniable. He had seen it with his own eyes, and they were good.
He had seen it in an ancient picture in the monastery of Puig,
everything appearing on the tablet with the realism of truth,--the
galley, the king, the _peixot_ and the Virgin above giving the order.

At this juncture the breeze would flap the narrator's shirt tail,
disclosing his abdomen divided into hemispheres by the tyranny of its
only pantaloon button.

"Uncle Caragol, look out!" warned a teasing voice.

The holy man would smile with the seraphic calm of one who sees beyond
the pomps and vanities of existence, and would begin the relation of a
new miracle.

Ferragut used to attribute his cook's periods of exaltation to the
lightness of his clothing in all weathers. Within him was burning a
fire incessantly renewed. On foggy days he would climb to the bridge
with some glasses of a smoking drink that he used to call _calentets_.
Nothing better for men that had to pass long hours in the inclement
weather in motionless vigilance! It was coffee mixed with rum, but in
unequal proportions, having more alcohol than black liquid. Toni would
drink rapidly all the glasses offered. The captain would refuse them,
asking for clear coffee.

His sobriety was that of the ancient sailor,--the sobriety of Father
Ulysses who used to mix wine with water in all his libations. The
divinities of the old sea did not love alcoholic drinks. The white
_Amphitrite_ and the Nereids only accepted on their altars the fruits
of the earth, sacrifices of doves, libations of milk. Perhaps because
of this the seafaring men of the Mediterranean, following an hereditary
tendency, looked upon intoxication as the vilest of degradations. Even
those who were no