uld the
wickedness of man injure it.

"I know what I'm talking about, Captain.... I am sure that we shall
come out safe and sound from all dangers."

He thought of his miracle-working amulets, of his sacred pictures, of
the supernatural protection that his pious prayers were bringing him.
Furthermore, he was taking into consideration the Latin name of the
ship which had always inspired him with religious respect. It belonged
to the language used by the Church, to the idiom which brought about
miracles and expelled the devil, making him run away aghast.

"The _Mare Nostrum_ will not suffer any misfortune. If it should change
its title ... perhaps. But while it is called _Mare Nostrum_,--how
_could_ anything happen to it?..."

Smiling before this faith, Ferragut brought forth his last argument.
The entire crew was going to be made up of Frenchmen; how could they
ever understand each other if he were ignorant of their language?...

"I know it all," affirmed the old man superbly.

He had made himself understood with men in all the different ports of
the world. He was counting on something more than mere language,--on
his eyes, his hands, the expressive cunning of an exuberant and
gesticulating meridional.

"I am just like _San Vicente Ferrer_," he added with pride.

His saint had spoken only the Valencian dialect, and yet had traveled
throughout half Europe preaching to throngs of different tongues,
making them weep with mystic emotion and repent of their sins.

While Ferragut retained the command, he was going to stay. If he didn't
want him for a cook, he would be the cabin boy, washing up the pots and
pans. 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. They must be good people.... We'll just see what they say about my
rice dishes."

In the course of the week the _Mare Nostrum_ was de-organized and
re-manned. Its former crew went marching away in groups. Toni was the
last to leave, and Ulysses did not wish to see him, fearing to show his
emotion. They'd surely write to each other.

A sympathetic curiosity impelled the cook toward the new marine force.
He saluted t