very nearly touching their heads, and behind them yawned the berths,
apparently hollowed out of the solid timbers, like recesses of a vault
wherein to place the dead. All the wainscoting was rough and worn,
impregnated with damp and salt, defaced and polished by the continual
rubbings of their hands.

They had been drinking wine and cider in their pannikins, and the sheer
enjoyment of life lit up their frank, honest faces. Now, they lingered
at table chatting, in Breton tongue, on women and marriage. A china
statuette of the Virgin Mary was fastened on a bracket against the
midship partition, in the place of honour. This patron saint of our
sailors was rather antiquated, and painted with very simple art; yet
these porcelain images live much longer than real men, and her red and
blue robe still seemed very fresh in the midst of the sombre greys of
the poor wooden box. She must have listened to many an ardent prayer in
deadly hours; at her feet were nailed two nosegays of artificial flowers
and a rosary.

These half-dozen men were dressed alike; a thick blue woollen jersey
clung to the body, drawn in by the waist-belt; on the head was worn the
waterproof helmet, known as the sou'-wester. These men were of different
ages. The skipper might have been about forty; the three others between
twenty-five and thirty. The youngest, whom they called Sylvestre or
"Lurlu," was only seventeen, yet already a man for height and strength;
a fine curly black beard covered his cheeks; still he had childlike
eyes, bluish-grey in hue, and sweet and tender in expression.

Huddled against one another, for want of space, they seemed to feel
downright comfort, snugly packed in their dark home.