The boatman who was bringing the smugglers back to France pushed the
bottom of the river with his long pole, and the bark dragged, half
stranded. At this moment, that Bidassoa by which the two countries are
separated, seemed drained, and its antique bed, excessively large, had
the flat extent of a small desert.

The day was decidedly breaking, tranquil and slightly pink. It was the
first of the month of November; on the Spanish shore, very distant, in a
monastery, an early morning bell rang clear, announcing the religious
solemnity of every autumn. And Ramuntcho, comfortably seated in the bark,
softly cradled and rested after the fatigues of the night, breathed the
new breeze with well-being in all his senses. With a childish joy, he saw
the assurance of a radiant weather for that All-Saints' Day which was to
bring to him all that he knew of this world's festivals: the chanted high
mass, the game of pelota before the assembled village, then, at last, the
dance of the evening with Gracieuse, the fandango in the moon-light on
the church square.

He lost, little by little, the consciousness of his physical life,
Ramuntcho, after his sleepless night; a sort of torpor, benevolent under
the breath of the virgin morning, benumbed his youthful body, leaving his
mind in a dream. He knew well such impressions and sensations, for the
return at the break of dawn, in the security of a bark where one sleeps,
is the habitual sequel of a smuggler's expedition.

And all the details of the Bidassoa's estuary were familiar to him, all
its aspects, which changed with the hour, with the monotonous and regular
tide.--Twice every day the sea wave comes to this flat bed; then, between
France and Spain there is a lake, a charming little sea with diminutive
blue waves--and the barks float, the barks go quickly; the boatmen sing