The first things that Ulysses admired upon entering the doctor’s home were the three frigates adorning the ceiling of the dining-room—­three marvelous vessels in which there was not lacking a single sail nor pulley rope, nor anchor, and which might be made to sail over the sea at a moment’s notice.

They were the work of his grandfather Ferragut.  Wishing to release his two sons from the marine service which had weighed upon the family for many centuries, he had sent them to the University of Valencia in order that they might become inland gentlemen.  The older, Esteban, had scarcely terminated his career before he obtained a notaryship in Catalunia.  The younger one, Antonio, became a doctor so as not to thwart the old man’s wishes, but as soon as he acquired his degree he offered his services to a transatlantic steamer.  His father had closed the door of the sea against him and he had entered by the window.

And so, as Ferragut Senior began to grow old, he lived completely alone.  He used to look after his property—­a few vineyards scattered along the coast in sight of his home—­and was in frequent correspondence with his son, the notary.  From time to time there came a letter from the younger one, his favorite, posted in remote countries that the old Mediterranean seaman knew only by hearsay.  And during his long, dull hours in the shade of his arbor facing the blue and luminous sea, he used to entertain himself constructing these little models of boats.  They were all frigates of great tonnage and fearless sail.  Thus the old skipper would console himself for having commanded during his lifetime only heavy and clumsy merchant vessels like the ships of other centuries, in which he used to carry wine from Cette or cargo prohibited in Gibraltar and the coast of Africa.

Ulysses was not long in recognizing the rare popularity enjoyed by his uncle, the doctor—­a popularity composed of the most antagonistic elements.  The people used to smile in speaking of him as though he were a little touched, yet they dared to indulge in these smiles only when at a safe distance, for he inspired a certain terror in all of them.  At the same time they used to admire him as a local celebrity, for he had traversed all seas, and possessed, besides, a violent and tempestuous strength which was the terror and pride of his neighbors.  The husky youths when testing the vigor of their fists, boxing with crews of the English vessels that came there for cargoes of raisins, used to evoke the doctor’s name as a consolation in case of defeat.  “If only the Dotor could have been here!...  Half a dozen Englishmen are nothing to him!”

There was no vigorous undertaking, however absurd it might be, that they would not believe him capable of.  He used to inspire the faith of the miracle-working saints and audacious highway captains.  On calm, sunshiny winter mornings the people would often go running down to the beach, looking anxiously over the lonely sea.  The veterans who were toasting themselves in the sun near the overturned boats, on scanning the broad horizon, would finally discern an almost imperceptible point, a grain of sand dancing capriciously on the waves.