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 the officers affably, regretting not to know their language sufficiently to begin a friendly conversation with them.  The captain had accustomed him to such familiarity.

There were two mates that the mobilization had converted into auxiliary lieutenants of the navy.  The first day they presented themselves on board arrayed in their uniform; then they returned in civilian clothes in order to habituate themselves to being simply merchant officers on a neutral steamer.  The two knew by hearsay, of Ferragut’s former voyages and his services to the Allies, and they understood each other sympathetically without the slightest national prejudice.  Caragol achieved equal success with the forty-five men who had taken possession of the machinery and the messrooms in the forecastle.  They were dressed like seamen of the fleet, with a broad blue collar and a cap topped by a red pompom.  Some displayed on the breast military medals and the recent Croix de Guerre.  From their canvas bags which served them for valises, they unpacked their regulation suits, worn when they were working on the freight steamers, on the schooners plying to Newfoundland, or on the simple coasting smacks.

The galley at certain hours was full of men listening to the old cook.  Some knew the Spanish tongue on account of having sailed in brigs from Saint-Malo and Saint-Nazaire, going to the ports of the Argentine, Chili and Peru.  Those who could not understand the old fellow’s words, could guess at them from his gesticulations.  They were all laughing, finding him bizarre and interesting.  And this general gayety induced Caragol to bring forth liquid treasures that had been piling up in former voyages under Ferragut’s careless and generous administration.

The strong alcoholic wine of the coast of the Levant began falling into the glasses like ink crowned with a circle of rubies.  The old man poured it forth with a prodigal hand.  “Drink away, boys; in your land you don’t have anything like this....”  At other times he would concoct his famous “refrescoes,” smiling with the satisfaction of an artist at seeing the sensuous grin that began flashing across their countenances.

“When did you ever drink anything like that?  What would ever become of you all without your Uncle Caragol?...”

These Bretons, accustomed to the discipline and sobriety of other vessels, admired greatly the extraordinary privileges of a cook who could display as much generosity as the captain himself.  He frequently communicated to Ferragut his opinion regarding his new comrades.  With good reason he had said that they would understand each other!...  They were serious and religious men, and he preferred them to the former Mediterranean crews, blasphemers and incapable of resignation, who at the slightest vexation would rip out God’s name, trying to affront him with their curses.