Citation
Romain Kalbris

Material Information

Title:
Romain Kalbris his adventures by sea and shore
Creator:
Malot, Hector, 1830-1907
Wright, Julia McNair, 1840-1903 ( Translator )
Bayard, Émile Antoine, 1837-1891 ( Illustrator )
Pannemaker, Adolphe François, b. 1822 ( Engraver )
Porter & Coates ( Publisher )
Sherman & Co. (Philadelphia, Pa.) ( Printer )
Westcott & Thomson
Place of Publication:
Philadelphia
Publisher:
Porter & Coates
Manufacturer:
Westcott & Thomson, stereotypers and electrotypers
Sherman & Co., printers
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
386, 14 p. : ill. : ; 19 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Sailors -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Uncles -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Death -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Menageries -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Circus -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Shipwrecks -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Diseases -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Family -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Family stories -- 1873 ( local )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1873 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1873
Genre:
Family stories ( local )
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Statement of Responsibility:
translated from the French of Hector Malot, by Mrs. Julia McNair Wright ; with forty-six illustrations by Emile Bayard ; engraved by Pannemaker.

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University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
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This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026861570 ( ALEPH )
ALH4106 ( NOTIS )
11170994 ( OCLC )
07024360 ( LCCN )

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The Baldwin Library





ROMAIN. KALBRIS.

HIS ADVENTURES BY SEA AND SHORE,

FROM THE



TRANSLATE NCH OF





TOR MALOT,

ny

Mrs. JULIA McNAIR WRIGHT.

WITH FORTY-SIX HLLUSERATIONS BY EMILE BAYARD,
ENGRAVED BY PANNEMAKER.





PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES,

82 CHESTNUT STR







to Act of Congress, in the year 1

PORTER & COATES,

Entered accord





In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washingte





Susman & C
Printers, Pita.

Westeort & THossos,
Stereolypers and Blectrotypers, V7













CONTENTS.

CHAPTER 1. Pace
Dieu and its inhabitants:



My first appearance—Por









ansieties of a sailor’s life--Mail-day—Mother Joa u
CHAPTER II.
My father’s return—My uncle in India 19
CHAPTER IIL,
The storm—A ship in distress—* Give me a boat; I will ty
and reach her”. |. John lost—My father drowned... 25

CHAPTER IV.
ty of the Brothers Lehen—I make the ac-
. de Bihorel—Lost in the fog—M. de

Strange genero
ce of M
Bihorel’s prope







CHAPTER V.
Saturday's remonstrance—The island of Gr:
de Bihore y-
—Bird langnage—M. de Bihorel disappears—I return to
other
1s







4 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER Y


















My uncle Simon— His interview with the Brothers Leheu—
1 am apprenticed to. my mele His house—Hard fu
My next door neighbor and his dog—I share Patuud’s
dinner—My uncle's avariee The usirer and his vietim—
My unele threatens me: 90.
CHAPTER VII.
Plans of escape—The crocodile depart by night—Travel-
Jing hardships—1 conceal myself in my mother’s house
15





HAPTER VIII.
\g's Grotto—My
ke

are arrested 1







y Ament —1
with Lucien Hardel, the painter Wi

eseap



quaintanee





150



CHAPTER 1X.
I lose my elothes—The trave

pai



if menagerie—I join the com-



CHAPTER X.

Count de Lapolade and his show—The exhibition —My first
appe
tells the story of her Ti

nee on the stage—A ci
Wes

car and its effeets—Didlette
gree to make our escape,







CHAPTER XI.
“Thread ” and “ Buttons” are
dent—Lapolade is attacked




rested:
y the

T meet with an acei-



CHA NIT.
We leave the show —We suffer with cold—The poor migno-

—The snow-storm—Paris at kist—Sureet si






hood-—Diélette’s. mother’s house demolished
table m

the
rket-women and rough sexton—Diélette ver
dd is carried to the hospital —An old acquaintane





Underground quarters—I refuse to become th





CONTENT!



Diclette—We set ont for Port-Dieu—I leave Di
in sight of ho

ette



CHAPTER XII

Tavre—T determine to go to sea, but e:
ing to engage me—"A splendid idea”—I am smuggled
aboard ship in box—A hurricane «tt sea—Sea-sickness—
The collision—ITermann washed overboard—Struggles to
escape yy prison—Alone in the sinking vessel—My
old friend, the dog Pataud, une
swim ashore...



nd no captain will-







rom m



318



CHAPTER X1Y.

offige—I am made a lion—The sailor's
to see her son return—He arrives only
die—TI resolve to return home—My meet-

At the insurancy
mother lives 01










to see his moth





ing with my mother, Diélette and M. de Bihorel—Fortune
favors me at last—My happy home—Unele § 's unhappy
old age: ws. 858





cad
ae:
btn san i
Becta





ILLUSTRA



PIONS.












Viexry whe Tie: Pervoraaxe Lion. ait
Wasi 8
My Escare rrow 5
My rinst ApPEARANCE ul
Farier Jerome axp Mor 18
My Farirer’s Rerory « 19
Dreams: 23,
‘Tie Srorm. 24



Ti
Wire





JouN BORNE ON



Tsaw rie $



esr oF A migitTy WAVE



M. pe Burorer. ..



We Recomm





‘Time Provosrtion


















M. 01 66
M. pe Brtoren Was sruDiED Tt oF Burp... 81
‘Tue Biack Cow. 88
User Siwox AND tHE Broviers Lenev.. 89
Kyexiane, [ pur my Mourn to Te privatise Ba-
SIN, AND DRANK 6 x. 109
Tre Map or Normaxpy..---- $e . 126
Iie prew NEAR AND WeED THE Licir to My Han. 129
My Mornen’s Prave 149
1 ueave Hom 150
1 prew My Sir AFTER ME IN THE WATER. . 157







8 ILLUSTRATIONS.




187
191
206



1
1 Loe yses

roRE ON



RANG OVER STUMPS AND



WAR



IN THE REEDS...



AIDED Ry TIE Sow Prornr
My
Tn



ist APPEARANCE ON ‘THE Staci





, KOR THE Eres Time, 1 saw Dit



ryro THE CAGE oF THE LION...
Tne Acker
Burro

Sue sorrny ‘rook ay

ENT



NS AND THREAD ARRESTED,



rw



HER



ARM...



Laronape arracken By tite Lion,
Dui

Bur reas Nor vi





eEE AND TER PRY.




ny Easy to Ger Moxey ny SINGING,



AS WH SOON FOU!



De
Ile HEN TOOK MER UP IN WS ARMS, AND BADE AU





FOLLOW TIM.

Tuy rook COUNSEL WHAT TO DO WITTE ME AND OW TO.

305
317
318

EMpLoy x



THe DinGence.





‘Tur Docks av Hay
“Wiar an Cre.

BAWLED THE

ION IS THAT YOU ARE CARRYING?”

Carrary,





343

Sue neGan ro Disa: WAS PASSING AWAY.

He rp



ALLED ME To LIFE BY LICKING MY HANDS










AND Fac ~ 85
Ix THe Breawens. :
I My SrareMent To THE Lysv AGENTS... 358
‘Tim pyING MorHeR LIFTED HERSELE UP, AND FOLDED
ii TO ER Bosom 375
Harry av nase, eran . asl

Harry On Ack or M. pe Brtoren. po 8S)







ROMAIN JCALBRIS.

CHAPTER I.

ROM my present position no one need conclude
My

ancestors, if the word is not too ambitious,

that I had Fortune for my foster-mother.



stot



were fishermen, My father was the young

eleven children, and my grandfather had much diffi-





culty in raising his large family, for in this trade of





fishing, more than in any other, the gain is not in pro-
portion to the toil, You may count surely on toil and

M



12 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

danger. ‘The question will be whether you make any=
your exertions,

of cighte

thing by
At the

the “maritime conseription,” a sort of enrolment



2 my father was drafted



means of which the vice from 3



state secures x



mariners dur



ng some time in thirty-two years—
father left

home knowing neither how to read nor write. He



between the ages of eighteen and fifty. My



returned first master, the highest grade to which those
can come who have not passed through the govern-
ment schools.

Port-Dieu, our country, being neighbor to the
British isles, the state stations there a revenue cut-

ter, whose mission it is to prevent the people of the



and of Jersey from catching our fish, and at the

same time to force our own sailors to observe the



fishery laws. It was upon this cutter that my father
This

favor; for however much accustomed a man may be



was stationed to continue his ser



a



to seafiring, and to calling his ship his country, he

is always happy to return to the land of his birth.
Vifteen months after my father’s return Twas born.

T made my appearance in this world on a Friday in

March, the day of the new moon, so the gossips with



one accord predicted that I would have adventures,

that T would make voyages on the sea, and that I



would be very unhappy, miles the influence of the



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 13



moon counteracted the baleful effects of Friday! As
for adventures, | have had them; they are just what
I am about to relate to you; as for sca-voyages, |
have made them; in regard to the strife of diverse
fates in my life, you may pronounce your own opin=

ion when Tam done my story



‘To predict voyages for me was simply to say that 1



was a child of the Kalbris family, for, father and



son, all the Kalbris have been mariners, and if the

legend is true, they have been so since the ‘Trojan
Pp

ancient origin, but the wise men do so, who pretend

that ther



war. ay observe that we do not give ourselves this





e are at Port-Dieu one hundred families pre-

cisely, those of fishermen, who have descended from a



Phoonician colony.

Tt is certain that we have black eyes, a ruddy and



olive skin, sharply-cut noses and nothing whatever of

the Norman or Breton type; our boats also are an



exact copy of the ship of old Ulysses as Homer paints



it, a single mast with a square sail—a kind of fishing

craft very common in the Archipela



go, but curious in

Manche (our department of France).



As for ourselves, our traditions do not go hack
yery far, and their uniformity serves to confuse them.
Among us, if

you mention anybody, the history is but





little varied—every one has been to sea; and among a

people whose names are hard to remember, and who



14 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

have died mostly in storm, in battle or on English
pr
gray



hips, history has much of repetition, In our

r the names of wives



Is the plain slabs be



re found s



and mothers, but + up over mer



they do not die at home in bed.

Like all families, we have our heroes; one of them



was my maternal grandfather, who had been the com-



panion of Sureouf; the other was my grand-uncle
Flohy. As soon as I was old enough to know what
was said around me I heard his name ten times a day ;

he was in the service of a king of India, who had



elephants; he commanded troops against the English ;

he had a sileer arm. Elephants and a silver arm!



surely this must bea fairy tale! A desire for adven-

tures was born in every Kalbi



this fecling impelled

my father to set ont on a new expedition a few ye



after his marriage. He might have commanded one

of those vessels which ev



'y springtime go to Tecland,



but he preferred the service of the state. Ido not
remember his departure. My first recollections are
of that time when I noticed days of tempest and
stormy nights, and was sent by my mother to the

post-office,





How many times have I found my mother praying

in the windy, blustering nights! For us a storm at



Port-Diew was a storm over all the world, and the

wind which whistled around our cottage seemed to us



ROMAIN KALBRIS. LL



to be shricking through my father’s sails. Sometimes



torm was so severe that it threatened to tear our
frail home to pieces, for our dwelling was that of poor

people; it was fortunate that one side



was sheltered by

und the other b kk which had once



saloon of a three-masted vessel which had



fallen a vi



im to equinoctial gales, One night in

October my mother aroused me ; the tempest was fear-



ful; the wind howled like demons; the house shook,



gusts entering the ill-fitting windows shook the feebl





flame of our ¢



ndle, and finally extinguished it. In



the lull of the wind we could hear the thunde





the surf against the rocks. Despite the upr
fell asleep din



as I knelt beside my distracted

mother ; suddenly the window was snatched from its



hinges, and flung into the room, broken into a hundred
fragments; it seemed to me that Twas caught up by
a whirlwind,

“Ah! Heaven help us!” cried my mother; “your
father is lost !”

My dear mother, like many fishermen’s wives, had a



faith in signs and presentiments. A letter which she
received from my father some months after that terri-
ble night rendered this belief even more fixed by a
trifling coincidenee—he had been in that same week
of October assailed by

The sleep of a sailor’s wife



v storm and in much danger.



isa sad sleep. To dream



16 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

of shipw



rk, to wait and watch for letters by the

mail, which perchance never come—between these two



agonics her life passes.



At the time of which I speak letters were not de-

livered as they are now ; for us they were distributed



at the grocery-store, and if any one failed to call for



his letters, they were presently sent him by some

passing school-boy.



The day when the mail-carricr arrived at Te

ilors

Neuve the grocery was crowded. AIL the



for codfish, and a stranger coming



were absent fishing



to the town would have thought himself in the island
Ariosto tells of from which men were excluded. Doz-
Their babes
Hed.

Some read their letters with bursts of laughter, others

ens of women pressed forward for news:



in thei were



rms, they waited until their names

wept. ‘Those who had no letters questioned every-
body who had received any. Among sailors the proy=
erb, “No news ix good news,” does not hold true,

There was one old woman who came every day for



us, and in all that time never received a letter,



six y

They called her © Mother Joan,” and people told how



adory manned by her husband and four sons had dis-

appeared ina squall without leaving a trace of men



rch mornit



or boat. Since that hour she came



the office, hoping to hear that, swept out to sea, her



ing ship.

dear ones had been picked up by a pe





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 17

There is nothing for you to-day,” the post



ster



would say, pityingly; “there will he to-morrow.”

“y,

to return next day.





, to-morrow,” she would answer, and: depar



People said her brain was astray. If that were
truc, and Mother Joan was foolish, T have never seen

sinc



a folly so sad and sweet as hers.

Nearly every time that I went to the office T found
the mail arrived. As the postmaster was also a shop-
keeper, he naturally attended first to those who wanted
salt or coffee, and thus gave us more time to wait.
Methodic:

profession, he delayed us yet longer by all. sort



and rigorous in the pursuit of his double
of

s grocer, he wore a blue apron and a





ceremonies.
paper cap; as postmaster-general of our town, he felt
bound to officiate clad in the glories of a cloth coat
and a velvet cocked hat. Nothing in the world could
have persuaded him to have dealt out mustard with
1

in his hands a letter on which the lives of ten men



the cocked hat on his head ; and knowing that he

depended, he would not haye handed it across the



counter when he was wearing his blue apron,



Each morning at the store “ Mother Joan”? recom-

menced her recital: “They w



fishers. A squall
came up suddenly, and they mast haye been obliged
to fly before it. They were unable to get to the ship

rE



ndships they flew past the Prudence without speak=



18 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

But you all know well that with a sailor



like my John there can be no danger. ‘They must



have been picked up by a large ship which will one
day bring them home, Did not Melanie’s boy return

so? They carried him clear to America. Ah! when



they get home, how tall my Jerome will have grown!



He was just fourteen, Fourteen and six—how many



is ti Ah! twenty! Twenty years! Why, he
will be a man!”

She died without believing them dead. A few
days before her death she gave our pastor thirty
dollars to give to her Jerome when he came home.
Despite her want and woe, she had saved this much,

token.



and left it for her love’s







CHAPTER II.

qc absence of my father was to have been of
°







Tt lasted for six. The
(OM comm
oe

1, but ship and crew



were kept upon the Pac

Twas ten y



rs old when he came home. Tt was:
on Sunday, just after church-time. Twas leaning by
the gy




te weigh anchor, when coming
up from the doc

I saw a Prench marine in his best
1



20 ROMAIN KALBRIS.





un



form. ‘The quay was the fayorite lounging-place

of many old salts who in all weathers and on all
els or box

days sat upon beams, barr



xes, watching the





sea and sailors, ‘They gathered together two hours
before high tide, and remained for two hours after the
tide ran out.

“Romain,” eried old Captain Houel to me, drop-



ping his spyglass, “see your father. Run to the quay



if you wish to meet him.”
T was willing to run, but Thad legs stout as a pair
When I rv

my father was besieged by a crowd of friends.



ached



of bee ks. It was hard wor



the qui

One begged him to stop for



cup of coffee ina water-
side cating-house, another eried to him to have a mug
of cider.

“To-morrow, to-morrow, friends,” he said. «L

must first see my wife and my baby.”



“Your baby? Ah, he! Behold your famous
baby!” and there Twas, sure enough, but grown be-



yond his knowledge.
During six years of travel my father had seen

many things, and Twas eager to hear his tales. In





appearance hasty and rough, he was at heart the most

genial and Jong-cnduring of men, and with unfailing



patience he told and retold the stories which best

pleased my infant im ion.




Among his 1 cs there was none so fascinating



ROMAIN KALBRIS, 21

and so often called for as the account of my uncle

John, During a stay at Calcutta my father had



heard mentioned ag

neral Flohy who was an
ambassador to the English governor from a native
en.

People said he was a marvellous man, He was a



sove



Frenchman who had entered as a volunteer the ser-
tle with the
English he had by a heroic action saved th
1. A’ bullet:
ed the lost hand



vice of the king of Berar. In a

» Indian





wmy. For this he



as made a ge

had destroyed his hand. He replace



by one of solid silver; and when he rode into the
capital of the king of Berar, holding with this hand

the reins of his horse, the Indian priests prostrated



themselves before him in adoration, saying that in the
holy books of Berar it was written that the kingdom
would attain its highest glory when its armies should
be led by a stranger from the West, who might be
recogniz

My father

was

ed by a silver hand.



ral Floh:



1s presented before G , and





received by him with open arms. During eight



days my uncle treated him like a prince, and wished
him to ren



in longer in Calcutta. The duties of a
marine are inexorable, and my father was foreed to
leave his relative.

This history produced a very lively effect on my

imagination. My uncle occupied all my thoughts.



22 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

T dreamed of clephants and palanquins. T saw cd



stantly two soldiers escorting him who wore a silver
hand. Until then T had had a certain admiration for
a Swiss soldicr who attended our church, but tales of
my uncle's two gorgeous slaves led me to despise a
man whose haiberd was plain iron and his hat glazed
leather,

My father rejoiced in my enthusiasm. My mother
endured it, for with maternal tenderness she dreaded
the effect such romances would produce upon me,

“Come, come,” she would remonstrate ; “you will
give him a taste for sea-going.”

“Never



dd; that will be no worse than my



own life, and) may tum ont as grandly: as



uncle's,”

Become like my uncle! My poor father little



knew what a fire his light words kindled.
It was necessary for my mother to resign herself to

the thou:



sailor, but in her inno-



rht of my becoming





cent love she wished to soften for me the rough be-
ginning of that hard life. She persuaded my father

to leaye the service of the state and obtain the cap-



tainey of a craft bound for Leeland, that I might serve



my seagoing apprenticeship under him,



By this means she hoped to keep us both at home



ng-vessels return home and



When the fi



ROMAIN KALBRIS, 23,

are laid up. But who can prevent the ordained com-
binations and misfortunes of human destiny—who

can arm a man against his allotted fate?







CHAPTER ITI

father rei



shed home in August. In the

month of September, usually the most del





ful se:



1 of the year, the weather |
S* tempestuous, We had a series of hard storms

in place of the ordin



ry succession of calms, On all

sides people spoke of shipwrecks, A. steamer had



been lost, crew and cargo, on the Blanchard shoals.

Many ships from Granville had disappes



people said that the Jersey coast was strewn with



ents of wreek, ‘The earth was covered: with
broken branches; green apples, blown trom the trees,

lay all over the ground. Many: tre



we



torn up

by the roots, and the leaves, swinging half broken on.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 25

the branches, faded as if seorched by the breath of

fire. All the world seemed to live in fear, for, alas!



it was the season for the home-coming of the ships:



from the Newfoundland fisheries.
Such weather continued for some three weeks.

Then one eveni



2 the fury of the storms seemed
T had

subsiding, but at tea-time my

suddenly to culminate over land and se:





believed the temp
vd him if we should



father laughed at me when I ash

go next day to examine some nets which had been

neglected since the beginning of the gales.
“To-morrow,” he said, “there will be furious gusts

from tl



> west. As



he sun is setting in of blood ;



there are too many stars in the sky; the ocean groans;
the land is hot, ‘To-morrow, boy, you will see more
than ever you say before.”

Thus,

nets, we

on the morrow, instead of going to look atter






t ourselves carly toc



‘y large stones to



pile upon our roof, ‘The west wind woke with the
dawn. ‘There was no sunshine, but the sky was a
dull gray, broken here and there with long lines of

1 looked



pale greenish light; and although the s

quiet, from afar there came a groaning sound like



low thunder, All at once my father, who was on
the roof, ceased his work. I climbed up beside him.
Far off on the horizon we could sec a white speck

against the sombre sky. It was a large ship.



26 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



y do not have a care, they will driye upon
their destruction,” said my father.

‘The fact is, that during a west wind it is impossible



to enter Port-Dieu safely.
A blaze of lightning for a second set the ship in

full view. Instantly we lost sight of ‘The clouds



gathered in black confusion. ‘They piled themselves



upon each other like mountains, and rolled under the



of smoke. Low

bla

whirling winds like fickle wreaths



down in’ the the lightning ed continual



Lu



fires,

Father and TE made haste to the village. Every one

v



s running to the quay, for already the news had



pread that a ship was nearing the coast, and was in
instant danger.

So swift had been the advance of the storm that



even now the whole



sea, ne



nd far, right and left,

was lashed to a foam, a mass of tossing snow. It r



mor



rapidly than usual into great waves, which with
their terrific roar nearly paralyzed the senses.
The clouds, 70 b

threatening, that they seemed to press with a tremen-



hed by the gale, wer 80
dous weight upon the shuddering sea.
The ship swept on, It was a brig, and was almost

bare of canvas.



e, she is running up signals of distress. She



belongs to the Brothers Leheu,” said Captain Houel.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 27

‘The Brothers Leheu were the richest traders in the
country.

“She wants a pilot!”

“Ah, y

‘There stood the pilot hin



, 2 pilot, but how can a pilot reach her?”



If, old Father Housard,
and he it was made this reply. No one made any

reply. All knew that he was right, and that to reach





the brig was impossible.

At the same moment we saw running from the vil-
lage the elder of the Leheu brothers. He had learned
that h

the corner than the wind,



s ship was



in danger. Seareely had he turned



ecping upon him, seat-
tered him in the street like a pack of cards, T speak
F and M.

Leheu went various ways. Panting, struggling, puff



without exaggeration: hat, cane and _kerchie



1 boat in the waves, he stood



ing, laboring, lik



he had made no effort to



amid the crowd at last



gain his hat, and every one could see that he was
in a state of fearful anxiety. He was one of those

men to whom pecunia



ry loss is the greatest possible

calamity.



He gaved at his brig; she had been built at Bayonne,



and was splendidly fitted out; this was her first voy
age, and she was not insured.
“'Pwonty cents a ton on hei



if you will bring her



in!” a



ied M. Leheu, catching Father Housard by the

arm.



28 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



“To bring her in makes it needful first to get

aboard of her,” was the answer.



‘The waves le:



yed high up aboye the pier; the wind



varried with it the foam of the water, sca-weeds, sand
from the shore, even tiles from the houses of the
coast-guard. ‘The clouds seemed to trail upon the
sea, their blackness making the white foam whiter
still.

When those on the brig saw that the pilot did not
set out, she turned half her length, trying to make a
tack while waiting.

Consider, now: to remain outside was sure ship-
wreek ; to run into the harbor without a pilot was
even more assured destruction.

M. Leheu did not cease to o



y, “Twenty cents a

ton—forty cents a ton!” He ran to and fro, and in

the same breath entreated and berated :

“Ah, you are all the same—ready to go to sea when
no one needs you, lying close at home if there is any
danger.”

Noone replied. ‘They only shook their heads silently.



This enraged him: “ Every one for himself. There



goes three hundred thousand francs to wreck. You

ae Be



a gang of thieves
My father stepped forward :
“Give me a boat; I will try and reach her.”

“ Kalbris, you are a brave man,”



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 29



“Tf Kalbris goes, I will go with him” said Father
Housard.

“Twenty cents a ton—that is what 1 promised you,”
said M. Leheu,

“Wold there!” said Father Housard; “1 do not

i But

widow asks you for
Dit?

« Kalbris,” cried Leheu, “I will adopt your son.”



risk if for money, but to save the * live

if L ne





r come back, and my





two cents next Sunday, don’t refias



“All right. Get us quickly Gossman’s boat.”
This hoa



was famous all along the coast for being
able to



arry sail in almost any weather. 1p was
called the Saint John.



“Twill let it go,” said Gossman, finding all eyes
fixed upon him, “but it is to Kalbris that I lend it,

thinking he will bring it home safely.”



My father took me in his arms. All were running



to the beach, where the Saint John was dr:



wn up high
and dry. A moment more, and the sail and rudder
were adjusted.

Besides my father and the pilot, a third man was
needed. One of our cousins offered himself; his
family remonstrated,

« Kalbris is going,” he said.

My fathel

a choked voice, “No or



in clasped me to his bosom, saying, in



nows what is now to hap-
pen. This embr



is for your mother.”



30 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

tumning out of port



ainst the wind was very dif.

ficult. They towed the boat along



fr as the piers

extended, but the mouth of the harbor was besieged



by great ves, and it seemed as if the Saint John





would never be able to live in them, — The lighthouse





keeper tied some small cables about hin nd while



the men strove to tow the Saint John down the chan-



nel, he lowered himself’ from the ps



‘apet and crept
for



rd to the extreme front of the pier, holding

fixed



with his hands to the iron railing which w







there. Ie did not expect by single strength to do the
work that five strong men failed to accomplish, but
only—and it was hard work—to pass the moving cable

through the bron



pulley-block, which is in. the



extremity of the pier, in such a manner that the boat
could not be dr:



cl back by the y



ves as soon as

the hold of the men on the tow



ropes relaxed. ‘Three
times he was covered with great waves, but he was



used to these watery avalanche



and, stubbornly
The Saint
John now began to make progress, but plunged so





resisting them, was able to fasten the rope.





deeply in the troughs of the sea that it seemed as if it
must fill and sink. But the cable held well, and at

last its work was done. The Saint John east it off, and



shed forward to the open sea. I leaped upon the
highest post of the pier



and clasped so closely with
arms and knees the mast set up for the signal lights











ROMAIN KALBRIS. 33,

that I could not be shaken down, ‘This mast swayed
and creaked as if it were yet a living tree balancing
itself on its own roots in its native forest.

I saw my father at the helm; near him the two men

braced themselves up, with shoulders to the wind.



The Saint John advanced by jumps. One instant it
seemed to hang suspended, then it leaped like a wild

horse across the crest of the next wave. It was con-



stantly disappearing in clouds of sp



The brig, as soon as it came in view, changed its
course and held tow:



rd the lighthouse. The Saint





John also altered its bearing and made for the ship, so
that after some minutes they came near together. The



boat passed under the bows of the big ship,and soon
swung around her as if on a pivot; the two were then
made fast to each other.

“The tow-line will not hold,” cried some one, “and

they will never be able to board the brig.”



This looked reasonable. How could the two get.
enough for Father Hou



‘d to get on the grea





Hither the boat would be mashed like an eg;



the pilot would drop into the sea.

Held together by ropes, lifted on the same huge wave,



the ship and the boat shivered near each other; when

‘ould the decks had been



the bowsprit plunged, y

swept clear, and no one



able to stand upon them.
Leap now! leap!” yelled M. Leheu,





34 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

‘Three times did Father Housard essay to spring, but
js asunder.



on the second the waves swept the two v



hed toward the Saint John, and as
1 y

his leap, and was clinging in the ship’

Finally the brig lun



the cloud of spray fe



aw that the pilot had made
hrouds.



‘The wind seemed to increase in fury, despising all



obstacles ; there were no lulls,no moment for breath;



the waves piled one upon the other in mountai



S.

The brig ran wildly before the tempest, carrying only
sail enough to direct it. As the ship rolled in the deep
troughs we could sce only the torn fragments of sail



high up on the masts;



finally, as it rose on a wave, we




perceived that its topsail had been torn off,and that it
seareely obeyed the helm, A simultaneous ery broke
from every mouth. ‘The Saint John, upon which my

father and cousin remained, followed the brig at a



little distance, fearful of going too near that tossing

ma



, which was now only two or three hundred rods
from the mouth of the harbor. ‘The boat did well until
a foremast was torn from the brig, which, lurching,
fell

of the large vessel ¢



across the boat’s path, and at once the huge mass



nd the fr
which held so much of our hopes.
‘Dwo minutes after the brig gained the channel.

Tt was the boat which [ followed with my



saw nothing else. Driven from its true route by the

motions of the ship, it missed the entrance and drove







OF A MIGHTY WAVE.







ROMAIN KALBRIS. 37

toward a

ordinarily in times of storm there was pretty good



nall cove to the right of the harbor, where

refuge.



But on this unhappy day, here as everywhere clse,

the sea was in furious commotion ; it seemed an abso-



lute impossibility to gain shore in the tecth of the wind ;

the sail was rent away, and the anchor dragged at on



and would not hold, and the frail boat presented its



broadside to the full force of huge waves which flung
themselves upon it from a prodigious height.

Again they strove toanchor. Between them and the



shore was a line of rocks which in half an hour more



would be covered by the rising tide, and give them a
last chance of gaining land. Would that anchor hold?
Would not the ropes break. One phinge on those
jagged rocks, and the little Saint John would be for
ever lost. Twas only a child, but I knew enough of
the sea to comprehend the full meaning and importance
of this last attempt.

Around me I heard dozens



asking questions of each
other. We had left the pier and run along the shore,

where we pressed closely together to resist the force of



the wind.
One said, “ Kalbris
“Ah, yes! but who could swim in that seething whirl-
pool?”
“Tf the Saint John rides at anchor, they are saf



is a stout swimm







38 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

if she breaks loose, she will go to pieces in two min-

utes.”



A mere plank herself, the little Saint John rode amid



a mass of débris of broken boards, sea-weeds, pebbles



boiled up from the bottom, surf and foam. As the



waves struck the rocks they were flung back with



fearful din, and piled up one upon the other.
While I stood breathless, my eyes on the Saint John,
J felt my

poor mother, who had run to me, having scen all the




trouble from our little cottage on the clill. Close by

usstood Captain Houel and some others. ‘They spok



kindly, seeking to cheer us. My mother stood silently





azing with wide-open, t
All at onc

“The anchor has broken loose!”



wild ery rose up to heaven :



My mother fell upon her knees, drawing me down
with her.
When L looked up, I saw the Saint John borne on the

crest of a mighty waves cu



ied by it like a feather on

s summit, she passed the barrier of rocks, but the wave



broke, the boat fell forward, turning over, and T saw



nothing more but a wh



Jing, seething mass of foam.
Two d
terribly

body of my cousin neyer came ashore.



after they found the body of my father,

mutilated, drifted among the rocks. ‘The









CHAPTER IV.

OR six years the place of my father had been
empty at our table, but our home had never




seemed so deso! so miserable, as it did the





8) sad morning which followed this catastrophe.

His death did not absolutely make us beggars, for

we had our cot and a little plot of land, but my





mother was compelled to work for our daily bread.

She had once been the best laundress in all the



country; and as the white bonnet, the common head-
gear of Port-Dicu, hus frequently to be ironed and
peculiarly polished in fine style, she went back to her
old business.

The Brothers Leheu came to our aid in this

fashion: ‘
4 20



40 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“My brotha

Mondays,” said the elder to my mother, “ An assured



and Twill engage you on alternate



day for work once a week is something worth having ;”



and that was all, Tt was a cheap manner of paying
for the life of a man.
‘A working day in those days lasted from sunrise

to sunset. I had then cach day, before and after



hool-time, several hours, when my mother was



absent, and I was left at liberty to please myself,
My chief delight

upon the sea-beach, according as the tide y



to stroll along the pier or

low or



high.

Tt was useless for my poor mother to try to keep
me in the narrow limits of our yard. I had always
many reasons which to. my idea fully justified my
escape. Indeed, few were the days when I did not
play truant, cither because the Newfoundland ships
were coming in, or because there was a marvellous
high tide or a glorious storm.

One day when there had been a spring-tide I ran
away from school, and made an acquaintance which
had a marked influence on my character and decided
my whole after life.

Tt was at the
Friday in retreating had laid bare a long ridge of
On

Friday morning, in place of going to school, I clam-



end of September, and the tide on



rocks which had not been seen for some yea



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 41



bered down the cliff, and while waiting for the tide to

run out Tate my Iuncheon, I had only two hours to



The s

turned one instant from the rock, it vanished in the



rose like an inundation ; and if the eye

flooding waters before there was time to look again,
drowned in the tide, which rose with a swiftness so
noiseless that it seemed rather that the rock had
melted away than that the sea had swelled over it.




There was no tumble of waves, nothing but a narrow
line of foam between the blue sea and yellow sand,
while far off on the horizon sight was lost in a gray
distance. One could sce farther off than ordinarily.
On the one side was the Cape Vauchel, on the other

the steep promontory of Aval. ‘These



ald only be
seen in remarkably clear weather.
‘The tide remained at its height what seemed to my

impatience a long while, but at last began to ebb with



the same swiftness with which it had flowed. I fol-

lowed the retiring waves. I had hidden my shoes



and my satchel in a cleft of the rock, and I trod bare-
footed along the sands, where every footprint at once

filled with water. Our shores are generally sandy,



but one finds rocks here and the



» which the greedy
sea has not been able to gnaw away. Among these
shoals little black Jakes form at low tide. 1 was

wa



ding in one of these lakes, hunting for lobsters



42 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

under the sea-weeds, when I heard some one hail me,

Those who are doing wrong are never brave. I was



terrified for a moment; but raising my eyes, I saw that

I had nothing to fear. The person who called me



was not sent from the schoolhouse, but was an old

gentleman with a white beard whom in our vill



we had nicknamed Mr. Sunday, because he had a



vant whom he called Saturday.



In fact, the gentleman was named M, de Bihorel,
and he lived on a little island fifteen minutes’ row
from Port-Dieu. Once upon a time this island had
been the end of a tongue of land, but it had been eut

off from the granite of the isthmus, and so transformed



to a true isle of ocean, being at high tide only access
ible by boat from any side.
M. de Biho

eccentric of men for forty miles around. He



1 had the reputation of being the



most.



owed this reputation to an immense umbrella which

he alw carried open over his head, the absolute



solitude in which he lived, and a mingling of harsh-
ness and benevolence in his bearing to his neighbors.

“Ha, little one!” he cried. “What are you doing



there
“You see yourself, sir, I am catching lobsters.”

“Very well. Let your lobsters alone, and come



with me, You can carry my wallet. Hurry, now,

and you will never repent it.”



ROMAIN KALBR



I did not answer, but my looks spoke for me.



“Ho, ho! you don’t want to?”
« Beeause—beeanse—”
“There, now! never mind telling your reasons.
What is your name?”
Romain Kalbris.”
“You are the son of that Kalbris who perished in
2

an attempé to save a brig last year? Your father was

worthy of being called a man.”



T was proud of my dear father, and these words
caused me to look less erossly at M. de Bihorel

Yon are eleven years old,” he said, taking me by
the hand, “To-day is Friday, and you have run
away from school.”

I looked down, blushing,

“You have played truant,” he said. “Tt is not
hard to guess that. Now, Tam going to tell you why.
Do not tremble, you little simpleton, Tam not a
wizard. Come, now, look me in the eyes. Did you
come out here to fish 2”

eV

The Dog’s Head is x vock which is rarely uncovered.

sir, and to see the Dog’s Head.”



“Well, well, Falso am going to see the Dog’s Head.

Pick up my wallet, my son, and come with me.”



I followed him without utte



we a sound, T was



so,
ashamed that he had found out my wrong-doing so

st



Although T knew him well, this was the é
oe





44 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



time that I had spoken to him, and Twas unaware that



his pleasure was to search out the sec



ot springs of ac
tion in those whom he met. Much aeuteness and ready

sympathy, with a long



perience, made him generally



correct in his estimates; and as he feared nobody, he



spoke out his sc
ngry.

Well, although I had little wish to speak, it became

timents, whatever they were, either



kindly or



necdfiul for me to do so, at least to reply to the ques-

tions which he did not fail to ask me.





Before a quarter of an hour was past I trotted along
by his side, telling him all that I knew about myself,
my mother, my father, all my family, and not failing

to relate all my romances about my uncle in India.



In this part of my tale he seemed especially interested.



“Curious,” said he, “this tin



less spirit of adventure.
Norman blood, mingled with the old Pheenician,



whenee are they called Calbris or Kalbris



This inquiry



1 general one, which he did not

expoct_me to answer; and now he began to pause to





examine tl nd over which he v



Iked, and to gather
from time to time shells and plants and sea-weeds,
which he bade me put in his wallet.
“What do
Nearly alw:

ou call that?” he said to everything.



ys IT remained mute, because T did not



know what to reply; though I knew the shell



and herbs



well, I did not know th



names,





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 4

“You ar

patiently ; “for you as for others the sea is only good to

a true child of your country,” he said, im-



pillage and ravage, and is an eternal foc against which

rsce that it isa boun-



toarm yourselves, Will you ney
tifal mother and nurse as well asthe land? ‘The sea has

ns, and these forests are



forests and plains and mour



n

peopled with animals as well as those of the earth; «
you never speak of this infinite horizon, these depths,
these waves, except in connection with storm and ship-
wreek ?”

He spoke vehemently, so that T was stupefied, being

but a child; and now T record rather the impression





of his words than the words themselves. Perhaps I
have illy remembered what 1 so little comprehended,
ile
that time, that J seem to sce the old man, sheltered by

jon haunts me of



but even yet such a liv





s umbrella, extending one arm to the high sea,

chaining my eyes to his own.



“Cone here,” he said, showing me a crack in the



rock from which the water had not withdrawn—* come

let me teach you a little of what is in the sea; what is
this?”

He pointed my finger toward a kind of little yellow



the top by a yellow corolla, bordered: by scallops and

raffles which were black and whit



“Tsitaplint? Tsitananimal? You know noth-



46 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



ing about it? Ab, well, it is an animal. If you have



time to stay here, you will perhaps see it loosen itself,
and you know that flowers are unable to walk off as
they choose. Mark it clea

thi



you are about to see

el



pparent flower lengthen itself, contract itself, bal-



ance itself like a ballet-dancer. Wise men call it a sea

anemone. But that you may be convinced that it is



an animal, watch it eatch a shrimp; you know that
flowers cannot cat.”
Saying this, he took a shrimp and threw it into the



corolla of the anemone; the seeming blossom closed,



and the shrimp was swallowed.



In a hollow full of water I caught a little ray-t
It had hidden in the sand, but its brown and white
spots betrayed it. I took it to M. de Bihorel.

“You have found that ray,” he s



id to me, “because

it has spots, and what has shown it to you makes



it known also to voracious fish who eat it. At the
bottom of the sea goes on a constant war, in which

rybody else, as



sometimes happens
These

swim badly, and would not fail to be exter-

everybody kills eve





ashore. ‘They fight for glory and for pleasure.



poor



minated if nature had not made provision for them.
ilof thi

and darts, therefore it cannot be attacked from be-



Look at the reature; it is armed with thorns

hind; its cnemies dare only approach before its coat



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 47

of armor, ‘There is in nature a Jaw of universal equi-
librium, or compensation ; you may to-day begin to
cateh



a glimpse of it; you will apprehend it better as



you grow older.”
Twas astounded, Can I express what an effect this

n produced upon a naturally inquisitive



object I



child, who never before had found any one able to
answer his innumerable questions? The fear whi



had until now closed my lips



immediately dis
pated.

Following always the retreating sea, we reached at
last the Dog’s Head. How long we rested there I
know not. I had lost all consciousness of time. I
ran from rock to rock, and I carried to M. de Bihorel
the shells and plants which T for the first time appre-

ciated. I filled my pockets with a store of treasures



which appeared to me very curious when I found



them, but which T soon cast out in favor of othei
which had the incontestable advantage of being
new.

the
It had vanished in a light fog. ‘The

Suddenly lifting my eyes, I could no longer s



sand-beach.



sky was a uniform pale gray. ‘The sea was so calm
that we could scarcely hear it washing about us.



Had I been alone, I would have hastened homeward,
for I know how difficult it becomes in time of fog

to find one’s way along the coast, but M. de Bihorel



48 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

said nothing, and I was too bashful to propose a
return.
Meanwhile, the fog, which enveloped us on all

lik

sides, drew clo



cloud of smoke mounting





from carth to s!
“Ah, ah! se aid M. de Bihorel. “Tf

we do not wish to play Hide and

the fog,”





eck in right
good carnest, we had better go back. Pick up my
wallet.”

But at that instant the fog touched us,



sped us

could see



closely, shut us in, and on all sides w



nothing, neither the sea nor five steps before us. We
were lost in a gray obseurity.
“The

disturbing himself, “We have only to walk



ais this way,” said M. de Bihorel, without



raight
before us.”
To walk straight forward on the sand, with noth-

ing to guide one, no sound, no sight, no trace of your



own steps to show which way you came, no uneyen-



ness to tell whether you go up or down, this is ve



ly
to play most seriously the game of “the green earpet

of Versailles,” in which one has his eyes blindfolde«





and is bidden to go, without deviating one step, from
the Garden of Latona to the Fountain of Apollo.
We, on the soundless sand, had this additional aggra-
vation of our trouble, that we were more than a mile

from the cliffs and high-water mark.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 49

We had not walked ten minutes before we stum-
bled upon a pile of rocks which I recognized.

“These are the Green Roel

“This is the Chicl

“No, sir,’ I per
Rocks.”

He gave me a little tap on the cheek.

“Why, what a wise little noddle you have!” he
said.

If these were the Green Rocks, we should turn to
the



r,” I said.




’s Head,” said my old friend.



isted, “these are the Green



ight in order to get to the village of Port-Dieu ;
but if they were the Chicken’s Head, we should turn
to the left, or we would have our ba¢
home.

toward



In fall day nothing is easier than to distinguish



between these two rocks, Even at night, if the moon-

light shone clearly, I could easily have re



them, but in the fog we could see rocks draped in



weed, and that was all,

“Hark,” said my friend, “the noise of the shore
will guide us.”

We listened, but heard nothing, not even the
ripple of the waves. There seemed to be no breath
We were as if buried in a bale
id. blinded

of wind on the sea.





ened our ear



of white cotton, which d



our ey
“Tt is the Chic



's Head,” said M. de Bihorel.



50 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



I dared contradict no longer, and turning fol-
to the left.

1d,” said he, in a soft



lowed my guide, taking the cours



“Come near to me, my



voice. “Give me your hand. Let us not lose each
other. So, now; we keep step.”

We hastened along for some ten minutes, then I
felt his hand clasp mine closely. We heard a faint
roaring of surf.

“You were right,” he said. “Those were the
Green Roel
Let us return.”



We should have gone to the right.

Return where? How should we guide our way?

We knew where was the sea, because we heard the



waves break softly, but on every hand we heard no
other sound, and we could not tell when we turned in

which direction to go. ‘The fog constantly thickened,



and now to the mist was added the natural obscurity
of evening. We could not trace our own footprints,
and only with the greatest difficulty could M. de
Bihorel tell the time by his watch. It was



o'clock, and now the tide was beginning to come in.
A high tide!
“Tt is needful for us to hurry,” he said. “If the



tide overtakes us, we shall fare badly. What a pity

ven-league boots !



that you and I do not wear s
He spoke cheerfully, for the trembling of my hand

told him that I was afraid.





ROMAIN KALBRIS, al

“Fear not, my child,” he said ; “ presently the wind

will blow from the land and scatter this fog. Besides,



we shall soon see the lighthouse, which wili_ presently
be lit.”

His words gave me no comfort. I knew very well
that we would not be able to see the blaze of the light-
house, For the next ten minutes I thought of three
women who the preceding year had been surprised
on the sands by a thick fog, and had been drowned.
‘Their bodies had heen found eight days after, and 1

saw them now before my eyes, all white and stiff in



their poor dripping rags. Although I desired to



restrain myself, [ began to ery.
Without any vexation M. de Bihorel tried to calm

me by kind words.



“Call aloud,” he said; “if there ard



is a const-g



pacing the cliff, he will hear us and answer.”

We both shouted—he with a tremendous voice, I
with a voice broken by my sobs. No answer came,
not even anecho, That mournful silence filled me
cemed to me that T was buried



with a great fear, Tt
at the bottom of the sea.

Come on,” he





aid; “can you walk briskly 2”

He took me by the hand, and we walked we knew
not where. By the words which he addressed to me
from time to time IT knew that he was anxious, and

had no confidence in his own encouraging suggestions,
5



w

ROMAIN KALBRIS,



Aft

all at once, and 1 flung mys



along half hour of travel despair seized me

-If upon the sand,



“Teave me, sir, leave me to die; T hinder you,” T
cried with loud sobs.
“ Porward cheerily,” he eried ; “we have seen enough

now. Do you wish to add to the water by floods of



tears? What will your mother do if you die? Up

now for her sak:



His words were useless; entirely overcome, T re-



mained without power to move. Then I broke into

ac



Sina
“What is it my child 2”

“Phere, there | stoop down her



“Do you want me to carry you, my poor little



“No, sir; take my hand, do.”
He gave me his hand, and T pressed it into the

beach beside mine.
“Well, what now?

“Don’t you kno





sir Feel the water.”



Our shores are for



ed of very fine sand, deep and
at low tide thi



spongy and is fall like a sponge,



and the water percolates it in a million invisible
streams, which follow the slope of the beach toward
the sea. It was upon one of these threads of water

that T laid my hand.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 53

“Oh, sir, the sea is that w



”” T said, reaching out
my arm in the direction of the running water. At
the same time I rose up, hope lending me new strength,
M. de Bihorel did not need to drag me forward.

I pressed _forw:



rd, cach moment bending to press





my finger into the sand to feel the course of the water,



by which I guided our way.
“You are a brave boy,” said my friend ; “without

your energy and knowledge we should surely have



heen lost.” Not five minutes after he had thus ey





pressed his anxieties it seemed to me that I felt no

more wat!



We went on some steps; then I put my
nd.

“There is no more water,” I said.



hand on the dry

He stooped and felt about with both hands; only
damp sand clung to our fingers. At the same instant
we heard a low roaring. He listened :

“Lad, you deceive yours



If; we are going to the
seal”?
“No, sir, I

went toward the sea the sand would be wetter and



sure you. Don’t you know that if we

wetter 2”

He said nothing, lifted himself up, and we stood



undecided, lost a second time, He took out his



ch; it was too dark to sce the hands, but he felt
them, and it was a quarter before seven. The tide

had been rising for an hour,



D4 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“Sir,” T said, “you see we are getting near the

shore.” As if to confirm my words, we heard behind



y that is befor



gul us,” he said.
“1 think so, sir”

These shores, because they are formed of a shifting



sand, are not entirely level. They form here and
there little hills, separated from each other by little

Although to the eye the whole stretch of



valley
beach looks even, and the differences of level are very
slight, they are indicated by the water; so much that
the tide r
while the hill

on all sides by the swelling flood, which separates



s in the little depressions and fills them,



wks vemain dry like islands, laved



them like small



rivers. We were facing one of the

rivers. Was it deep? All our future lay in this



“We must cross over this gully,” said M. de Biho-

rel; “take my hand.”



nd as T hesitated, he continued : “Which do you



r most, wetting your feet or your head? As for



me, I choose the fect. ‘There is now no
ill”

“Oh, but, sir, when we get into that water, we shall

anger like



standing

ha

to get out?”

ve lost our way, and how ean we tell on which side





5

ROMAIN



CALBRIS.

“But, boy, do you mean to stay here and be over-



taken by the s



», sir, But do you pass over first. 1 will stay



here and shout to you, and you will go straight before
my voice, When you are on the other side, call, and
I will come to you.”

“Go first, my child.”

«No, sir

“My brave child!” He ¢

if 1 had been his son. His tenderness



Tam a better swimmer than you are.”



ned me in his arms as





cheered my
heart. There was no time to lose. ‘The sea made
swift progress. Each second we heard it more plainly
washing in. He entered the water, and I began to

shout.



“Do not scream,”



id M. de Bihorel. “Do you

not know a song? — It is better to sing if you ¢



«Yes, siry” and T began to sing:

“Phere was a man in an land,



People ealled him Hammer-hand ;

His eyes like an owl's, his hair like wool,

With silver and gold his pockets were full.
‘Dra, Ja, Ja, Ja, tri Lilla?



T stopped a minute

& Ave you on your fe



“Yes, child; and I think the water gets shallower.

Sing on.”





56 ROMAIN KALBRIS,



“ THis lips were always as red as a beet,





He never was hungry when he had enough to eat.



His mouth was too small, for, as it appe:



Tt had to stop when it touched his ears,
‘Dra, Ia, la, la, tri fillah ??



T was going on with the third verse of this jolly
ditty, when M. de Bihorel cried, “‘Take your turn.
Th

began singing a song without words sad as a wail

water does not reach my knees, Come ;” and he



for the dead.

T entered the water, but being much shorter than
the old gentleman, I was soon beyond my depth.
‘That was nothing to me, for [ could swim like a fish.
The only trouble was that T had difficulty in direct-
ing my course aright, and it took me full a quarter of
an hour to reach him.

At last we were together again, and we made no
delay to get beyond the water upon the sand. He

stion which showed how



ve a deep sigh of satisfi



intense had been his anxiety.
He tri
uke a pinch, You have earned it,” he said; but



dd to jest. He held out his snuff-hox,



in dipping his fingers into the box he found it wet.



“My snuff from Paris, and my wateh which never



to keep time, are all fall of water, What will
my man Saturday say to that?”

T made no repl: T was wondering if all dan













59

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 59

were passed. Indeed, it was not. Before us lay
more road to be traversed than we had yet aceom-

plished. We were surrounded by the same danger



and we had the same difficulties in directing our steps





‘The fog seemed ever to thicken; and although we
seemed to be pressing toward the eliff, we could hear
no sounds from which we could decide in what direc-

tion the land lay. We heard no lowing of cattle, no



orman





rack of carter’s whip, no creaking of the



wagons—nothing, Before us was a profound still
ness; behind, the ominous roar of the ocean.

Still the tide rose h



‘That was our on





guide now, but one most dangerous and deceitful.

Tf we advanced too rapidly, we lost the



und ; if we
tarried, the water might swallow us up before we
could reach high ground or the steepness of the beach

should check its rate of ri





We recommenced, then, to wall hand in hand.
Often did T bend to feel the sand, but could perceive
no water init. We were upon a sort of hillock cut
up by hollows in which the water remained stagnant.

1 itself out in little sti



or spr ams, ‘The hope which

had animated me when we had successfully passed



the gully died away. ‘Then we both stopped at the
The
trokes penetrated the thick fog. After an in-

same moment. We had heard a clock strik





dl

terval of two or three seconds we heard another cloe





60 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and then a third. They were the church-clocks of
Port-Dicu. We had only to press forward in the
safe. With-

ccord we be



direction whence they came, and we were





out saying anything, with one :



n to



run,
“Hasten,” said M. de Bihorel. “The bells are

ringing for evening s



, but they only ring a short
time, ‘Phey really ought to ring longer.”

On we ran, not taking time to breathe, fearful of



lo:



ng one of those precious directing sounds. We
did not speak to cach other, but I knew well that if
we could not reach the high shores and a path before
the bells ceased ringing, we should only have been
saved for a few moments, to be lost again,

They ceased. We were yet far out upon the sands.
P
might take us to them. But in which dir

ps the cliffs were rods w



perhaps a step



jon



should that step be taken? We could only feel that



safety was yet far off, and that we were still in immi-



nent danger,





Stay,” said M. de Bihorel; “do not let us take
another step at a venture, Heel the sand, my boy.”

I felt it. I buried both hands in it. It was quite
dry.

“Taye you counted how many gullies we have
passed 2”

«No, s





ROMAIN KALBRIS, 61

Ain to,



“Phen you do not know whether any yet ren



be crossed. If we have got by all, we have only to
wait. When the sea reaches us we will walk on be-

fore it.”



“Yes, But if all are not passed ?”
He made no repl

that

for he only could have said in



what I alre



ly know—that if there were



another gully between us and the solid earth, while we

tarried the sca would silently fill it, and we could only



pass it by swimming, haying thus the danger of being
dragged down by the current, hurled maybe against
the rocks, unable to direct our course and hopeless of
ty.

We had a moment of terrible anxiety, remaining





on that dry sand knoll, not daring to decide whether

to moye or to stand still, to tum backward, forwa





right or let we did not move we knew



So long
that our faces were landward, looking where the bell-
strokes had come to us. As soon as we took a step

we could not tell but that we stepped away from our



desired haven. Oh, the agony of such uncertainty !
Our sole hope was that a puff of wind might litt

We

could expect no sound to guide us. We thought we



the veiling fog and show us the lighthow

were south of the village, opposite a deserted cliff,



where at almose any hour there would be no sounds

of life. The fog was so thick, so compact, so cold, so





OMAIN KALBRIS.

still, that to believe



would suddenly lift or break

was to believe we should see a miracle.



The miracle came to us. What do you think?

Once more the bells broke forth, now ringing for a



baptism, and in Normandy they baptize in churches,





and ring the joy-bells for half an hour if parents
are rich enough to pay the ringers.

Oh, jo

bound coast, the dry, green, happy land. We trod

In ten minutes we had reached the rock-



upon the tongue of rocks which ran out toward M.
de Bihorel’s island, In very deed we were safe. My
old friend ask



1 me to go home with him. We were
Hi

sure my poor mother was home from her long day’s



hungry, cold, wea house was near, but I felt



toil, and I did not wish to give her time to be terri-
fied on my account.
“Go, then, and tell your mother that T shall call on

her to-morrow evening.”



Twas sorry he meant to pay a visit which should

make known to my mother all the dangers I had



meant to conceal, but dared not say so.
Strangely cnough, my mother had not yet got
home. Presently she came in. By that time I had

lit the fir



and. put on dry clothing. I gaye her M.
de Bihorel’s message.

The next evening, as he had promised, he came, I



trembled when Th



d his step. I had hoped I



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 63,



should es



wpe having my truant-day and my. peril
discussed.

“ Has that boy told you what happened to him and
to me yestet



lay 2” he asked.



“No, sir,” replied my mother



© Very well, ma’am. He
all day.”

My poor mother regarded me with sorrowful un-

1 ay



ay from school for



sin ieving that she was about to hh



terrible accusation against me.
Ah, Romain!” said she, sadly.

“Do not gro:



1 over it,” interrupted M. de Bihorel

“for it was providentially made the means of saving



my life. ‘There, my lad! you need not tremble, You
behaved like a braye child, Madame Kalbris, you
have reason to be proud of him.”

He then related how he had found me at play, and



how we had both been caught in the fog.
“You sce,” he continued, “that without him I

would have been lost. Is not that plain, my dear



madame? In the morning I despised his ignorance

because he did not know the right name for the sea



weed; but when danger came, my science helped me
very little, and I leaned on the instinet of the child.
But for him crabs, lobsters and crayfish would now
be studying my anatomy.

it.

I am in debt to your son,





and now I must pay
a





64 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

My mother shook her head.

Do not be alarmed,” he said. “1 do not propose
anything which will hurt your feclings or be bencath
the service which I have received. I pereeive that

your child is ew



ious to see and to know. Let me

ion. [ have no childre:



take charge of his educs , but
I love them dearly, He will not be unhappy with
me, I am sure.”

My mother was overwhelmed with th

t it,



greatness of
this proposition, but she did not ac
“Stay,” said M. de Bihorel, holdin;

to her



out his hand





. “T know you are about to refuse me. You

love this child ardently. You love him for himself



and for the father he has lost.



He is your all, and
yon wish to keep him, Is not this true? Now, I
shall show you why, nevertheless, you should let me
have him, He has a fine mind which deserves to
be cultivated, Here in this village such cultivation



impossible, and without meddling with



our affai



it is impossible for you to send him away from home
to school. Let me add that a child of his venture
some and independent character needs governing and
watching. ‘Think of that. Do not answer me hastily:
Reflect on this subject when the first emotions of

ernal heart have



almed. I will come to-



your mi





1 he went out, we sat down to supper, but my



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 65



mother could not eat. She looked anxiously at me.

‘Thea, when her eyes met mine, she turned and looked



at the fire.
When I said good-night before going to bed, I felt
Why

‘as she not proud of me?

her tears falling on my check did those te
flow? Wi

tressed at what M. de Bihorel had told her?





Lis-
Was

ng at thought of our sep-

ssh







she grieving and ¢





ion?
Thad not thought before of parting from her, and
now the idea distressed me sorely.

“Do not cry, dear mother,” I said, hugging her

with a boy



rough fondness; “T shall never go away
from you.”

Ah, my child,” she replied, «I alr pe that it
right. I shall





is better for you. M. de Bihorel i:



ept his offer. I do so because T love you, my
precious child.”







CHAPTER V.




»ption at the house of M. de Bihorel fally
justified his wid



spread reputation for origin-



os * ality. When I reached his place, I fond him
“9° sta

me from afar, he had come to meet me,

nding at the house



door; for having seen



“Come here,” he said, without gi

Jook about.“ Hav



ing me time to



you ever written a letter? No?

Ah, well, you may now write one to your mother to



that you have reached here safe



y, and that Satur-



y will go to-day to buy you some clothing. By
that letter T shall find out how much you know.

Come in and sit down by my desk.”



He took me into a grand library full of boo
66



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 67

pointed me to a table on which lay paper, pens and

inkstands, and then left me alone. [ would much



have preferred ¢ busi-



ing to writing, for that bri



manner chilled me to the heart. After a few



nes





minutes of emotion I conquered my
The

ink on my paper, for 1 felt already home-

grief and set my-



self to ob



et is that 1 put quite as much



salt water 2



sick, and could think of nothing to say but “ Dea



mother, | have got here, Saturday is going to buy



me some clothes.” It was short enough, but it was

qnite impossible for me to put down another word.



T was about a half an hour in this wretched frame of

mind, and 1 do not know how much longer it would

have lasted had not my attention been interrupted 1



the following conversation, spoken in loud tones in

nt



the next room by M.de Bihorel and his s
Saturday.

“So, then,” growled Saturday, “this youngster has
got here.”



“Why, did you think he would not come
“T did not think he would upset the whole house

by getting here.”



“Tn what way, Saturday 2”

You, my master, br



Kfast about noon—I take my

bite early in the morning; shall this youngster wait



until midday to eat with you, or will he get a mouth-

ful with me about sunrise ?”



68 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and mouthfuls !”



onsense about your bites

«Bless me, s



T know what I am talking about.

T have never been a child’s nurse.”



“You have been a child, have you not? Re-



member your own experience. Come, now, take



your orders. ‘Treat this boy as you treated your-
self’; that will do very well, won't it, ch, ch, eh, Sat-



«No, sir, nothing of the kind, in your house. I



was a poor chap, and was brought up rough and hard.
If you want him raised in that style, you had better

better



m home again; there he will stand



send h
chance, My master, do not forget that you owe that
td

and his home.”



little fellow a gre I, having taken him from his

mother



“Don’t forget it yourself, Saturday, and act accord-
ingly.”

“Then I mean in the first place to give him sugar
in his bread and milk.”

“Saturday

at his age, or rather you must ask him what he like

you must give him whatever you liked





and then let him have it.”

“Tf you manage in that way, we will have jolly



times,” said the n
« Satun

ing «



nt, chuckling.



An-se1



do. you know what com

s of helping





and t



of young childreu

Saturday hesitated a moment, and replied :



ROMAIN KALBRL



A deal of broken crockery comes of it,and a hor-
rible waste of good provisions.”

“God sends us yet something else, my man, In



them he freshons our hearts, and gives us back the
childhood we have lost. He reunites us to the past,
and lets us have for a reality a vanished and beloved
dream.”

Hardly had he finished these words when he stood
before me in the library, taking up my wonderful

effort at letter-writing.



You know nothing at all,” he said, having looked



at my queer seribble, “So much the better; 1 will
not have the trouble of unlearning you a pack of
folly. Run off now, and play.”

That ishand was a queer place, From its shape it
was called the “Granite Glove,” and I haye never
seen anything like it, From the shore the isle pre-

sented the appearance of an elongated triangle, of



which the base was turned shoreward, and only sepa



rated from the main land by an arm of the sea some
four hundred feet wide. On this side all the slope was
covered with luxurious vegetation, herbs, trees and

blooming vines, which seemed to thrive in crevices of



the hard granite, which pierced in sharp needle-like

ks among them. On the seaward side all was bare,




i, pecled by the winds and scorched by salt

y and burning sunshine reflected from the shining





70 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

waters. The house was built on the vi



highest







point of this island, on the right side, where the ridges

united to form



little plateau; and in virtue of its



position it commanded a circular view, which em=

braced the sea and the land, looking to the hori



on on

cither side. Tt was also posed to the violence of





the wind from every quarter, and was the espe
mark of the fury of the storms, But neither winds,
nor swirling rains, nor thundering seas, prevailed
against this stone-built and rock-founded dwelling.

It had been ereeted a century before, in times of



with England, and had been fashioned to withstand
the brunt of battle. It was to have been the castle

ofa



rong coast-guard, and there were embrasures for



mounting guns, while the top had been made nearly
bomb-proof. When M. de Bihorel had bought this
odd little fi



rt, he had changed the exteri



by a gal-
lery and put up some wooden outbuildings and a
wing, while he had made the interior a handsome and

comfortable abode, dividing it into ha



Is and cham-
bers. It was not splendid, nor was it very large; but
he was not a man who cared for external shows, and
he gloried much in the strength and comfort of his
odd abode, which withstood the rage of the winds as
solidly as the rock upon which it was built.

These wild winds, enemies against which man must

defend himself, are at the same time friends of this



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 7



island. They give to it in wintera temperature higher

than that of the adjacent land—so much so t in the





crevices and nooks of the rocks flowers and shrubs are



to be found belonging to a more southerly latitude,
and which will not flourish on the coast, as, for in-
stance, rose-laurels, fuchsias and fig trees,
Much of the t

bounty of nature, but something also was to be ered-



due to the



auty of this spot was



ited to the united efforts of M. de Bihorel and his ser-
vant Saturday, who had transformed the island into
a luxuriant garden; only that part exposed to the west
had defied their toils. That, coutinually beaten by
wind and swept by the salt foam of the sca, served
only as a pasture for two little Breton cows and a
flock of black sheep. It was curious to contemplate
these wonders of transformation and renewal, and

consider that they had been wrought only by two pa





of hands, for M. de Bihorel never hired y labore



besides Saturday.





that M.

1 lived thus from avarice; after I went to

I had often hes
de Bio!
stay with him, I perceived that he was guided by high

‘d_ the country people s





principles of virtue.
“Bach man,” he said, “should be able to help him-

y was bestowed



self, and should not consider that mon
on him merely that he might pamper his appetite and

indulge in idleness. I wish to live what I believe.”





72 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Tle was



reful to carry out these theories in every
affair of his life

the fruits ¢

no matter how small. Ife lived on





F his orchard and garden, the milk of his



cows, fish caught by Satur bread made in the



house from coarse flour ground 1 little mill of his



own construction—a windmill—assuredly in his idea
ul skill. He

and, and pressed. ci



a wonder of mechani



grew his wheat

er in a portable



on his own it



press from his own apples.



To do Saturday justice, I mus s be-



say that he wa



hindhand in none of these labors. He had been a

cabin-boy, a sailor, the private servant of a state



officer, cook on board a coasting-vessel. He had
served an apprenticeship to nearly every trade under
the sun.

The intercourse of these two was not as master and
domestic, but as two friends. They ate at the same
table, the only distinction being that M. de Bihorel

oceupied the chief plac



Their life had in it something so simple, and



dignified, that it now astonishes me, though I was too



young to te it when T became a third in that



ppreei
little household.
“M

after my a



y child,” said M. de Bihorel to me some days



ival, “I haye no intention of making of



you a fine gentleman—that is, a lawyer or doctor-—but

merely a seaman and an honest man, It is needful



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 7B.

that I instruct you. L will give you lessons while
walking and playing. Will that method off study
be to your taste?”

T was too untrained to more than half comprehend
him, but the practice of our daily lives explained his
meaning.

Thad been somewhat surprised to hear that eduea-
tion could go on while one was playing. Twas
yet more astonished when he began the work that
same afternoon. Hitherto I had studied only from
dreary-looking books, under terror of the master’s

rod.



M. de Bihorel in a

nd suddenly he




accompanying

walk on the shore,



led me to stop.
We were on the edge of a little oak wood.

“What are these?” he demanded, pointing to some



ants which
“ Ants.”

“Well, and what are they doing ?”



‘an across the road.



“Oh, why they are carrying something or other.”



“Good! You shall follow them to their ant-hill,

watch them, and tell me if you see anything singular

about them. If you see nothing to-day, you will g



back to study them to-morrow and the next day, and



50 on until you have observed something.”



After two days spent cheerfully looking at ant-

hills, I saw that there were some ants which did







7A ROMAIN KALBRIS.

absolutely nothing, while there were others which





ingly, even giving food to the sluggards.”

toiled unc



“That is well,” he



tid, when Thad communicated



to him my observations; “you have seen the thing

most noteworthy. That is enough. — These ants which





do nothing are neither sick nor feeble, as you imag



ne;



and the others which work are



the maste:
Without the aid of th



they an



their slay



ves they



would be incapable of going to seck their food. Con-



sider, now: is it not often the same in our world
There are yet some lands where men who do nothing

y those who toil. Lf idleness could



ur



supported I



+ fact of sickness among the mas-



be explained by any
ters, nothing would be more natural than the labor of



some and the case of othe Such a state of th



would be necessary. But this is not the reason.
Among the ants the masters are exactly those which
nd

courage, as war, for instance. Let us go together to



are the mos rength



upt in all which demands

observe the habits of ants, and we shall, without





doubt, soon be witnesses of a pitched battle, Only



the masters will take part in that, and their whole
object will be to capture more slaves. While you sit
here waiting for the sight of a battle, I am going to
give you a book to read. In that book a wise man

named Huber g



ves an account of a great battle of ants

which went on exactly at the time when about a hun-



75



ROMAIN KALBRIS.

dred leagues away a great fight took place between
some armies of men, I do not know what made the

war among the inseets, but the men thought they had



the very best reasons for fighting, and the slaughter



x



terrible. I was in the midst of it, and only

escaped death as if by a miracle, We marched along



the bank of a river called the Elbe, and opposite us,

upon the right bank, the Russians had a formidable



battery of artillery, of which we continually heard the





roar, but of which we could not sce the execution, be-

nd whirlwinds of



cause we were hidden by fog, smoke
dust. All along the march T had but one thought;

that was that I had come to the day of my death, for



for us to pass under the fire of those



guns. I remembered that it was my mother’s birth-



day—an anniversary which we had always celebrated,

and on which I had often been most joyous. Sud-



denly I looked down, and saw, in a moist ditch in



which I was walking, a spray of myrtle in full bloom.

You must not believe that in battles things pass, as



you see represented in pictures, with a clock-w



regularity. We were deployed as skirmishers—that



we were free in our movements. Despite the dan-

gers of our position, those little blue flowers attracted



me. I went to gather the sp



rays of myrtle; at the same



moment I felt as if a terrible wind swept above me.



Then I heard a loud sound as of thunder, and my back
7



76. ROMAIN KALBRIS.



was coycred with a shower of loose earth. We were just





before the battery, and had received its full discharge.
If Thad not stooped so low to gather those fhir blue

blossoms of hope, T should, like many of my com-




rades, have fallen, shot through the chest. [remained
safe with my little bouquet. It did me good then,
as often, to think of my mother, By the time we
were

gain in re



of Russian fire, Marshal Ney had



captured their guns.”

All cagerness this narration of the battle of





Friedland, that sume evening I read Huber’s battle



of the ants. Huber was blind ; he suw only throug!
the eyes of the most devoted and intelligent of
friends, and to him he dictated the charming book he
If M. de Bihorel

had not thus recommended this reading, if he had



has written upon ants and bees

forced it on me asa task in place of giving it to me

asa reward, what effect would it have produced upon



child of my age, ignorant as I was? Thanks to

the manner of his presentation, the lesson entered a



mind fully prepared
the flight of )

in my memory

it, and to this day, despite



ears, 1 find Huber’s volume more fresh



ind more delightful, than books which
were read yesterda

M. de Bihorel did not
many books. He gave me the Bible, the Jmitation of
Chris





re to have me





, for Sundays, and for my sole pleasure-reading



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 17



a book which his h, child-like spirit held most

de



, which he quoted daily, and upon whieh he
the Granite Glove. It was



sought to model his life



the book which had inspired his toils, his servant’s



name, had given him the notion of his huge um-

The

of the famous castawa



bre! hook was 2



inson Crusoe, the history

and his man Friday.





“Read that,” he said, putting it in my han



You

ypy and busy



uv man of moral cou



“there is the story of

will sce how a man can live and be



alone; how one can begin alone to fashion for him-
self all needful articles; how he can dwell for years
with none to speak to but God.

“You will not see all this at one reading; it will
come to you by and by. Just now, like all other
readers, it will seem to you rather as a fascinating

tale than a grand moral lesson.”



I do not think there has ever been a child who
could read Robinson Crusoe indifferently. As for my-

self, T was tr



ported with delight in it.

I will be honest, however, and admit that I was not
charmed by
of the book—those

so muc



y the philosophy as by the romance

dvent 3 the de-

on the sea;





serted island; the shipwreck; the sava:



res; the fig!



the man Frida



At last my Indian unele had
rival.

T thought I found in this book a justification of





78 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

iy desives. Who does not put himself in fanc



the place of De Foe's hero, and does not ask, “Why:

do not such wonders happen to me? Why can I not



also have adventures 2”
Babes of six months are not the only creatures who.

p



believe if they stretch out their hands they can gi
the moon,



Saturday, who knew so much, did not know how
to read. Seeing my extravagant delight, he asked me
to read those adventures to him.

“ He will relate them,” said M. de Bihorel, “and that
will be pleasanter and more improving to both of you.
‘The primitive style was for people to recite the adven-

tures of heroes.”





Ten years of seat



ing had given to Si

perience, and he did not permit all my



ace



tain ¢



ments to pass unquestioned,
T had one sole reply to make: “It is written.”

“ Are you sure the book says so, my little Romain?”



T would then take the book and read aloud. Satur=
day would listen and rub his nose; then with blind
faith, he would say,

“Since it is written, it must be right; but, all the



same, I have been in Africa, and T never saw lions

swim out to a



tack boats. Go on, Romain; heaye
ahead !”
Saturc



ay had also sailed in northern seas, and he



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 79

repaid my recitals by stories of his voyages. One



year, surprised by ice, they had been obliged to remain
all winter, Six months they lay amid the snows.

More #



an half the erew died—the dogs were dead—
not of cold and hunger, but from loss of light. They
had no oil to keep their lamps burning, and they died
of the darkn Tt v sb

son, but sometimes it was too beautiful to be believed.



nearly a vutiful as Pobin-





“Ts that written?” L would demand.



Saturday was then obliged to convinee me that he
had not read, but that he had seen.

“What difference does seeing make, if it is not writ-
ten?” T would say.

Such companionship, such conversation and such
reading were cyidently not calculated to t



unquilli





my lively spirits or to set before me the glories off a



quiet home life. My poor mother, seeing all my yen-



turesome se



ging proclivities so amazingly encour





aged, a thousand times wished s



he had kept me ay
from M. de Bihorel.
“My dear

would give you hack your child if 1 could sce any



woman,” the good man would say, “1



way for you to guard, train and. provide for him, but

at the best you could not change his natural tempera-



ment. His desires



re born in his blood. Te eomes
of a venturesome race. Why seek to perform the im-

possible? Sailors are not



snevally very fortunate—I



80 ROMAIN KALBR:



agree with you there—but after all, some of them reach
great things.”

Such is the heedless ingratitude of children that at
that moment I would readily have left that noble

protection at the Granite Glove to go to sea.



M. de Bihorel had studied the voices of birds, and

in their evi



he persisted in believing that he had
found a language, for which he had composed + die-
hed me to learn this lexi

tionary. He wi on, but it



was absolutely impossible for me to comprehend it



This occasioned the only difficulty between us. On
account of my ignorance of “bird tongue” he would
fly into wrath. I would burst into tears.

His bird-language was, however whimsical, very
curious, and to this day I regret that I did not re-
member some of the words. Everything which a

ihorel affirmed that he



bird ought to express M. de

had been able to translate. According to him, tall: in



the trees ran this ways “I am hungry. . . . Come,



let us get some breakfast. . . . Save yourself, quickly.





«+ Let us build a nest... . Kia ouah tsioni, be-



hold a storm is rising.

v child and of a



But [ was altogether too much of
country boy to admit, upon any reasoning, that birds
and beasts could speak.

“Why,” said my old friend, “music is a language.

Among men it expresses much. Why can it not ex-















ROMAIN KALBRIS. 83.

press everything among birds? Our dogs, our horses,



all our domestic animals, know what we say to them.
Wi

means of talking with each other

y, then, is it impossible that they should have a



or that we should





Tearn what they Their language sounds no
an or Celtic d

My mother at first considered these pursuits a man-



lects.”,



more barbarous than Afi



ner of sacrilege, but M. de Bihorel puzzled her by his





argument



so she dropped her objections.

« You will see one day,” said M. de Bihorel to me,



&the usefulness of what appears to you absurd.



Your mother is a



aid that you will be a sailor, 1



have no anxiety about it, for if you entered the navy

to-day, in four or fiv



ye:



you would leave it with
It

ion of your family, and we must in

disgust. But you have a passion for travellin





is the ruling p:



some way manage to satisty your wishes and at the



same time accord with the desires of your mother, I



wish you would become such a man as Ande

Michaux, whose life you were reading the other d



ited Japan,



or as



iebold, the Dutch physician who
or like that Englishman, Robert Fortune, I wish you

would be able to trayel in unknown countries ; that



you could return and enrich France by your gco-





graphical discoveries, by new varieties of animals and



plants; that you might become the soldier of science,

Would not this be better than to spend your days as



84 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

a sailor, ever on the seas



frolicking ashore in the

cafés of Rio Janeiro or Havre,



ad flying from Liver-

pool to Caleutta? If ever you live to. re





wishes for you, you will see that these stu



ure, of animals and birds are not useless.”

It was a cha



rming dream, Unfortunately, it was





only a dream, Whether I should ever have directed
my life in accordance with these hopes of M. de
Bihorel, I cannot tell, for he ceased to have charge of

me at the very tim



» when T needed him most, and



began most to profit by the example and lessons of a

nian truly excellent, despite his numerous oddities, I





must now rel



ate this great misfortune—the loss of my

second



her.





I habitually accompanied M. de Bihorel in all his



pedestrian or boating excursions. We loved to be to-
gether. Sometimes, however, he took a little sail-

boat and went ont alone, that he might study at his



le



ure the habits of the birds in the island of Cranes,
about three long leagues from Port-Dicu.

One day he went off thus carly, before I had risen,



and we were gre: at he did not return



tly surprised th



home in time for dinner,



“He has lost the help of the incoming tide, and
now he will not get in until evening,” said Satur
day.

The we



ther was calm, the sea smooth as glass.



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 85

there was no appearance of any danger, but Saturday

seemed unquict.



Evening came, but M. de Bihorel did not return,



and Saturday, instead of going to sleep, lit a g

und.



bonfire upon the highest point of the i



«L me to,



T wished to remain near him, but he ore

go to bed. Before daybreak I vose and joined him.
He p:
flames of
to listen. We heard noth

uullen roar from the shoals, a



1 to and fro with long strides, feeding the red





om time to time



his signal-fire, stopping

put the low murmurs of



sometime



ad of birds which the light had dis-



turbed in their nests in the cliff, and which flew in



circles blindly above our beacon.

A white light lit th



uustern sky,





“Surely something has happened to him; it is day-



break,” said poor Saturday. “Let us take the boat,
called Gossman, and go to the island of Cranes.”
The island of ¢

which is only inhabited by sea-birds. We took the

nes is a mass of ite rock





boat, as the man said, and had soon explored the

eof M.



whole of the little island, but found no
de Bihorel or his shallop.
At Port-Dicu © ted, f

his oddities M. de Bihorel was dearly loved, and his



rin spite of



‘y one was e



disappearance was inexplicable,

“He has been drowned,” said some.



86 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Phen we should haye found the boat,” said others.
“Where would the current have driven it or the
body 2” people asked.
As for Satur
paced the shore. When the tide ebbed, he followed



Â¥y, he said nothing; but every day he



the retreating waters, searching every meoyered rock,

every shallow, every crevice. He extended his explo-



rations for six leagues on cither side of Port-Dien.
He did not speak. I never heard him mention the
name of M, de Bihorel; only when he met a fisher
man coming home from sea, he would ery out,

“ Any news?”



And the fisher, understanding all he meant, would



say,
«No news.”
Then, if he detected a tear in my eyes, he would

pat my head, and say, “ You are a good boy



a very
good boy.”
Five days after the strange absence of M. de Biho-

rel there came from Lower Normandy to the Granite



Glove a M. de la Berryaise. He was the nephew and



ntleman.



only relation of our dear old gx

After we had given a lengthy account of M. de
Bihorel’s departure, and all that had been said and
done, he hired twelve fishermen of Port-Dieu and

ordered a thorough exploration of the coast.



The search lasted three da;



The evening of the





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 87

third day the men came back, saying that all farther



effort was useless, for that M. de Bihorel was surely



dead, and boat and body must somehow have been



swept out to the open sca.



“What do you know” cried Saturday, furiously.



“ How dave you say he is dead? He is not drowned.



On the contrary, he has probably gone to England,



and I have no doubt but he will be home to-morrow



No one a



nswered his reproaches. All respected his
great love and sorrow, but no on

The next day M. de la Be

ced. his opinion.



called us to him,



Saturday and me, and told us that as sole heir he took



possession of the Granite Glove. We need remain

there no longer, for he meant to shut the place up, and



a farmer in the



sinity would take care of the live-

mame to sell it.



stock until the legal tim
that



Saturday was so suffocated with grief and ri
he could only utter a few indistinct words. Then at

las



, turning to me, he said, “Pack up your bag, and





let us leave here immediate



As we left the island we met M. de la Bi





upon the shore. Saturd

jay marched up to him.



Sir,” said he, “you m



be perhaps



as his heir doing
right in the eyes of the law, but not in my eyes—not
in the eyes of a bluff old tar.”

Tt had been a



nged that Saturday should accept



the hospit:
8

ity of my mother until he knew what he



88 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

would do with himself, but the poor fellow did not



arry with us long.

Every morning he went along the coast, continuing



his search. This he did for three weeks. Then he



told us one evening that next day he should set out

on hi



s travels, Maybe he would go to England.



“Do you not know that the sea never ke



"he said. “Lt always casts up its prey. ‘There-



if it has not
d him.”

ied tor

ast ont to us my master, it is be-

ase it never hi



My mothe on with him, but he would



say nothing further,



L went with him upon a little cutter on which he

set forth on his journe:



As Lsadly bade him good-bye, he said, “You a



a good boy. You shall some day go back to Granite



nd feed the black cow with salt. She lov



Glove



yon well.”







CHAPTER VI.

bris blood of whom f
od

the land to the sea. [fe was an auctioneer at



ITAD an uncle of |

have not yet spoken, and who had pr



the town of Dol, and passed for rich,

My mother, not knowing what to do with me after
the loss of M. de Bihorel, feeling that I needed to.
le:

me, wrote to this uncle for advice. A month after her

some business and to have some one to govern



Jeter he arrived at Port-Dicu.
«I did not answer your letter,” he said, “because I
meant to come here; and money is too hard to earn to

I did not come sooner be-



be wasted paying postage.



cause I waited for a chance. IT found a market-man

sy)



90 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

who brought me five leagues for twelve cents. I
footed it the rest of the journey.”

As may be guessed from this language, my uncle
Simon was, to say the least of it, an economical man.
He soon gave another cvidence of that disposition.
When he had heard all the particulars of our situa

tion, he said,



“There! I see how it is: you do not want that boy



to go to sea. You are right, my sister-in-law. Sea

going wins a dog’s pa



one never grows rich at it.



You would prefer for him to follow the line of life
indicated for him by old Sunday, eh? But, save the
mark, you don’t expect me to help you at it?”

“ Brother-in-law, I have never asked for your
money,” said my mother, with gentle pride.

“Oh, as to money, I haven’t any. People say I am



h, but they are mistaken. I owe more debts than I
am worth. I have been obliged to buy a home, and
that has about ruined me.”

“Our minister has explained to me,” said my
mother, “that the services my husband rendered the

state a:



a marine will enable my son to enter a gov-

ae

“And who will pay his travelling expenses
I. And his clothes
and I will not go to worrying the few influential peo-



ernment college free of ¢



Not
count them. T have no time,





ple whom I know. I may necd help from them for



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 91

inyself some day. No, no; I can tell you a bette





game than that. The Brothers Leheu promised to:

take care of the boy if his father got drowned, and



now it is their duty to pay his expenses.”



“They now 1 no offers of the kind,” said my
mother.
“J don’t care; T shall speak to them myself.”

Here my mother was about to object, but. my uncle



nt on obstinately

“Phat is all a false delicney. We only ask what it

to do. The shame is theirs that they





is their duts



leave you to ask it, not yours that you are forced to
request a favor, Do you see that?”

My poor mother was foreed to yield to a step against



which she protested. Her pride, her f choice



for me, availed nothing, My uncle was a man re-



solved to have his own way.



You know,

“that Tea

he said, in concluding the matter,

for the sake of



rot derange my own al



helping you. When T take the trouble to come here,

the least you can do is to accept my advice.”



He was a man who never lost time.



«for you,” he said, turning to me, “come with



me ately to the house of M. Leheu; we will sec



mimes



them both in the office. You may look if they are



2; Lwill wait in the strect. You ean let me know

the



I know their



when both are in, and we will ente





92 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



ners. Tf we see them sepa



utely, the one whom

we s



ill commence to promise everything, provided

his brother approves, and the brother who is absent,



no matter which it is, never approves of anything. It



is thei



style of doing business, but PII get the better



of the rascals.”

As they were both in the office, we entered, and I
assisted at a strange scene, of which the least details
remain in my memory. ‘The brothers appeared struck

with my looks, for I opened their door with a defiant



manner, Instinetively I felt that it was dishonoring

my noble father thus to demand help on account of





his dying agonie:

blushed to the e

and filled with intense shame, [

8.



While listening to the proposition which my uncle
deliberately and clearly set forth, the two brothers
showed all the evidences of profound astonishment,

and twisted on their chairs as if the



y sat upon thorns,

“Support him while at college?” eried the youngest.



“At college?” shrieked the elder.

“We, the Leheu Brothers?” they screamed together.



“My Goodness! did you not freely promise to adopt
him?” demanded my unele.

“ Adopt him, 12” said the elder.

“Adopt him, you?” shouted the younger.

«Adopt him, we?” they roared in concert.

Then began a conf



and deafening dispute



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 93.

Each response of the younger brother was exactly
repeated by the clder, only in a ten times higher
voice. One exclaimed, the other yelled.

In the midst of all this
permit himself to speak; but when finally the two
, “We already

than we promised. We give his mother a day’s work



uproar my uncle did not



brothers repeated in chor do more





y week,” he smiled a little dry smile which,



falling on their turbulence, strangely produced an
immediate calm,
Finally, as for the fifth or sixth time they renewed

that line of argument, he made a little motion of



impatience. He said, coolly:

“Upon my word, one would think that you were
ruined—the most completely rained of any people I
ever saw. You give—you give— To hear you, one

would imagine that you



ve your whole fortune; and

you give—what do you give? Wh



aday’s work!





What do you pay for work? Ten cents and board.
Do you pay his mother one copper more than any
other workwoman?”

“We pay the usual price,” said the youngest, with
an air of righteous satisfaction, “and we are disposed

we, Tay, )



+s, We—are sometimes quite willing, if



asked, to pay a little orer the ordinary rates if it
would be just to other workpeople. When you say

Kalbris died to save our fortune, you strain a point.



94 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



He died to save mm ors like himself, who might



ny si

have swum ashore for ali he knew. You know very



well that is none of our business; it is the affair of



the government, and you should go to the state pt



for payment for those who risk their lives as a mere
matter of heroism. Ah, well; it is all one, When
that boy is grown up, if he knows how to work and
we will give him just as much work
Will we not,

comes to us, why





he wants at the usual rate of wages.



Jerome?”



ashe wan



© Work!” said the elder; “yes, as mneh
That was all the satisfaction my uncle could get
from these two.

“Look at the gentlemen !” he cried as we went out.



I expected to hear a long-continued explosion off
rage, but he proceeded :

“ Behold the admira



ble gentlemen! Tet them serve

you for an example. ‘They know how to sty no. La



that word up in your memory, It is better than a



bank. It will serve you as well as them. It is



sure

means of keeping what one has gained.”





My uncle then preserved silence, bei stu




pefied at finding some one harder than himself,

Finding that the purse of the Brothers Leheu was



ants, my uncle proposed



not to be open to supply my

to my mother that I should go home with him. He



said he necded a clerk, assistant, errand-boy, all in one,



ROMAIN KALBRI 95.



but if 1
board during the first years, and was



L was too young: for the phice ume for my



indentured to

him for five years, I would in the end make up to him



he remembered



for my carly deficiencies. Moreover,
that I was his nephew, and he wanted to do some-
thing for the family.



Alas! this was



all. Here ended my mother’s ambi-

tious dreams of educating me. But here she suw a



means of keeping me from being a sailor, and so, after
much reluctance, my mother consented, and 1 set out
with my uncle—a sad departure. T wept; my mother
wept even more than [ did, My uncle, unable to

sympathize with cither of us, rudely tore us asunder,



The appearance of Dol, which is assured



y pies



turesque and attractive to an ordinary tourist, made

upon m



the first melancholy impression which I had

ever received from natural obje





Tt was night when we arrived there, and an iey rain



was falling. Having left Port



Dicu in the morning

in a carrien’s ¢



rt which went to the village of Can-



cale, we were set down some five or six leagues from

the city of Dol, and we were forced to make the



at
of the journey on foot, across great’ marshy plains
cut up by ditches full of water. My uncle strode on

before; I followed him with difficulty, still ove



me





by the memory of that mournful parting, Besides

my sori



ssed by a hunger which made



96 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

me tremble; but as my uncle, during all that long

journey, had not spoken of stopping to eat, [did not





dare to mention it. Finally



we perceived the lights

of the city; and after haying traversed two or three



deserted streets, my uncle stopped before a mansio



n

front of which was a large porch resting on heavy



Zz

stone pi » Tle took out a key and unlocked a





door; [stepped forward to enter, but he checked me





—the opening of this door was not finished. LHe took

asecond key, and used it; then a third which



was of enormous size, ‘The hinges turned with a
loud grating noise which L have since heard used in
theatres to signal the opening of dungeon doors.
The undoing of so many locks awed me. At home
At M.de

Bihorel’s we had merely a button. Why did my uncle

we had only a wooden latch with a stri





take all these precaution
He shut the door

me to take his hand, that he might lead me in the



he had opened it. Then he told

darkness across two halls which appeared to me very

larg

ge, and which echoed to our footsteps like a de-



serted church, ‘The house was filled with a strange
heavy smell which I soon Tearned to know. It was:

that of old



hments



{piles of damp paper. ‘The



atmosphere was laden with the woes and cares of men
and of broken households.

He lit

candle, and T saw that we were in a sort





ROMAIN KALB. 97



of

sideboar



itchen, but i



was so encumbered with furniture,



s, dressers, old chairs, black oak tables and
stoves that I could scarcely see floor or walls.
Des

jumped for



te its disagreeable appearance, 1 could ha



oe





joy, for here at last was a chanee to get
warm and find something to eat.

“What! do you wish me to light a fire



said my



uncle—* a fire?”

He spoke in a voice so wrathful that T dared not



say Twas half frozen, though my teeth chattered in
my head.

& We will have supper and get to bed,” he remarked.
He went toa cupboard, and took a roll of bread and
cut off two slices. On cach he laid a small morsel of
cheese. Tle gave me one, laid his own on the table,

and carefully replacing the roll and the cheese-pape



locked them up.
L do not know how a prisoner feels when he hears

the key grate in the lock as he is shut in from liberty



and happiness, but L hope he does not feel much
worse than I did when I heard that cupboard locked.
Tt was evident that it would be useless for me to ask
for more bread, though T could have eaten half a
dozen slices such as my uncle had bestowed upon
me.

‘At the same moment three lean eats sprang into the

kiteh



nd ran to rub aga



my unele’s knees.



98: ROMAIN KALBRIS.

This gave me a ray of hope. ‘The eats had come for

thei dif the cupboard were opened, I



would hay nee to get one more fragment of food.
My uncle did not disturb himself,
©The wretches are thirsty,” he said.“ It is bad to
leave them without drink.” ‘Therefore he gaye them
a dish of water,
“As T shall leay

house,” he said, “T want you 2



you frequently in charge of the

Iways to recollect to





give my eats plenty of water to drink.”
“And th
“There are plenty of rats, mice and roaches if they

ir food 2”



will catch them. If you stuff them with food, you

make them lazy, and they become too fat.”





Our supper being specdily



finished, my uncle told

L

me that he would show me to the room wh



should sleep.

The encumbrances which I had noticed in the
airs, Well was it
that the room was unusually large. [t was with diffi-

kitchen were multiplied above:



culty that one could foree a passage. On every hand



were piled bureaus, wardrobes, fire-irons, clocks,



tues:



and yases in wood and stone,



brackets, stands, pier



tables, pottery and ornaments of the most. singular
and diverse forms, and dozens of articles of which
L did not know the name, Upon the walls hung

pictures, curtains, mirrors, swords, helmets, robes ;





ROMAIN KALBRIS. 99

and in the flickering, uncertain light their wavering
shadows increased for me their mysterious and weird
appearance.

What in the world did my uncle do with this im-
mense collection of movable





‘This question puzzled me, and I found no reply to



it, for it was only after some time that I learned that

to the business of auctioneer he added another much



more lucrative.
Going from Port-Dieu in his carly youth, he had

entered the employ of a pawnbroker in Paris, where



he remained twenty-one years, He left ostensibly to



work as ¢



be auctioneer of Dol, but in



ality

only covered up a more prof



able trade in second=
hand goods, pawned articles and antiquities and euri-

y variet; where to be

osities of eve



Going eve





nt at sales, he had a rare chance to make good

ains, and knew better than most people how to



cover of a fict



profit by them. Under tious name he
knocked down goods to himself’ at low prices, and

rt or fashionable knickknack



ur



Levery treasure of 3



which came in his way. ‘These he sold at enormous
profits to great merchants in Paris with whom he car

ried on a lively trade. Thus it was that his house



from cellar to garret was made a regular magazine of
antiques and of second-hand furnishings.

As every room in that old house seemed to have
9



100 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

been built for giants, the bedroom in which my uncl



established me was immense; yet it was so well filled



with his properties that he had to show me the bed



and how to climb into it. Upon the walls were tape:





tries woven with life-size fi



ures; upon shelves were



stuffed animals—a cormorant, a crocodile, a gray cagle





-, behind a box
it of
mounted by a helmet, which looked :

with wide-spread wings; in a corne





which hid the legs, stood a full



rior, sur

if it held a





living \



rior.

“Are you afraid?” asked my uncle, seeing me



staring.

I dared not admit it, so I said I was cold.



“Ah, well, move about quickly. [am going to
take away the light. You can tumble into bed with-
out a candle.”

T jumped into bed, but hardly had be shut the
door when I shricked after him, Ife returned. He
came to the bed and glared at me :

“Never call after me again, you little fool, or you
and I will have trouble.”

During the next half hour I remained hidden under
the damp bedclothes, shivering with fear, cold and
hungry. ‘Chen, finally, forced to subdue my emotions,

T found a little courage and



ised my head, openin



my eyes.



The storm had ceased ; the ni



t had grown clear:



Full Text



The Baldwin Library


ROMAIN. KALBRIS.

HIS ADVENTURES BY SEA AND SHORE,

FROM THE



TRANSLATE NCH OF





TOR MALOT,

ny

Mrs. JULIA McNAIR WRIGHT.

WITH FORTY-SIX HLLUSERATIONS BY EMILE BAYARD,
ENGRAVED BY PANNEMAKER.





PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES,

82 CHESTNUT STR




to Act of Congress, in the year 1

PORTER & COATES,

Entered accord





In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washingte





Susman & C
Printers, Pita.

Westeort & THossos,
Stereolypers and Blectrotypers, V7










CONTENTS.

CHAPTER 1. Pace
Dieu and its inhabitants:



My first appearance—Por









ansieties of a sailor’s life--Mail-day—Mother Joa u
CHAPTER II.
My father’s return—My uncle in India 19
CHAPTER IIL,
The storm—A ship in distress—* Give me a boat; I will ty
and reach her”. |. John lost—My father drowned... 25

CHAPTER IV.
ty of the Brothers Lehen—I make the ac-
. de Bihorel—Lost in the fog—M. de

Strange genero
ce of M
Bihorel’s prope







CHAPTER V.
Saturday's remonstrance—The island of Gr:
de Bihore y-
—Bird langnage—M. de Bihorel disappears—I return to
other
1s




4 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER Y


















My uncle Simon— His interview with the Brothers Leheu—
1 am apprenticed to. my mele His house—Hard fu
My next door neighbor and his dog—I share Patuud’s
dinner—My uncle's avariee The usirer and his vietim—
My unele threatens me: 90.
CHAPTER VII.
Plans of escape—The crocodile depart by night—Travel-
Jing hardships—1 conceal myself in my mother’s house
15





HAPTER VIII.
\g's Grotto—My
ke

are arrested 1







y Ament —1
with Lucien Hardel, the painter Wi

eseap



quaintanee





150



CHAPTER 1X.
I lose my elothes—The trave

pai



if menagerie—I join the com-



CHAPTER X.

Count de Lapolade and his show—The exhibition —My first
appe
tells the story of her Ti

nee on the stage—A ci
Wes

car and its effeets—Didlette
gree to make our escape,







CHAPTER XI.
“Thread ” and “ Buttons” are
dent—Lapolade is attacked




rested:
y the

T meet with an acei-



CHA NIT.
We leave the show —We suffer with cold—The poor migno-

—The snow-storm—Paris at kist—Sureet si






hood-—Diélette’s. mother’s house demolished
table m

the
rket-women and rough sexton—Diélette ver
dd is carried to the hospital —An old acquaintane





Underground quarters—I refuse to become th


CONTENT!



Diclette—We set ont for Port-Dieu—I leave Di
in sight of ho

ette



CHAPTER XII

Tavre—T determine to go to sea, but e:
ing to engage me—"A splendid idea”—I am smuggled
aboard ship in box—A hurricane «tt sea—Sea-sickness—
The collision—ITermann washed overboard—Struggles to
escape yy prison—Alone in the sinking vessel—My
old friend, the dog Pataud, une
swim ashore...



nd no captain will-







rom m



318



CHAPTER X1Y.

offige—I am made a lion—The sailor's
to see her son return—He arrives only
die—TI resolve to return home—My meet-

At the insurancy
mother lives 01










to see his moth





ing with my mother, Diélette and M. de Bihorel—Fortune
favors me at last—My happy home—Unele § 's unhappy
old age: ws. 858


cad
ae:
btn san i
Becta


ILLUSTRA



PIONS.












Viexry whe Tie: Pervoraaxe Lion. ait
Wasi 8
My Escare rrow 5
My rinst ApPEARANCE ul
Farier Jerome axp Mor 18
My Farirer’s Rerory « 19
Dreams: 23,
‘Tie Srorm. 24



Ti
Wire





JouN BORNE ON



Tsaw rie $



esr oF A migitTy WAVE



M. pe Burorer. ..



We Recomm





‘Time Provosrtion


















M. 01 66
M. pe Brtoren Was sruDiED Tt oF Burp... 81
‘Tue Biack Cow. 88
User Siwox AND tHE Broviers Lenev.. 89
Kyexiane, [ pur my Mourn to Te privatise Ba-
SIN, AND DRANK 6 x. 109
Tre Map or Normaxpy..---- $e . 126
Iie prew NEAR AND WeED THE Licir to My Han. 129
My Mornen’s Prave 149
1 ueave Hom 150
1 prew My Sir AFTER ME IN THE WATER. . 157




8 ILLUSTRATIONS.




187
191
206



1
1 Loe yses

roRE ON



RANG OVER STUMPS AND



WAR



IN THE REEDS...



AIDED Ry TIE Sow Prornr
My
Tn



ist APPEARANCE ON ‘THE Staci





, KOR THE Eres Time, 1 saw Dit



ryro THE CAGE oF THE LION...
Tne Acker
Burro

Sue sorrny ‘rook ay

ENT



NS AND THREAD ARRESTED,



rw



HER



ARM...



Laronape arracken By tite Lion,
Dui

Bur reas Nor vi





eEE AND TER PRY.




ny Easy to Ger Moxey ny SINGING,



AS WH SOON FOU!



De
Ile HEN TOOK MER UP IN WS ARMS, AND BADE AU





FOLLOW TIM.

Tuy rook COUNSEL WHAT TO DO WITTE ME AND OW TO.

305
317
318

EMpLoy x



THe DinGence.





‘Tur Docks av Hay
“Wiar an Cre.

BAWLED THE

ION IS THAT YOU ARE CARRYING?”

Carrary,





343

Sue neGan ro Disa: WAS PASSING AWAY.

He rp



ALLED ME To LIFE BY LICKING MY HANDS










AND Fac ~ 85
Ix THe Breawens. :
I My SrareMent To THE Lysv AGENTS... 358
‘Tim pyING MorHeR LIFTED HERSELE UP, AND FOLDED
ii TO ER Bosom 375
Harry av nase, eran . asl

Harry On Ack or M. pe Brtoren. po 8S)




ROMAIN JCALBRIS.

CHAPTER I.

ROM my present position no one need conclude
My

ancestors, if the word is not too ambitious,

that I had Fortune for my foster-mother.



stot



were fishermen, My father was the young

eleven children, and my grandfather had much diffi-





culty in raising his large family, for in this trade of





fishing, more than in any other, the gain is not in pro-
portion to the toil, You may count surely on toil and

M
12 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

danger. ‘The question will be whether you make any=
your exertions,

of cighte

thing by
At the

the “maritime conseription,” a sort of enrolment



2 my father was drafted



means of which the vice from 3



state secures x



mariners dur



ng some time in thirty-two years—
father left

home knowing neither how to read nor write. He



between the ages of eighteen and fifty. My



returned first master, the highest grade to which those
can come who have not passed through the govern-
ment schools.

Port-Dieu, our country, being neighbor to the
British isles, the state stations there a revenue cut-

ter, whose mission it is to prevent the people of the



and of Jersey from catching our fish, and at the

same time to force our own sailors to observe the



fishery laws. It was upon this cutter that my father
This

favor; for however much accustomed a man may be



was stationed to continue his ser



a



to seafiring, and to calling his ship his country, he

is always happy to return to the land of his birth.
Vifteen months after my father’s return Twas born.

T made my appearance in this world on a Friday in

March, the day of the new moon, so the gossips with



one accord predicted that I would have adventures,

that T would make voyages on the sea, and that I



would be very unhappy, miles the influence of the
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 13



moon counteracted the baleful effects of Friday! As
for adventures, | have had them; they are just what
I am about to relate to you; as for sca-voyages, |
have made them; in regard to the strife of diverse
fates in my life, you may pronounce your own opin=

ion when Tam done my story



‘To predict voyages for me was simply to say that 1



was a child of the Kalbris family, for, father and



son, all the Kalbris have been mariners, and if the

legend is true, they have been so since the ‘Trojan
Pp

ancient origin, but the wise men do so, who pretend

that ther



war. ay observe that we do not give ourselves this





e are at Port-Dieu one hundred families pre-

cisely, those of fishermen, who have descended from a



Phoonician colony.

Tt is certain that we have black eyes, a ruddy and



olive skin, sharply-cut noses and nothing whatever of

the Norman or Breton type; our boats also are an



exact copy of the ship of old Ulysses as Homer paints



it, a single mast with a square sail—a kind of fishing

craft very common in the Archipela



go, but curious in

Manche (our department of France).



As for ourselves, our traditions do not go hack
yery far, and their uniformity serves to confuse them.
Among us, if

you mention anybody, the history is but





little varied—every one has been to sea; and among a

people whose names are hard to remember, and who
14 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

have died mostly in storm, in battle or on English
pr
gray



hips, history has much of repetition, In our

r the names of wives



Is the plain slabs be



re found s



and mothers, but + up over mer



they do not die at home in bed.

Like all families, we have our heroes; one of them



was my maternal grandfather, who had been the com-



panion of Sureouf; the other was my grand-uncle
Flohy. As soon as I was old enough to know what
was said around me I heard his name ten times a day ;

he was in the service of a king of India, who had



elephants; he commanded troops against the English ;

he had a sileer arm. Elephants and a silver arm!



surely this must bea fairy tale! A desire for adven-

tures was born in every Kalbi



this fecling impelled

my father to set ont on a new expedition a few ye



after his marriage. He might have commanded one

of those vessels which ev



'y springtime go to Tecland,



but he preferred the service of the state. Ido not
remember his departure. My first recollections are
of that time when I noticed days of tempest and
stormy nights, and was sent by my mother to the

post-office,





How many times have I found my mother praying

in the windy, blustering nights! For us a storm at



Port-Diew was a storm over all the world, and the

wind which whistled around our cottage seemed to us
ROMAIN KALBRIS. LL



to be shricking through my father’s sails. Sometimes



torm was so severe that it threatened to tear our
frail home to pieces, for our dwelling was that of poor

people; it was fortunate that one side



was sheltered by

und the other b kk which had once



saloon of a three-masted vessel which had



fallen a vi



im to equinoctial gales, One night in

October my mother aroused me ; the tempest was fear-



ful; the wind howled like demons; the house shook,



gusts entering the ill-fitting windows shook the feebl





flame of our ¢



ndle, and finally extinguished it. In



the lull of the wind we could hear the thunde





the surf against the rocks. Despite the upr
fell asleep din



as I knelt beside my distracted

mother ; suddenly the window was snatched from its



hinges, and flung into the room, broken into a hundred
fragments; it seemed to me that Twas caught up by
a whirlwind,

“Ah! Heaven help us!” cried my mother; “your
father is lost !”

My dear mother, like many fishermen’s wives, had a



faith in signs and presentiments. A letter which she
received from my father some months after that terri-
ble night rendered this belief even more fixed by a
trifling coincidenee—he had been in that same week
of October assailed by

The sleep of a sailor’s wife



v storm and in much danger.



isa sad sleep. To dream
16 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

of shipw



rk, to wait and watch for letters by the

mail, which perchance never come—between these two



agonics her life passes.



At the time of which I speak letters were not de-

livered as they are now ; for us they were distributed



at the grocery-store, and if any one failed to call for



his letters, they were presently sent him by some

passing school-boy.



The day when the mail-carricr arrived at Te

ilors

Neuve the grocery was crowded. AIL the



for codfish, and a stranger coming



were absent fishing



to the town would have thought himself in the island
Ariosto tells of from which men were excluded. Doz-
Their babes
Hed.

Some read their letters with bursts of laughter, others

ens of women pressed forward for news:



in thei were



rms, they waited until their names

wept. ‘Those who had no letters questioned every-
body who had received any. Among sailors the proy=
erb, “No news ix good news,” does not hold true,

There was one old woman who came every day for



us, and in all that time never received a letter,



six y

They called her © Mother Joan,” and people told how



adory manned by her husband and four sons had dis-

appeared ina squall without leaving a trace of men



rch mornit



or boat. Since that hour she came



the office, hoping to hear that, swept out to sea, her



ing ship.

dear ones had been picked up by a pe


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 17

There is nothing for you to-day,” the post



ster



would say, pityingly; “there will he to-morrow.”

“y,

to return next day.





, to-morrow,” she would answer, and: depar



People said her brain was astray. If that were
truc, and Mother Joan was foolish, T have never seen

sinc



a folly so sad and sweet as hers.

Nearly every time that I went to the office T found
the mail arrived. As the postmaster was also a shop-
keeper, he naturally attended first to those who wanted
salt or coffee, and thus gave us more time to wait.
Methodic:

profession, he delayed us yet longer by all. sort



and rigorous in the pursuit of his double
of

s grocer, he wore a blue apron and a





ceremonies.
paper cap; as postmaster-general of our town, he felt
bound to officiate clad in the glories of a cloth coat
and a velvet cocked hat. Nothing in the world could
have persuaded him to have dealt out mustard with
1

in his hands a letter on which the lives of ten men



the cocked hat on his head ; and knowing that he

depended, he would not haye handed it across the



counter when he was wearing his blue apron,



Each morning at the store “ Mother Joan”? recom-

menced her recital: “They w



fishers. A squall
came up suddenly, and they mast haye been obliged
to fly before it. They were unable to get to the ship

rE



ndships they flew past the Prudence without speak=
18 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

But you all know well that with a sailor



like my John there can be no danger. ‘They must



have been picked up by a large ship which will one
day bring them home, Did not Melanie’s boy return

so? They carried him clear to America. Ah! when



they get home, how tall my Jerome will have grown!



He was just fourteen, Fourteen and six—how many



is ti Ah! twenty! Twenty years! Why, he
will be a man!”

She died without believing them dead. A few
days before her death she gave our pastor thirty
dollars to give to her Jerome when he came home.
Despite her want and woe, she had saved this much,

token.



and left it for her love’s




CHAPTER II.

qc absence of my father was to have been of
°







Tt lasted for six. The
(OM comm
oe

1, but ship and crew



were kept upon the Pac

Twas ten y



rs old when he came home. Tt was:
on Sunday, just after church-time. Twas leaning by
the gy




te weigh anchor, when coming
up from the doc

I saw a Prench marine in his best
1
20 ROMAIN KALBRIS.





un



form. ‘The quay was the fayorite lounging-place

of many old salts who in all weathers and on all
els or box

days sat upon beams, barr



xes, watching the





sea and sailors, ‘They gathered together two hours
before high tide, and remained for two hours after the
tide ran out.

“Romain,” eried old Captain Houel to me, drop-



ping his spyglass, “see your father. Run to the quay



if you wish to meet him.”
T was willing to run, but Thad legs stout as a pair
When I rv

my father was besieged by a crowd of friends.



ached



of bee ks. It was hard wor



the qui

One begged him to stop for



cup of coffee ina water-
side cating-house, another eried to him to have a mug
of cider.

“To-morrow, to-morrow, friends,” he said. «L

must first see my wife and my baby.”



“Your baby? Ah, he! Behold your famous
baby!” and there Twas, sure enough, but grown be-



yond his knowledge.
During six years of travel my father had seen

many things, and Twas eager to hear his tales. In





appearance hasty and rough, he was at heart the most

genial and Jong-cnduring of men, and with unfailing



patience he told and retold the stories which best

pleased my infant im ion.




Among his 1 cs there was none so fascinating
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 21

and so often called for as the account of my uncle

John, During a stay at Calcutta my father had



heard mentioned ag

neral Flohy who was an
ambassador to the English governor from a native
en.

People said he was a marvellous man, He was a



sove



Frenchman who had entered as a volunteer the ser-
tle with the
English he had by a heroic action saved th
1. A’ bullet:
ed the lost hand



vice of the king of Berar. In a

» Indian





wmy. For this he



as made a ge

had destroyed his hand. He replace



by one of solid silver; and when he rode into the
capital of the king of Berar, holding with this hand

the reins of his horse, the Indian priests prostrated



themselves before him in adoration, saying that in the
holy books of Berar it was written that the kingdom
would attain its highest glory when its armies should
be led by a stranger from the West, who might be
recogniz

My father

was

ed by a silver hand.



ral Floh:



1s presented before G , and





received by him with open arms. During eight



days my uncle treated him like a prince, and wished
him to ren



in longer in Calcutta. The duties of a
marine are inexorable, and my father was foreed to
leave his relative.

This history produced a very lively effect on my

imagination. My uncle occupied all my thoughts.
22 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

T dreamed of clephants and palanquins. T saw cd



stantly two soldiers escorting him who wore a silver
hand. Until then T had had a certain admiration for
a Swiss soldicr who attended our church, but tales of
my uncle's two gorgeous slaves led me to despise a
man whose haiberd was plain iron and his hat glazed
leather,

My father rejoiced in my enthusiasm. My mother
endured it, for with maternal tenderness she dreaded
the effect such romances would produce upon me,

“Come, come,” she would remonstrate ; “you will
give him a taste for sea-going.”

“Never



dd; that will be no worse than my



own life, and) may tum ont as grandly: as



uncle's,”

Become like my uncle! My poor father little



knew what a fire his light words kindled.
It was necessary for my mother to resign herself to

the thou:



sailor, but in her inno-



rht of my becoming





cent love she wished to soften for me the rough be-
ginning of that hard life. She persuaded my father

to leaye the service of the state and obtain the cap-



tainey of a craft bound for Leeland, that I might serve



my seagoing apprenticeship under him,



By this means she hoped to keep us both at home



ng-vessels return home and



When the fi
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 23,

are laid up. But who can prevent the ordained com-
binations and misfortunes of human destiny—who

can arm a man against his allotted fate?




CHAPTER ITI

father rei



shed home in August. In the

month of September, usually the most del





ful se:



1 of the year, the weather |
S* tempestuous, We had a series of hard storms

in place of the ordin



ry succession of calms, On all

sides people spoke of shipwrecks, A. steamer had



been lost, crew and cargo, on the Blanchard shoals.

Many ships from Granville had disappes



people said that the Jersey coast was strewn with



ents of wreek, ‘The earth was covered: with
broken branches; green apples, blown trom the trees,

lay all over the ground. Many: tre



we



torn up

by the roots, and the leaves, swinging half broken on.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 25

the branches, faded as if seorched by the breath of

fire. All the world seemed to live in fear, for, alas!



it was the season for the home-coming of the ships:



from the Newfoundland fisheries.
Such weather continued for some three weeks.

Then one eveni



2 the fury of the storms seemed
T had

subsiding, but at tea-time my

suddenly to culminate over land and se:





believed the temp
vd him if we should



father laughed at me when I ash

go next day to examine some nets which had been

neglected since the beginning of the gales.
“To-morrow,” he said, “there will be furious gusts

from tl



> west. As



he sun is setting in of blood ;



there are too many stars in the sky; the ocean groans;
the land is hot, ‘To-morrow, boy, you will see more
than ever you say before.”

Thus,

nets, we

on the morrow, instead of going to look atter






t ourselves carly toc



‘y large stones to



pile upon our roof, ‘The west wind woke with the
dawn. ‘There was no sunshine, but the sky was a
dull gray, broken here and there with long lines of

1 looked



pale greenish light; and although the s

quiet, from afar there came a groaning sound like



low thunder, All at once my father, who was on
the roof, ceased his work. I climbed up beside him.
Far off on the horizon we could sec a white speck

against the sombre sky. It was a large ship.
26 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



y do not have a care, they will driye upon
their destruction,” said my father.

‘The fact is, that during a west wind it is impossible



to enter Port-Dieu safely.
A blaze of lightning for a second set the ship in

full view. Instantly we lost sight of ‘The clouds



gathered in black confusion. ‘They piled themselves



upon each other like mountains, and rolled under the



of smoke. Low

bla

whirling winds like fickle wreaths



down in’ the the lightning ed continual



Lu



fires,

Father and TE made haste to the village. Every one

v



s running to the quay, for already the news had



pread that a ship was nearing the coast, and was in
instant danger.

So swift had been the advance of the storm that



even now the whole



sea, ne



nd far, right and left,

was lashed to a foam, a mass of tossing snow. It r



mor



rapidly than usual into great waves, which with
their terrific roar nearly paralyzed the senses.
The clouds, 70 b

threatening, that they seemed to press with a tremen-



hed by the gale, wer 80
dous weight upon the shuddering sea.
The ship swept on, It was a brig, and was almost

bare of canvas.



e, she is running up signals of distress. She



belongs to the Brothers Leheu,” said Captain Houel.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 27

‘The Brothers Leheu were the richest traders in the
country.

“She wants a pilot!”

“Ah, y

‘There stood the pilot hin



, 2 pilot, but how can a pilot reach her?”



If, old Father Housard,
and he it was made this reply. No one made any

reply. All knew that he was right, and that to reach





the brig was impossible.

At the same moment we saw running from the vil-
lage the elder of the Leheu brothers. He had learned
that h

the corner than the wind,



s ship was



in danger. Seareely had he turned



ecping upon him, seat-
tered him in the street like a pack of cards, T speak
F and M.

Leheu went various ways. Panting, struggling, puff



without exaggeration: hat, cane and _kerchie



1 boat in the waves, he stood



ing, laboring, lik



he had made no effort to



amid the crowd at last



gain his hat, and every one could see that he was
in a state of fearful anxiety. He was one of those

men to whom pecunia



ry loss is the greatest possible

calamity.



He gaved at his brig; she had been built at Bayonne,



and was splendidly fitted out; this was her first voy
age, and she was not insured.
“'Pwonty cents a ton on hei



if you will bring her



in!” a



ied M. Leheu, catching Father Housard by the

arm.
28 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



“To bring her in makes it needful first to get

aboard of her,” was the answer.



‘The waves le:



yed high up aboye the pier; the wind



varried with it the foam of the water, sca-weeds, sand
from the shore, even tiles from the houses of the
coast-guard. ‘The clouds seemed to trail upon the
sea, their blackness making the white foam whiter
still.

When those on the brig saw that the pilot did not
set out, she turned half her length, trying to make a
tack while waiting.

Consider, now: to remain outside was sure ship-
wreek ; to run into the harbor without a pilot was
even more assured destruction.

M. Leheu did not cease to o



y, “Twenty cents a

ton—forty cents a ton!” He ran to and fro, and in

the same breath entreated and berated :

“Ah, you are all the same—ready to go to sea when
no one needs you, lying close at home if there is any
danger.”

Noone replied. ‘They only shook their heads silently.



This enraged him: “ Every one for himself. There



goes three hundred thousand francs to wreck. You

ae Be



a gang of thieves
My father stepped forward :
“Give me a boat; I will try and reach her.”

“ Kalbris, you are a brave man,”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 29



“Tf Kalbris goes, I will go with him” said Father
Housard.

“Twenty cents a ton—that is what 1 promised you,”
said M. Leheu,

“Wold there!” said Father Housard; “1 do not

i But

widow asks you for
Dit?

« Kalbris,” cried Leheu, “I will adopt your son.”



risk if for money, but to save the * live

if L ne





r come back, and my





two cents next Sunday, don’t refias



“All right. Get us quickly Gossman’s boat.”
This hoa



was famous all along the coast for being
able to



arry sail in almost any weather. 1p was
called the Saint John.



“Twill let it go,” said Gossman, finding all eyes
fixed upon him, “but it is to Kalbris that I lend it,

thinking he will bring it home safely.”



My father took me in his arms. All were running



to the beach, where the Saint John was dr:



wn up high
and dry. A moment more, and the sail and rudder
were adjusted.

Besides my father and the pilot, a third man was
needed. One of our cousins offered himself; his
family remonstrated,

« Kalbris is going,” he said.

My fathel

a choked voice, “No or



in clasped me to his bosom, saying, in



nows what is now to hap-
pen. This embr



is for your mother.”
30 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

tumning out of port



ainst the wind was very dif.

ficult. They towed the boat along



fr as the piers

extended, but the mouth of the harbor was besieged



by great ves, and it seemed as if the Saint John





would never be able to live in them, — The lighthouse





keeper tied some small cables about hin nd while



the men strove to tow the Saint John down the chan-



nel, he lowered himself’ from the ps



‘apet and crept
for



rd to the extreme front of the pier, holding

fixed



with his hands to the iron railing which w







there. Ie did not expect by single strength to do the
work that five strong men failed to accomplish, but
only—and it was hard work—to pass the moving cable

through the bron



pulley-block, which is in. the



extremity of the pier, in such a manner that the boat
could not be dr:



cl back by the y



ves as soon as

the hold of the men on the tow



ropes relaxed. ‘Three
times he was covered with great waves, but he was



used to these watery avalanche



and, stubbornly
The Saint
John now began to make progress, but plunged so





resisting them, was able to fasten the rope.





deeply in the troughs of the sea that it seemed as if it
must fill and sink. But the cable held well, and at

last its work was done. The Saint John east it off, and



shed forward to the open sea. I leaped upon the
highest post of the pier



and clasped so closely with
arms and knees the mast set up for the signal lights


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 33,

that I could not be shaken down, ‘This mast swayed
and creaked as if it were yet a living tree balancing
itself on its own roots in its native forest.

I saw my father at the helm; near him the two men

braced themselves up, with shoulders to the wind.



The Saint John advanced by jumps. One instant it
seemed to hang suspended, then it leaped like a wild

horse across the crest of the next wave. It was con-



stantly disappearing in clouds of sp



The brig, as soon as it came in view, changed its
course and held tow:



rd the lighthouse. The Saint





John also altered its bearing and made for the ship, so
that after some minutes they came near together. The



boat passed under the bows of the big ship,and soon
swung around her as if on a pivot; the two were then
made fast to each other.

“The tow-line will not hold,” cried some one, “and

they will never be able to board the brig.”



This looked reasonable. How could the two get.
enough for Father Hou



‘d to get on the grea





Hither the boat would be mashed like an eg;



the pilot would drop into the sea.

Held together by ropes, lifted on the same huge wave,



the ship and the boat shivered near each other; when

‘ould the decks had been



the bowsprit plunged, y

swept clear, and no one



able to stand upon them.
Leap now! leap!” yelled M. Leheu,


34 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

‘Three times did Father Housard essay to spring, but
js asunder.



on the second the waves swept the two v



hed toward the Saint John, and as
1 y

his leap, and was clinging in the ship’

Finally the brig lun



the cloud of spray fe



aw that the pilot had made
hrouds.



‘The wind seemed to increase in fury, despising all



obstacles ; there were no lulls,no moment for breath;



the waves piled one upon the other in mountai



S.

The brig ran wildly before the tempest, carrying only
sail enough to direct it. As the ship rolled in the deep
troughs we could sce only the torn fragments of sail



high up on the masts;



finally, as it rose on a wave, we




perceived that its topsail had been torn off,and that it
seareely obeyed the helm, A simultaneous ery broke
from every mouth. ‘The Saint John, upon which my

father and cousin remained, followed the brig at a



little distance, fearful of going too near that tossing

ma



, which was now only two or three hundred rods
from the mouth of the harbor. ‘The boat did well until
a foremast was torn from the brig, which, lurching,
fell

of the large vessel ¢



across the boat’s path, and at once the huge mass



nd the fr
which held so much of our hopes.
‘Dwo minutes after the brig gained the channel.

Tt was the boat which [ followed with my



saw nothing else. Driven from its true route by the

motions of the ship, it missed the entrance and drove




OF A MIGHTY WAVE.

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 37

toward a

ordinarily in times of storm there was pretty good



nall cove to the right of the harbor, where

refuge.



But on this unhappy day, here as everywhere clse,

the sea was in furious commotion ; it seemed an abso-



lute impossibility to gain shore in the tecth of the wind ;

the sail was rent away, and the anchor dragged at on



and would not hold, and the frail boat presented its



broadside to the full force of huge waves which flung
themselves upon it from a prodigious height.

Again they strove toanchor. Between them and the



shore was a line of rocks which in half an hour more



would be covered by the rising tide, and give them a
last chance of gaining land. Would that anchor hold?
Would not the ropes break. One phinge on those
jagged rocks, and the little Saint John would be for
ever lost. Twas only a child, but I knew enough of
the sea to comprehend the full meaning and importance
of this last attempt.

Around me I heard dozens



asking questions of each
other. We had left the pier and run along the shore,

where we pressed closely together to resist the force of



the wind.
One said, “ Kalbris
“Ah, yes! but who could swim in that seething whirl-
pool?”
“Tf the Saint John rides at anchor, they are saf



is a stout swimm




38 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

if she breaks loose, she will go to pieces in two min-

utes.”



A mere plank herself, the little Saint John rode amid



a mass of débris of broken boards, sea-weeds, pebbles



boiled up from the bottom, surf and foam. As the



waves struck the rocks they were flung back with



fearful din, and piled up one upon the other.
While I stood breathless, my eyes on the Saint John,
J felt my

poor mother, who had run to me, having scen all the




trouble from our little cottage on the clill. Close by

usstood Captain Houel and some others. ‘They spok



kindly, seeking to cheer us. My mother stood silently





azing with wide-open, t
All at onc

“The anchor has broken loose!”



wild ery rose up to heaven :



My mother fell upon her knees, drawing me down
with her.
When L looked up, I saw the Saint John borne on the

crest of a mighty waves cu



ied by it like a feather on

s summit, she passed the barrier of rocks, but the wave



broke, the boat fell forward, turning over, and T saw



nothing more but a wh



Jing, seething mass of foam.
Two d
terribly

body of my cousin neyer came ashore.



after they found the body of my father,

mutilated, drifted among the rocks. ‘The






CHAPTER IV.

OR six years the place of my father had been
empty at our table, but our home had never




seemed so deso! so miserable, as it did the





8) sad morning which followed this catastrophe.

His death did not absolutely make us beggars, for

we had our cot and a little plot of land, but my





mother was compelled to work for our daily bread.

She had once been the best laundress in all the



country; and as the white bonnet, the common head-
gear of Port-Dicu, hus frequently to be ironed and
peculiarly polished in fine style, she went back to her
old business.

The Brothers Leheu came to our aid in this

fashion: ‘
4 20
40 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“My brotha

Mondays,” said the elder to my mother, “ An assured



and Twill engage you on alternate



day for work once a week is something worth having ;”



and that was all, Tt was a cheap manner of paying
for the life of a man.
‘A working day in those days lasted from sunrise

to sunset. I had then cach day, before and after



hool-time, several hours, when my mother was



absent, and I was left at liberty to please myself,
My chief delight

upon the sea-beach, according as the tide y



to stroll along the pier or

low or



high.

Tt was useless for my poor mother to try to keep
me in the narrow limits of our yard. I had always
many reasons which to. my idea fully justified my
escape. Indeed, few were the days when I did not
play truant, cither because the Newfoundland ships
were coming in, or because there was a marvellous
high tide or a glorious storm.

One day when there had been a spring-tide I ran
away from school, and made an acquaintance which
had a marked influence on my character and decided
my whole after life.

Tt was at the
Friday in retreating had laid bare a long ridge of
On

Friday morning, in place of going to school, I clam-



end of September, and the tide on



rocks which had not been seen for some yea
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 41



bered down the cliff, and while waiting for the tide to

run out Tate my Iuncheon, I had only two hours to



The s

turned one instant from the rock, it vanished in the



rose like an inundation ; and if the eye

flooding waters before there was time to look again,
drowned in the tide, which rose with a swiftness so
noiseless that it seemed rather that the rock had
melted away than that the sea had swelled over it.




There was no tumble of waves, nothing but a narrow
line of foam between the blue sea and yellow sand,
while far off on the horizon sight was lost in a gray
distance. One could sce farther off than ordinarily.
On the one side was the Cape Vauchel, on the other

the steep promontory of Aval. ‘These



ald only be
seen in remarkably clear weather.
‘The tide remained at its height what seemed to my

impatience a long while, but at last began to ebb with



the same swiftness with which it had flowed. I fol-

lowed the retiring waves. I had hidden my shoes



and my satchel in a cleft of the rock, and I trod bare-
footed along the sands, where every footprint at once

filled with water. Our shores are generally sandy,



but one finds rocks here and the



» which the greedy
sea has not been able to gnaw away. Among these
shoals little black Jakes form at low tide. 1 was

wa



ding in one of these lakes, hunting for lobsters
42 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

under the sea-weeds, when I heard some one hail me,

Those who are doing wrong are never brave. I was



terrified for a moment; but raising my eyes, I saw that

I had nothing to fear. The person who called me



was not sent from the schoolhouse, but was an old

gentleman with a white beard whom in our vill



we had nicknamed Mr. Sunday, because he had a



vant whom he called Saturday.



In fact, the gentleman was named M, de Bihorel,
and he lived on a little island fifteen minutes’ row
from Port-Dieu. Once upon a time this island had
been the end of a tongue of land, but it had been eut

off from the granite of the isthmus, and so transformed



to a true isle of ocean, being at high tide only access
ible by boat from any side.
M. de Biho

eccentric of men for forty miles around. He



1 had the reputation of being the



most.



owed this reputation to an immense umbrella which

he alw carried open over his head, the absolute



solitude in which he lived, and a mingling of harsh-
ness and benevolence in his bearing to his neighbors.

“Ha, little one!” he cried. “What are you doing



there
“You see yourself, sir, I am catching lobsters.”

“Very well. Let your lobsters alone, and come



with me, You can carry my wallet. Hurry, now,

and you will never repent it.”
ROMAIN KALBR



I did not answer, but my looks spoke for me.



“Ho, ho! you don’t want to?”
« Beeause—beeanse—”
“There, now! never mind telling your reasons.
What is your name?”
Romain Kalbris.”
“You are the son of that Kalbris who perished in
2

an attempé to save a brig last year? Your father was

worthy of being called a man.”



T was proud of my dear father, and these words
caused me to look less erossly at M. de Bihorel

Yon are eleven years old,” he said, taking me by
the hand, “To-day is Friday, and you have run
away from school.”

I looked down, blushing,

“You have played truant,” he said. “Tt is not
hard to guess that. Now, Tam going to tell you why.
Do not tremble, you little simpleton, Tam not a
wizard. Come, now, look me in the eyes. Did you
come out here to fish 2”

eV

The Dog’s Head is x vock which is rarely uncovered.

sir, and to see the Dog’s Head.”



“Well, well, Falso am going to see the Dog’s Head.

Pick up my wallet, my son, and come with me.”



I followed him without utte



we a sound, T was



so,
ashamed that he had found out my wrong-doing so

st



Although T knew him well, this was the é
oe


44 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



time that I had spoken to him, and Twas unaware that



his pleasure was to search out the sec



ot springs of ac
tion in those whom he met. Much aeuteness and ready

sympathy, with a long



perience, made him generally



correct in his estimates; and as he feared nobody, he



spoke out his sc
ngry.

Well, although I had little wish to speak, it became

timents, whatever they were, either



kindly or



necdfiul for me to do so, at least to reply to the ques-

tions which he did not fail to ask me.





Before a quarter of an hour was past I trotted along
by his side, telling him all that I knew about myself,
my mother, my father, all my family, and not failing

to relate all my romances about my uncle in India.



In this part of my tale he seemed especially interested.



“Curious,” said he, “this tin



less spirit of adventure.
Norman blood, mingled with the old Pheenician,



whenee are they called Calbris or Kalbris



This inquiry



1 general one, which he did not

expoct_me to answer; and now he began to pause to





examine tl nd over which he v



Iked, and to gather
from time to time shells and plants and sea-weeds,
which he bade me put in his wallet.
“What do
Nearly alw:

ou call that?” he said to everything.



ys IT remained mute, because T did not



know what to reply; though I knew the shell



and herbs



well, I did not know th



names,


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 4

“You ar

patiently ; “for you as for others the sea is only good to

a true child of your country,” he said, im-



pillage and ravage, and is an eternal foc against which

rsce that it isa boun-



toarm yourselves, Will you ney
tifal mother and nurse as well asthe land? ‘The sea has

ns, and these forests are



forests and plains and mour



n

peopled with animals as well as those of the earth; «
you never speak of this infinite horizon, these depths,
these waves, except in connection with storm and ship-
wreek ?”

He spoke vehemently, so that T was stupefied, being

but a child; and now T record rather the impression





of his words than the words themselves. Perhaps I
have illy remembered what 1 so little comprehended,
ile
that time, that J seem to sce the old man, sheltered by

jon haunts me of



but even yet such a liv





s umbrella, extending one arm to the high sea,

chaining my eyes to his own.



“Cone here,” he said, showing me a crack in the



rock from which the water had not withdrawn—* come

let me teach you a little of what is in the sea; what is
this?”

He pointed my finger toward a kind of little yellow



the top by a yellow corolla, bordered: by scallops and

raffles which were black and whit



“Tsitaplint? Tsitananimal? You know noth-
46 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



ing about it? Ab, well, it is an animal. If you have



time to stay here, you will perhaps see it loosen itself,
and you know that flowers are unable to walk off as
they choose. Mark it clea

thi



you are about to see

el



pparent flower lengthen itself, contract itself, bal-



ance itself like a ballet-dancer. Wise men call it a sea

anemone. But that you may be convinced that it is



an animal, watch it eatch a shrimp; you know that
flowers cannot cat.”
Saying this, he took a shrimp and threw it into the



corolla of the anemone; the seeming blossom closed,



and the shrimp was swallowed.



In a hollow full of water I caught a little ray-t
It had hidden in the sand, but its brown and white
spots betrayed it. I took it to M. de Bihorel.

“You have found that ray,” he s



id to me, “because

it has spots, and what has shown it to you makes



it known also to voracious fish who eat it. At the
bottom of the sea goes on a constant war, in which

rybody else, as



sometimes happens
These

swim badly, and would not fail to be exter-

everybody kills eve





ashore. ‘They fight for glory and for pleasure.



poor



minated if nature had not made provision for them.
ilof thi

and darts, therefore it cannot be attacked from be-



Look at the reature; it is armed with thorns

hind; its cnemies dare only approach before its coat
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 47

of armor, ‘There is in nature a Jaw of universal equi-
librium, or compensation ; you may to-day begin to
cateh



a glimpse of it; you will apprehend it better as



you grow older.”
Twas astounded, Can I express what an effect this

n produced upon a naturally inquisitive



object I



child, who never before had found any one able to
answer his innumerable questions? The fear whi



had until now closed my lips



immediately dis
pated.

Following always the retreating sea, we reached at
last the Dog’s Head. How long we rested there I
know not. I had lost all consciousness of time. I
ran from rock to rock, and I carried to M. de Bihorel
the shells and plants which T for the first time appre-

ciated. I filled my pockets with a store of treasures



which appeared to me very curious when I found



them, but which T soon cast out in favor of othei
which had the incontestable advantage of being
new.

the
It had vanished in a light fog. ‘The

Suddenly lifting my eyes, I could no longer s



sand-beach.



sky was a uniform pale gray. ‘The sea was so calm
that we could scarcely hear it washing about us.



Had I been alone, I would have hastened homeward,
for I know how difficult it becomes in time of fog

to find one’s way along the coast, but M. de Bihorel
48 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

said nothing, and I was too bashful to propose a
return.
Meanwhile, the fog, which enveloped us on all

lik

sides, drew clo



cloud of smoke mounting





from carth to s!
“Ah, ah! se aid M. de Bihorel. “Tf

we do not wish to play Hide and

the fog,”





eck in right
good carnest, we had better go back. Pick up my
wallet.”

But at that instant the fog touched us,



sped us

could see



closely, shut us in, and on all sides w



nothing, neither the sea nor five steps before us. We
were lost in a gray obseurity.
“The

disturbing himself, “We have only to walk



ais this way,” said M. de Bihorel, without



raight
before us.”
To walk straight forward on the sand, with noth-

ing to guide one, no sound, no sight, no trace of your



own steps to show which way you came, no uneyen-



ness to tell whether you go up or down, this is ve



ly
to play most seriously the game of “the green earpet

of Versailles,” in which one has his eyes blindfolde«





and is bidden to go, without deviating one step, from
the Garden of Latona to the Fountain of Apollo.
We, on the soundless sand, had this additional aggra-
vation of our trouble, that we were more than a mile

from the cliffs and high-water mark.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 49

We had not walked ten minutes before we stum-
bled upon a pile of rocks which I recognized.

“These are the Green Roel

“This is the Chicl

“No, sir,’ I per
Rocks.”

He gave me a little tap on the cheek.

“Why, what a wise little noddle you have!” he
said.

If these were the Green Rocks, we should turn to
the



r,” I said.




’s Head,” said my old friend.



isted, “these are the Green



ight in order to get to the village of Port-Dieu ;
but if they were the Chicken’s Head, we should turn
to the left, or we would have our ba¢
home.

toward



In fall day nothing is easier than to distinguish



between these two rocks, Even at night, if the moon-

light shone clearly, I could easily have re



them, but in the fog we could see rocks draped in



weed, and that was all,

“Hark,” said my friend, “the noise of the shore
will guide us.”

We listened, but heard nothing, not even the
ripple of the waves. There seemed to be no breath
We were as if buried in a bale
id. blinded

of wind on the sea.





ened our ear



of white cotton, which d



our ey
“Tt is the Chic



's Head,” said M. de Bihorel.
50 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



I dared contradict no longer, and turning fol-
to the left.

1d,” said he, in a soft



lowed my guide, taking the cours



“Come near to me, my



voice. “Give me your hand. Let us not lose each
other. So, now; we keep step.”

We hastened along for some ten minutes, then I
felt his hand clasp mine closely. We heard a faint
roaring of surf.

“You were right,” he said. “Those were the
Green Roel
Let us return.”



We should have gone to the right.

Return where? How should we guide our way?

We knew where was the sea, because we heard the



waves break softly, but on every hand we heard no
other sound, and we could not tell when we turned in

which direction to go. ‘The fog constantly thickened,



and now to the mist was added the natural obscurity
of evening. We could not trace our own footprints,
and only with the greatest difficulty could M. de
Bihorel tell the time by his watch. It was



o'clock, and now the tide was beginning to come in.
A high tide!
“Tt is needful for us to hurry,” he said. “If the



tide overtakes us, we shall fare badly. What a pity

ven-league boots !



that you and I do not wear s
He spoke cheerfully, for the trembling of my hand

told him that I was afraid.


ROMAIN KALBRIS, al

“Fear not, my child,” he said ; “ presently the wind

will blow from the land and scatter this fog. Besides,



we shall soon see the lighthouse, which wili_ presently
be lit.”

His words gave me no comfort. I knew very well
that we would not be able to see the blaze of the light-
house, For the next ten minutes I thought of three
women who the preceding year had been surprised
on the sands by a thick fog, and had been drowned.
‘Their bodies had heen found eight days after, and 1

saw them now before my eyes, all white and stiff in



their poor dripping rags. Although I desired to



restrain myself, [ began to ery.
Without any vexation M. de Bihorel tried to calm

me by kind words.



“Call aloud,” he said; “if there ard



is a const-g



pacing the cliff, he will hear us and answer.”

We both shouted—he with a tremendous voice, I
with a voice broken by my sobs. No answer came,
not even anecho, That mournful silence filled me
cemed to me that T was buried



with a great fear, Tt
at the bottom of the sea.

Come on,” he





aid; “can you walk briskly 2”

He took me by the hand, and we walked we knew
not where. By the words which he addressed to me
from time to time IT knew that he was anxious, and

had no confidence in his own encouraging suggestions,
5
w

ROMAIN KALBRIS,



Aft

all at once, and 1 flung mys



along half hour of travel despair seized me

-If upon the sand,



“Teave me, sir, leave me to die; T hinder you,” T
cried with loud sobs.
“ Porward cheerily,” he eried ; “we have seen enough

now. Do you wish to add to the water by floods of



tears? What will your mother do if you die? Up

now for her sak:



His words were useless; entirely overcome, T re-



mained without power to move. Then I broke into

ac



Sina
“What is it my child 2”

“Phere, there | stoop down her



“Do you want me to carry you, my poor little



“No, sir; take my hand, do.”
He gave me his hand, and T pressed it into the

beach beside mine.
“Well, what now?

“Don’t you kno





sir Feel the water.”



Our shores are for



ed of very fine sand, deep and
at low tide thi



spongy and is fall like a sponge,



and the water percolates it in a million invisible
streams, which follow the slope of the beach toward
the sea. It was upon one of these threads of water

that T laid my hand.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 53

“Oh, sir, the sea is that w



”” T said, reaching out
my arm in the direction of the running water. At
the same time I rose up, hope lending me new strength,
M. de Bihorel did not need to drag me forward.

I pressed _forw:



rd, cach moment bending to press





my finger into the sand to feel the course of the water,



by which I guided our way.
“You are a brave boy,” said my friend ; “without

your energy and knowledge we should surely have



heen lost.” Not five minutes after he had thus ey





pressed his anxieties it seemed to me that I felt no

more wat!



We went on some steps; then I put my
nd.

“There is no more water,” I said.



hand on the dry

He stooped and felt about with both hands; only
damp sand clung to our fingers. At the same instant
we heard a low roaring. He listened :

“Lad, you deceive yours



If; we are going to the
seal”?
“No, sir, I

went toward the sea the sand would be wetter and



sure you. Don’t you know that if we

wetter 2”

He said nothing, lifted himself up, and we stood



undecided, lost a second time, He took out his



ch; it was too dark to sce the hands, but he felt
them, and it was a quarter before seven. The tide

had been rising for an hour,
D4 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“Sir,” T said, “you see we are getting near the

shore.” As if to confirm my words, we heard behind



y that is befor



gul us,” he said.
“1 think so, sir”

These shores, because they are formed of a shifting



sand, are not entirely level. They form here and
there little hills, separated from each other by little

Although to the eye the whole stretch of



valley
beach looks even, and the differences of level are very
slight, they are indicated by the water; so much that
the tide r
while the hill

on all sides by the swelling flood, which separates



s in the little depressions and fills them,



wks vemain dry like islands, laved



them like small



rivers. We were facing one of the

rivers. Was it deep? All our future lay in this



“We must cross over this gully,” said M. de Biho-

rel; “take my hand.”



nd as T hesitated, he continued : “Which do you



r most, wetting your feet or your head? As for



me, I choose the fect. ‘There is now no
ill”

“Oh, but, sir, when we get into that water, we shall

anger like



standing

ha

to get out?”

ve lost our way, and how ean we tell on which side


5

ROMAIN



CALBRIS.

“But, boy, do you mean to stay here and be over-



taken by the s



», sir, But do you pass over first. 1 will stay



here and shout to you, and you will go straight before
my voice, When you are on the other side, call, and
I will come to you.”

“Go first, my child.”

«No, sir

“My brave child!” He ¢

if 1 had been his son. His tenderness



Tam a better swimmer than you are.”



ned me in his arms as





cheered my
heart. There was no time to lose. ‘The sea made
swift progress. Each second we heard it more plainly
washing in. He entered the water, and I began to

shout.



“Do not scream,”



id M. de Bihorel. “Do you

not know a song? — It is better to sing if you ¢



«Yes, siry” and T began to sing:

“Phere was a man in an land,



People ealled him Hammer-hand ;

His eyes like an owl's, his hair like wool,

With silver and gold his pockets were full.
‘Dra, Ja, Ja, Ja, tri Lilla?



T stopped a minute

& Ave you on your fe



“Yes, child; and I think the water gets shallower.

Sing on.”


56 ROMAIN KALBRIS,



“ THis lips were always as red as a beet,





He never was hungry when he had enough to eat.



His mouth was too small, for, as it appe:



Tt had to stop when it touched his ears,
‘Dra, Ia, la, la, tri fillah ??



T was going on with the third verse of this jolly
ditty, when M. de Bihorel cried, “‘Take your turn.
Th

began singing a song without words sad as a wail

water does not reach my knees, Come ;” and he



for the dead.

T entered the water, but being much shorter than
the old gentleman, I was soon beyond my depth.
‘That was nothing to me, for [ could swim like a fish.
The only trouble was that T had difficulty in direct-
ing my course aright, and it took me full a quarter of
an hour to reach him.

At last we were together again, and we made no
delay to get beyond the water upon the sand. He

stion which showed how



ve a deep sigh of satisfi



intense had been his anxiety.
He tri
uke a pinch, You have earned it,” he said; but



dd to jest. He held out his snuff-hox,



in dipping his fingers into the box he found it wet.



“My snuff from Paris, and my wateh which never



to keep time, are all fall of water, What will
my man Saturday say to that?”

T made no repl: T was wondering if all dan




59

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 59

were passed. Indeed, it was not. Before us lay
more road to be traversed than we had yet aceom-

plished. We were surrounded by the same danger



and we had the same difficulties in directing our steps





‘The fog seemed ever to thicken; and although we
seemed to be pressing toward the eliff, we could hear
no sounds from which we could decide in what direc-

tion the land lay. We heard no lowing of cattle, no



orman





rack of carter’s whip, no creaking of the



wagons—nothing, Before us was a profound still
ness; behind, the ominous roar of the ocean.

Still the tide rose h



‘That was our on





guide now, but one most dangerous and deceitful.

Tf we advanced too rapidly, we lost the



und ; if we
tarried, the water might swallow us up before we
could reach high ground or the steepness of the beach

should check its rate of ri





We recommenced, then, to wall hand in hand.
Often did T bend to feel the sand, but could perceive
no water init. We were upon a sort of hillock cut
up by hollows in which the water remained stagnant.

1 itself out in little sti



or spr ams, ‘The hope which

had animated me when we had successfully passed



the gully died away. ‘Then we both stopped at the
The
trokes penetrated the thick fog. After an in-

same moment. We had heard a clock strik





dl

terval of two or three seconds we heard another cloe


60 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and then a third. They were the church-clocks of
Port-Dicu. We had only to press forward in the
safe. With-

ccord we be



direction whence they came, and we were





out saying anything, with one :



n to



run,
“Hasten,” said M. de Bihorel. “The bells are

ringing for evening s



, but they only ring a short
time, ‘Phey really ought to ring longer.”

On we ran, not taking time to breathe, fearful of



lo:



ng one of those precious directing sounds. We
did not speak to cach other, but I knew well that if
we could not reach the high shores and a path before
the bells ceased ringing, we should only have been
saved for a few moments, to be lost again,

They ceased. We were yet far out upon the sands.
P
might take us to them. But in which dir

ps the cliffs were rods w



perhaps a step



jon



should that step be taken? We could only feel that



safety was yet far off, and that we were still in immi-



nent danger,





Stay,” said M. de Bihorel; “do not let us take
another step at a venture, Heel the sand, my boy.”

I felt it. I buried both hands in it. It was quite
dry.

“Taye you counted how many gullies we have
passed 2”

«No, s


ROMAIN KALBRIS, 61

Ain to,



“Phen you do not know whether any yet ren



be crossed. If we have got by all, we have only to
wait. When the sea reaches us we will walk on be-

fore it.”



“Yes, But if all are not passed ?”
He made no repl

that

for he only could have said in



what I alre



ly know—that if there were



another gully between us and the solid earth, while we

tarried the sca would silently fill it, and we could only



pass it by swimming, haying thus the danger of being
dragged down by the current, hurled maybe against
the rocks, unable to direct our course and hopeless of
ty.

We had a moment of terrible anxiety, remaining





on that dry sand knoll, not daring to decide whether

to moye or to stand still, to tum backward, forwa





right or let we did not move we knew



So long
that our faces were landward, looking where the bell-
strokes had come to us. As soon as we took a step

we could not tell but that we stepped away from our



desired haven. Oh, the agony of such uncertainty !
Our sole hope was that a puff of wind might litt

We

could expect no sound to guide us. We thought we



the veiling fog and show us the lighthow

were south of the village, opposite a deserted cliff,



where at almose any hour there would be no sounds

of life. The fog was so thick, so compact, so cold, so


OMAIN KALBRIS.

still, that to believe



would suddenly lift or break

was to believe we should see a miracle.



The miracle came to us. What do you think?

Once more the bells broke forth, now ringing for a



baptism, and in Normandy they baptize in churches,





and ring the joy-bells for half an hour if parents
are rich enough to pay the ringers.

Oh, jo

bound coast, the dry, green, happy land. We trod

In ten minutes we had reached the rock-



upon the tongue of rocks which ran out toward M.
de Bihorel’s island, In very deed we were safe. My
old friend ask



1 me to go home with him. We were
Hi

sure my poor mother was home from her long day’s



hungry, cold, wea house was near, but I felt



toil, and I did not wish to give her time to be terri-
fied on my account.
“Go, then, and tell your mother that T shall call on

her to-morrow evening.”



Twas sorry he meant to pay a visit which should

make known to my mother all the dangers I had



meant to conceal, but dared not say so.
Strangely cnough, my mother had not yet got
home. Presently she came in. By that time I had

lit the fir



and. put on dry clothing. I gaye her M.
de Bihorel’s message.

The next evening, as he had promised, he came, I



trembled when Th



d his step. I had hoped I
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 63,



should es



wpe having my truant-day and my. peril
discussed.

“ Has that boy told you what happened to him and
to me yestet



lay 2” he asked.



“No, sir,” replied my mother



© Very well, ma’am. He
all day.”

My poor mother regarded me with sorrowful un-

1 ay



ay from school for



sin ieving that she was about to hh



terrible accusation against me.
Ah, Romain!” said she, sadly.

“Do not gro:



1 over it,” interrupted M. de Bihorel

“for it was providentially made the means of saving



my life. ‘There, my lad! you need not tremble, You
behaved like a braye child, Madame Kalbris, you
have reason to be proud of him.”

He then related how he had found me at play, and



how we had both been caught in the fog.
“You sce,” he continued, “that without him I

would have been lost. Is not that plain, my dear



madame? In the morning I despised his ignorance

because he did not know the right name for the sea



weed; but when danger came, my science helped me
very little, and I leaned on the instinet of the child.
But for him crabs, lobsters and crayfish would now
be studying my anatomy.

it.

I am in debt to your son,





and now I must pay
a


64 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

My mother shook her head.

Do not be alarmed,” he said. “1 do not propose
anything which will hurt your feclings or be bencath
the service which I have received. I pereeive that

your child is ew



ious to see and to know. Let me

ion. [ have no childre:



take charge of his educs , but
I love them dearly, He will not be unhappy with
me, I am sure.”

My mother was overwhelmed with th

t it,



greatness of
this proposition, but she did not ac
“Stay,” said M. de Bihorel, holdin;

to her



out his hand





. “T know you are about to refuse me. You

love this child ardently. You love him for himself



and for the father he has lost.



He is your all, and
yon wish to keep him, Is not this true? Now, I
shall show you why, nevertheless, you should let me
have him, He has a fine mind which deserves to
be cultivated, Here in this village such cultivation



impossible, and without meddling with



our affai



it is impossible for you to send him away from home
to school. Let me add that a child of his venture
some and independent character needs governing and
watching. ‘Think of that. Do not answer me hastily:
Reflect on this subject when the first emotions of

ernal heart have



almed. I will come to-



your mi





1 he went out, we sat down to supper, but my
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 65



mother could not eat. She looked anxiously at me.

‘Thea, when her eyes met mine, she turned and looked



at the fire.
When I said good-night before going to bed, I felt
Why

‘as she not proud of me?

her tears falling on my check did those te
flow? Wi

tressed at what M. de Bihorel had told her?





Lis-
Was

ng at thought of our sep-

ssh







she grieving and ¢





ion?
Thad not thought before of parting from her, and
now the idea distressed me sorely.

“Do not cry, dear mother,” I said, hugging her

with a boy



rough fondness; “T shall never go away
from you.”

Ah, my child,” she replied, «I alr pe that it
right. I shall





is better for you. M. de Bihorel i:



ept his offer. I do so because T love you, my
precious child.”




CHAPTER V.




»ption at the house of M. de Bihorel fally
justified his wid



spread reputation for origin-



os * ality. When I reached his place, I fond him
“9° sta

me from afar, he had come to meet me,

nding at the house



door; for having seen



“Come here,” he said, without gi

Jook about.“ Hav



ing me time to



you ever written a letter? No?

Ah, well, you may now write one to your mother to



that you have reached here safe



y, and that Satur-



y will go to-day to buy you some clothing. By
that letter T shall find out how much you know.

Come in and sit down by my desk.”



He took me into a grand library full of boo
66
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 67

pointed me to a table on which lay paper, pens and

inkstands, and then left me alone. [ would much



have preferred ¢ busi-



ing to writing, for that bri



manner chilled me to the heart. After a few



nes





minutes of emotion I conquered my
The

ink on my paper, for 1 felt already home-

grief and set my-



self to ob



et is that 1 put quite as much



salt water 2



sick, and could think of nothing to say but “ Dea



mother, | have got here, Saturday is going to buy



me some clothes.” It was short enough, but it was

qnite impossible for me to put down another word.



T was about a half an hour in this wretched frame of

mind, and 1 do not know how much longer it would

have lasted had not my attention been interrupted 1



the following conversation, spoken in loud tones in

nt



the next room by M.de Bihorel and his s
Saturday.

“So, then,” growled Saturday, “this youngster has
got here.”



“Why, did you think he would not come
“T did not think he would upset the whole house

by getting here.”



“Tn what way, Saturday 2”

You, my master, br



Kfast about noon—I take my

bite early in the morning; shall this youngster wait



until midday to eat with you, or will he get a mouth-

ful with me about sunrise ?”
68 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and mouthfuls !”



onsense about your bites

«Bless me, s



T know what I am talking about.

T have never been a child’s nurse.”



“You have been a child, have you not? Re-



member your own experience. Come, now, take



your orders. ‘Treat this boy as you treated your-
self’; that will do very well, won't it, ch, ch, eh, Sat-



«No, sir, nothing of the kind, in your house. I



was a poor chap, and was brought up rough and hard.
If you want him raised in that style, you had better

better



m home again; there he will stand



send h
chance, My master, do not forget that you owe that
td

and his home.”



little fellow a gre I, having taken him from his

mother



“Don’t forget it yourself, Saturday, and act accord-
ingly.”

“Then I mean in the first place to give him sugar
in his bread and milk.”

“Saturday

at his age, or rather you must ask him what he like

you must give him whatever you liked





and then let him have it.”

“Tf you manage in that way, we will have jolly



times,” said the n
« Satun

ing «



nt, chuckling.



An-se1



do. you know what com

s of helping





and t



of young childreu

Saturday hesitated a moment, and replied :
ROMAIN KALBRL



A deal of broken crockery comes of it,and a hor-
rible waste of good provisions.”

“God sends us yet something else, my man, In



them he freshons our hearts, and gives us back the
childhood we have lost. He reunites us to the past,
and lets us have for a reality a vanished and beloved
dream.”

Hardly had he finished these words when he stood
before me in the library, taking up my wonderful

effort at letter-writing.



You know nothing at all,” he said, having looked



at my queer seribble, “So much the better; 1 will
not have the trouble of unlearning you a pack of
folly. Run off now, and play.”

That ishand was a queer place, From its shape it
was called the “Granite Glove,” and I haye never
seen anything like it, From the shore the isle pre-

sented the appearance of an elongated triangle, of



which the base was turned shoreward, and only sepa



rated from the main land by an arm of the sea some
four hundred feet wide. On this side all the slope was
covered with luxurious vegetation, herbs, trees and

blooming vines, which seemed to thrive in crevices of



the hard granite, which pierced in sharp needle-like

ks among them. On the seaward side all was bare,




i, pecled by the winds and scorched by salt

y and burning sunshine reflected from the shining


70 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

waters. The house was built on the vi



highest







point of this island, on the right side, where the ridges

united to form



little plateau; and in virtue of its



position it commanded a circular view, which em=

braced the sea and the land, looking to the hori



on on

cither side. Tt was also posed to the violence of





the wind from every quarter, and was the espe
mark of the fury of the storms, But neither winds,
nor swirling rains, nor thundering seas, prevailed
against this stone-built and rock-founded dwelling.

It had been ereeted a century before, in times of



with England, and had been fashioned to withstand
the brunt of battle. It was to have been the castle

ofa



rong coast-guard, and there were embrasures for



mounting guns, while the top had been made nearly
bomb-proof. When M. de Bihorel had bought this
odd little fi



rt, he had changed the exteri



by a gal-
lery and put up some wooden outbuildings and a
wing, while he had made the interior a handsome and

comfortable abode, dividing it into ha



Is and cham-
bers. It was not splendid, nor was it very large; but
he was not a man who cared for external shows, and
he gloried much in the strength and comfort of his
odd abode, which withstood the rage of the winds as
solidly as the rock upon which it was built.

These wild winds, enemies against which man must

defend himself, are at the same time friends of this
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 7



island. They give to it in wintera temperature higher

than that of the adjacent land—so much so t in the





crevices and nooks of the rocks flowers and shrubs are



to be found belonging to a more southerly latitude,
and which will not flourish on the coast, as, for in-
stance, rose-laurels, fuchsias and fig trees,
Much of the t

bounty of nature, but something also was to be ered-



due to the



auty of this spot was



ited to the united efforts of M. de Bihorel and his ser-
vant Saturday, who had transformed the island into
a luxuriant garden; only that part exposed to the west
had defied their toils. That, coutinually beaten by
wind and swept by the salt foam of the sca, served
only as a pasture for two little Breton cows and a
flock of black sheep. It was curious to contemplate
these wonders of transformation and renewal, and

consider that they had been wrought only by two pa





of hands, for M. de Bihorel never hired y labore



besides Saturday.





that M.

1 lived thus from avarice; after I went to

I had often hes
de Bio!
stay with him, I perceived that he was guided by high

‘d_ the country people s





principles of virtue.
“Bach man,” he said, “should be able to help him-

y was bestowed



self, and should not consider that mon
on him merely that he might pamper his appetite and

indulge in idleness. I wish to live what I believe.”


72 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Tle was



reful to carry out these theories in every
affair of his life

the fruits ¢

no matter how small. Ife lived on





F his orchard and garden, the milk of his



cows, fish caught by Satur bread made in the



house from coarse flour ground 1 little mill of his



own construction—a windmill—assuredly in his idea
ul skill. He

and, and pressed. ci



a wonder of mechani



grew his wheat

er in a portable



on his own it



press from his own apples.



To do Saturday justice, I mus s be-



say that he wa



hindhand in none of these labors. He had been a

cabin-boy, a sailor, the private servant of a state



officer, cook on board a coasting-vessel. He had
served an apprenticeship to nearly every trade under
the sun.

The intercourse of these two was not as master and
domestic, but as two friends. They ate at the same
table, the only distinction being that M. de Bihorel

oceupied the chief plac



Their life had in it something so simple, and



dignified, that it now astonishes me, though I was too



young to te it when T became a third in that



ppreei
little household.
“M

after my a



y child,” said M. de Bihorel to me some days



ival, “I haye no intention of making of



you a fine gentleman—that is, a lawyer or doctor-—but

merely a seaman and an honest man, It is needful
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 7B.

that I instruct you. L will give you lessons while
walking and playing. Will that method off study
be to your taste?”

T was too untrained to more than half comprehend
him, but the practice of our daily lives explained his
meaning.

Thad been somewhat surprised to hear that eduea-
tion could go on while one was playing. Twas
yet more astonished when he began the work that
same afternoon. Hitherto I had studied only from
dreary-looking books, under terror of the master’s

rod.



M. de Bihorel in a

nd suddenly he




accompanying

walk on the shore,



led me to stop.
We were on the edge of a little oak wood.

“What are these?” he demanded, pointing to some



ants which
“ Ants.”

“Well, and what are they doing ?”



‘an across the road.



“Oh, why they are carrying something or other.”



“Good! You shall follow them to their ant-hill,

watch them, and tell me if you see anything singular

about them. If you see nothing to-day, you will g



back to study them to-morrow and the next day, and



50 on until you have observed something.”



After two days spent cheerfully looking at ant-

hills, I saw that there were some ants which did




7A ROMAIN KALBRIS.

absolutely nothing, while there were others which





ingly, even giving food to the sluggards.”

toiled unc



“That is well,” he



tid, when Thad communicated



to him my observations; “you have seen the thing

most noteworthy. That is enough. — These ants which





do nothing are neither sick nor feeble, as you imag



ne;



and the others which work are



the maste:
Without the aid of th



they an



their slay



ves they



would be incapable of going to seck their food. Con-



sider, now: is it not often the same in our world
There are yet some lands where men who do nothing

y those who toil. Lf idleness could



ur



supported I



+ fact of sickness among the mas-



be explained by any
ters, nothing would be more natural than the labor of



some and the case of othe Such a state of th



would be necessary. But this is not the reason.
Among the ants the masters are exactly those which
nd

courage, as war, for instance. Let us go together to



are the mos rength



upt in all which demands

observe the habits of ants, and we shall, without





doubt, soon be witnesses of a pitched battle, Only



the masters will take part in that, and their whole
object will be to capture more slaves. While you sit
here waiting for the sight of a battle, I am going to
give you a book to read. In that book a wise man

named Huber g



ves an account of a great battle of ants

which went on exactly at the time when about a hun-
75



ROMAIN KALBRIS.

dred leagues away a great fight took place between
some armies of men, I do not know what made the

war among the inseets, but the men thought they had



the very best reasons for fighting, and the slaughter



x



terrible. I was in the midst of it, and only

escaped death as if by a miracle, We marched along



the bank of a river called the Elbe, and opposite us,

upon the right bank, the Russians had a formidable



battery of artillery, of which we continually heard the





roar, but of which we could not sce the execution, be-

nd whirlwinds of



cause we were hidden by fog, smoke
dust. All along the march T had but one thought;

that was that I had come to the day of my death, for



for us to pass under the fire of those



guns. I remembered that it was my mother’s birth-



day—an anniversary which we had always celebrated,

and on which I had often been most joyous. Sud-



denly I looked down, and saw, in a moist ditch in



which I was walking, a spray of myrtle in full bloom.

You must not believe that in battles things pass, as



you see represented in pictures, with a clock-w



regularity. We were deployed as skirmishers—that



we were free in our movements. Despite the dan-

gers of our position, those little blue flowers attracted



me. I went to gather the sp



rays of myrtle; at the same



moment I felt as if a terrible wind swept above me.



Then I heard a loud sound as of thunder, and my back
7
76. ROMAIN KALBRIS.



was coycred with a shower of loose earth. We were just





before the battery, and had received its full discharge.
If Thad not stooped so low to gather those fhir blue

blossoms of hope, T should, like many of my com-




rades, have fallen, shot through the chest. [remained
safe with my little bouquet. It did me good then,
as often, to think of my mother, By the time we
were

gain in re



of Russian fire, Marshal Ney had



captured their guns.”

All cagerness this narration of the battle of





Friedland, that sume evening I read Huber’s battle



of the ants. Huber was blind ; he suw only throug!
the eyes of the most devoted and intelligent of
friends, and to him he dictated the charming book he
If M. de Bihorel

had not thus recommended this reading, if he had



has written upon ants and bees

forced it on me asa task in place of giving it to me

asa reward, what effect would it have produced upon



child of my age, ignorant as I was? Thanks to

the manner of his presentation, the lesson entered a



mind fully prepared
the flight of )

in my memory

it, and to this day, despite



ears, 1 find Huber’s volume more fresh



ind more delightful, than books which
were read yesterda

M. de Bihorel did not
many books. He gave me the Bible, the Jmitation of
Chris





re to have me





, for Sundays, and for my sole pleasure-reading
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 17



a book which his h, child-like spirit held most

de



, which he quoted daily, and upon whieh he
the Granite Glove. It was



sought to model his life



the book which had inspired his toils, his servant’s



name, had given him the notion of his huge um-

The

of the famous castawa



bre! hook was 2



inson Crusoe, the history

and his man Friday.





“Read that,” he said, putting it in my han



You

ypy and busy



uv man of moral cou



“there is the story of

will sce how a man can live and be



alone; how one can begin alone to fashion for him-
self all needful articles; how he can dwell for years
with none to speak to but God.

“You will not see all this at one reading; it will
come to you by and by. Just now, like all other
readers, it will seem to you rather as a fascinating

tale than a grand moral lesson.”



I do not think there has ever been a child who
could read Robinson Crusoe indifferently. As for my-

self, T was tr



ported with delight in it.

I will be honest, however, and admit that I was not
charmed by
of the book—those

so muc



y the philosophy as by the romance

dvent 3 the de-

on the sea;





serted island; the shipwreck; the sava:



res; the fig!



the man Frida



At last my Indian unele had
rival.

T thought I found in this book a justification of


78 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

iy desives. Who does not put himself in fanc



the place of De Foe's hero, and does not ask, “Why:

do not such wonders happen to me? Why can I not



also have adventures 2”
Babes of six months are not the only creatures who.

p



believe if they stretch out their hands they can gi
the moon,



Saturday, who knew so much, did not know how
to read. Seeing my extravagant delight, he asked me
to read those adventures to him.

“ He will relate them,” said M. de Bihorel, “and that
will be pleasanter and more improving to both of you.
‘The primitive style was for people to recite the adven-

tures of heroes.”





Ten years of seat



ing had given to Si

perience, and he did not permit all my



ace



tain ¢



ments to pass unquestioned,
T had one sole reply to make: “It is written.”

“ Are you sure the book says so, my little Romain?”



T would then take the book and read aloud. Satur=
day would listen and rub his nose; then with blind
faith, he would say,

“Since it is written, it must be right; but, all the



same, I have been in Africa, and T never saw lions

swim out to a



tack boats. Go on, Romain; heaye
ahead !”
Saturc



ay had also sailed in northern seas, and he
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 79

repaid my recitals by stories of his voyages. One



year, surprised by ice, they had been obliged to remain
all winter, Six months they lay amid the snows.

More #



an half the erew died—the dogs were dead—
not of cold and hunger, but from loss of light. They
had no oil to keep their lamps burning, and they died
of the darkn Tt v sb

son, but sometimes it was too beautiful to be believed.



nearly a vutiful as Pobin-





“Ts that written?” L would demand.



Saturday was then obliged to convinee me that he
had not read, but that he had seen.

“What difference does seeing make, if it is not writ-
ten?” T would say.

Such companionship, such conversation and such
reading were cyidently not calculated to t



unquilli





my lively spirits or to set before me the glories off a



quiet home life. My poor mother, seeing all my yen-



turesome se



ging proclivities so amazingly encour





aged, a thousand times wished s



he had kept me ay
from M. de Bihorel.
“My dear

would give you hack your child if 1 could sce any



woman,” the good man would say, “1



way for you to guard, train and. provide for him, but

at the best you could not change his natural tempera-



ment. His desires



re born in his blood. Te eomes
of a venturesome race. Why seek to perform the im-

possible? Sailors are not



snevally very fortunate—I
80 ROMAIN KALBR:



agree with you there—but after all, some of them reach
great things.”

Such is the heedless ingratitude of children that at
that moment I would readily have left that noble

protection at the Granite Glove to go to sea.



M. de Bihorel had studied the voices of birds, and

in their evi



he persisted in believing that he had
found a language, for which he had composed + die-
hed me to learn this lexi

tionary. He wi on, but it



was absolutely impossible for me to comprehend it



This occasioned the only difficulty between us. On
account of my ignorance of “bird tongue” he would
fly into wrath. I would burst into tears.

His bird-language was, however whimsical, very
curious, and to this day I regret that I did not re-
member some of the words. Everything which a

ihorel affirmed that he



bird ought to express M. de

had been able to translate. According to him, tall: in



the trees ran this ways “I am hungry. . . . Come,



let us get some breakfast. . . . Save yourself, quickly.





«+ Let us build a nest... . Kia ouah tsioni, be-



hold a storm is rising.

v child and of a



But [ was altogether too much of
country boy to admit, upon any reasoning, that birds
and beasts could speak.

“Why,” said my old friend, “music is a language.

Among men it expresses much. Why can it not ex-






ROMAIN KALBRIS. 83.

press everything among birds? Our dogs, our horses,



all our domestic animals, know what we say to them.
Wi

means of talking with each other

y, then, is it impossible that they should have a



or that we should





Tearn what they Their language sounds no
an or Celtic d

My mother at first considered these pursuits a man-



lects.”,



more barbarous than Afi



ner of sacrilege, but M. de Bihorel puzzled her by his





argument



so she dropped her objections.

« You will see one day,” said M. de Bihorel to me,



&the usefulness of what appears to you absurd.



Your mother is a



aid that you will be a sailor, 1



have no anxiety about it, for if you entered the navy

to-day, in four or fiv



ye:



you would leave it with
It

ion of your family, and we must in

disgust. But you have a passion for travellin





is the ruling p:



some way manage to satisty your wishes and at the



same time accord with the desires of your mother, I



wish you would become such a man as Ande

Michaux, whose life you were reading the other d



ited Japan,



or as



iebold, the Dutch physician who
or like that Englishman, Robert Fortune, I wish you

would be able to trayel in unknown countries ; that



you could return and enrich France by your gco-





graphical discoveries, by new varieties of animals and



plants; that you might become the soldier of science,

Would not this be better than to spend your days as
84 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

a sailor, ever on the seas



frolicking ashore in the

cafés of Rio Janeiro or Havre,



ad flying from Liver-

pool to Caleutta? If ever you live to. re





wishes for you, you will see that these stu



ure, of animals and birds are not useless.”

It was a cha



rming dream, Unfortunately, it was





only a dream, Whether I should ever have directed
my life in accordance with these hopes of M. de
Bihorel, I cannot tell, for he ceased to have charge of

me at the very tim



» when T needed him most, and



began most to profit by the example and lessons of a

nian truly excellent, despite his numerous oddities, I





must now rel



ate this great misfortune—the loss of my

second



her.





I habitually accompanied M. de Bihorel in all his



pedestrian or boating excursions. We loved to be to-
gether. Sometimes, however, he took a little sail-

boat and went ont alone, that he might study at his



le



ure the habits of the birds in the island of Cranes,
about three long leagues from Port-Dicu.

One day he went off thus carly, before I had risen,



and we were gre: at he did not return



tly surprised th



home in time for dinner,



“He has lost the help of the incoming tide, and
now he will not get in until evening,” said Satur
day.

The we



ther was calm, the sea smooth as glass.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 85

there was no appearance of any danger, but Saturday

seemed unquict.



Evening came, but M. de Bihorel did not return,



and Saturday, instead of going to sleep, lit a g

und.



bonfire upon the highest point of the i



«L me to,



T wished to remain near him, but he ore

go to bed. Before daybreak I vose and joined him.
He p:
flames of
to listen. We heard noth

uullen roar from the shoals, a



1 to and fro with long strides, feeding the red





om time to time



his signal-fire, stopping

put the low murmurs of



sometime



ad of birds which the light had dis-



turbed in their nests in the cliff, and which flew in



circles blindly above our beacon.

A white light lit th



uustern sky,





“Surely something has happened to him; it is day-



break,” said poor Saturday. “Let us take the boat,
called Gossman, and go to the island of Cranes.”
The island of ¢

which is only inhabited by sea-birds. We took the

nes is a mass of ite rock





boat, as the man said, and had soon explored the

eof M.



whole of the little island, but found no
de Bihorel or his shallop.
At Port-Dicu © ted, f

his oddities M. de Bihorel was dearly loved, and his



rin spite of



‘y one was e



disappearance was inexplicable,

“He has been drowned,” said some.
86 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Phen we should haye found the boat,” said others.
“Where would the current have driven it or the
body 2” people asked.
As for Satur
paced the shore. When the tide ebbed, he followed



Â¥y, he said nothing; but every day he



the retreating waters, searching every meoyered rock,

every shallow, every crevice. He extended his explo-



rations for six leagues on cither side of Port-Dien.
He did not speak. I never heard him mention the
name of M, de Bihorel; only when he met a fisher
man coming home from sea, he would ery out,

“ Any news?”



And the fisher, understanding all he meant, would



say,
«No news.”
Then, if he detected a tear in my eyes, he would

pat my head, and say, “ You are a good boy



a very
good boy.”
Five days after the strange absence of M. de Biho-

rel there came from Lower Normandy to the Granite



Glove a M. de la Berryaise. He was the nephew and



ntleman.



only relation of our dear old gx

After we had given a lengthy account of M. de
Bihorel’s departure, and all that had been said and
done, he hired twelve fishermen of Port-Dieu and

ordered a thorough exploration of the coast.



The search lasted three da;



The evening of the


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 87

third day the men came back, saying that all farther



effort was useless, for that M. de Bihorel was surely



dead, and boat and body must somehow have been



swept out to the open sca.



“What do you know” cried Saturday, furiously.



“ How dave you say he is dead? He is not drowned.



On the contrary, he has probably gone to England,



and I have no doubt but he will be home to-morrow



No one a



nswered his reproaches. All respected his
great love and sorrow, but no on

The next day M. de la Be

ced. his opinion.



called us to him,



Saturday and me, and told us that as sole heir he took



possession of the Granite Glove. We need remain

there no longer, for he meant to shut the place up, and



a farmer in the



sinity would take care of the live-

mame to sell it.



stock until the legal tim
that



Saturday was so suffocated with grief and ri
he could only utter a few indistinct words. Then at

las



, turning to me, he said, “Pack up your bag, and





let us leave here immediate



As we left the island we met M. de la Bi





upon the shore. Saturd

jay marched up to him.



Sir,” said he, “you m



be perhaps



as his heir doing
right in the eyes of the law, but not in my eyes—not
in the eyes of a bluff old tar.”

Tt had been a



nged that Saturday should accept



the hospit:
8

ity of my mother until he knew what he
88 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

would do with himself, but the poor fellow did not



arry with us long.

Every morning he went along the coast, continuing



his search. This he did for three weeks. Then he



told us one evening that next day he should set out

on hi



s travels, Maybe he would go to England.



“Do you not know that the sea never ke



"he said. “Lt always casts up its prey. ‘There-



if it has not
d him.”

ied tor

ast ont to us my master, it is be-

ase it never hi



My mothe on with him, but he would



say nothing further,



L went with him upon a little cutter on which he

set forth on his journe:



As Lsadly bade him good-bye, he said, “You a



a good boy. You shall some day go back to Granite



nd feed the black cow with salt. She lov



Glove



yon well.”




CHAPTER VI.

bris blood of whom f
od

the land to the sea. [fe was an auctioneer at



ITAD an uncle of |

have not yet spoken, and who had pr



the town of Dol, and passed for rich,

My mother, not knowing what to do with me after
the loss of M. de Bihorel, feeling that I needed to.
le:

me, wrote to this uncle for advice. A month after her

some business and to have some one to govern



Jeter he arrived at Port-Dicu.
«I did not answer your letter,” he said, “because I
meant to come here; and money is too hard to earn to

I did not come sooner be-



be wasted paying postage.



cause I waited for a chance. IT found a market-man

sy)
90 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

who brought me five leagues for twelve cents. I
footed it the rest of the journey.”

As may be guessed from this language, my uncle
Simon was, to say the least of it, an economical man.
He soon gave another cvidence of that disposition.
When he had heard all the particulars of our situa

tion, he said,



“There! I see how it is: you do not want that boy



to go to sea. You are right, my sister-in-law. Sea

going wins a dog’s pa



one never grows rich at it.



You would prefer for him to follow the line of life
indicated for him by old Sunday, eh? But, save the
mark, you don’t expect me to help you at it?”

“ Brother-in-law, I have never asked for your
money,” said my mother, with gentle pride.

“Oh, as to money, I haven’t any. People say I am



h, but they are mistaken. I owe more debts than I
am worth. I have been obliged to buy a home, and
that has about ruined me.”

“Our minister has explained to me,” said my
mother, “that the services my husband rendered the

state a:



a marine will enable my son to enter a gov-

ae

“And who will pay his travelling expenses
I. And his clothes
and I will not go to worrying the few influential peo-



ernment college free of ¢



Not
count them. T have no time,





ple whom I know. I may necd help from them for
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 91

inyself some day. No, no; I can tell you a bette





game than that. The Brothers Leheu promised to:

take care of the boy if his father got drowned, and



now it is their duty to pay his expenses.”



“They now 1 no offers of the kind,” said my
mother.
“J don’t care; T shall speak to them myself.”

Here my mother was about to object, but. my uncle



nt on obstinately

“Phat is all a false delicney. We only ask what it

to do. The shame is theirs that they





is their duts



leave you to ask it, not yours that you are forced to
request a favor, Do you see that?”

My poor mother was foreed to yield to a step against



which she protested. Her pride, her f choice



for me, availed nothing, My uncle was a man re-



solved to have his own way.



You know,

“that Tea

he said, in concluding the matter,

for the sake of



rot derange my own al



helping you. When T take the trouble to come here,

the least you can do is to accept my advice.”



He was a man who never lost time.



«for you,” he said, turning to me, “come with



me ately to the house of M. Leheu; we will sec



mimes



them both in the office. You may look if they are



2; Lwill wait in the strect. You ean let me know

the



I know their



when both are in, and we will ente


92 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



ners. Tf we see them sepa



utely, the one whom

we s



ill commence to promise everything, provided

his brother approves, and the brother who is absent,



no matter which it is, never approves of anything. It



is thei



style of doing business, but PII get the better



of the rascals.”

As they were both in the office, we entered, and I
assisted at a strange scene, of which the least details
remain in my memory. ‘The brothers appeared struck

with my looks, for I opened their door with a defiant



manner, Instinetively I felt that it was dishonoring

my noble father thus to demand help on account of





his dying agonie:

blushed to the e

and filled with intense shame, [

8.



While listening to the proposition which my uncle
deliberately and clearly set forth, the two brothers
showed all the evidences of profound astonishment,

and twisted on their chairs as if the



y sat upon thorns,

“Support him while at college?” eried the youngest.



“At college?” shrieked the elder.

“We, the Leheu Brothers?” they screamed together.



“My Goodness! did you not freely promise to adopt
him?” demanded my unele.

“ Adopt him, 12” said the elder.

“Adopt him, you?” shouted the younger.

«Adopt him, we?” they roared in concert.

Then began a conf



and deafening dispute
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 93.

Each response of the younger brother was exactly
repeated by the clder, only in a ten times higher
voice. One exclaimed, the other yelled.

In the midst of all this
permit himself to speak; but when finally the two
, “We already

than we promised. We give his mother a day’s work



uproar my uncle did not



brothers repeated in chor do more





y week,” he smiled a little dry smile which,



falling on their turbulence, strangely produced an
immediate calm,
Finally, as for the fifth or sixth time they renewed

that line of argument, he made a little motion of



impatience. He said, coolly:

“Upon my word, one would think that you were
ruined—the most completely rained of any people I
ever saw. You give—you give— To hear you, one

would imagine that you



ve your whole fortune; and

you give—what do you give? Wh



aday’s work!





What do you pay for work? Ten cents and board.
Do you pay his mother one copper more than any
other workwoman?”

“We pay the usual price,” said the youngest, with
an air of righteous satisfaction, “and we are disposed

we, Tay, )



+s, We—are sometimes quite willing, if



asked, to pay a little orer the ordinary rates if it
would be just to other workpeople. When you say

Kalbris died to save our fortune, you strain a point.
94 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



He died to save mm ors like himself, who might



ny si

have swum ashore for ali he knew. You know very



well that is none of our business; it is the affair of



the government, and you should go to the state pt



for payment for those who risk their lives as a mere
matter of heroism. Ah, well; it is all one, When
that boy is grown up, if he knows how to work and
we will give him just as much work
Will we not,

comes to us, why





he wants at the usual rate of wages.



Jerome?”



ashe wan



© Work!” said the elder; “yes, as mneh
That was all the satisfaction my uncle could get
from these two.

“Look at the gentlemen !” he cried as we went out.



I expected to hear a long-continued explosion off
rage, but he proceeded :

“ Behold the admira



ble gentlemen! Tet them serve

you for an example. ‘They know how to sty no. La



that word up in your memory, It is better than a



bank. It will serve you as well as them. It is



sure

means of keeping what one has gained.”





My uncle then preserved silence, bei stu




pefied at finding some one harder than himself,

Finding that the purse of the Brothers Leheu was



ants, my uncle proposed



not to be open to supply my

to my mother that I should go home with him. He



said he necded a clerk, assistant, errand-boy, all in one,
ROMAIN KALBRI 95.



but if 1
board during the first years, and was



L was too young: for the phice ume for my



indentured to

him for five years, I would in the end make up to him



he remembered



for my carly deficiencies. Moreover,
that I was his nephew, and he wanted to do some-
thing for the family.



Alas! this was



all. Here ended my mother’s ambi-

tious dreams of educating me. But here she suw a



means of keeping me from being a sailor, and so, after
much reluctance, my mother consented, and 1 set out
with my uncle—a sad departure. T wept; my mother
wept even more than [ did, My uncle, unable to

sympathize with cither of us, rudely tore us asunder,



The appearance of Dol, which is assured



y pies



turesque and attractive to an ordinary tourist, made

upon m



the first melancholy impression which I had

ever received from natural obje





Tt was night when we arrived there, and an iey rain



was falling. Having left Port



Dicu in the morning

in a carrien’s ¢



rt which went to the village of Can-



cale, we were set down some five or six leagues from

the city of Dol, and we were forced to make the



at
of the journey on foot, across great’ marshy plains
cut up by ditches full of water. My uncle strode on

before; I followed him with difficulty, still ove



me





by the memory of that mournful parting, Besides

my sori



ssed by a hunger which made
96 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

me tremble; but as my uncle, during all that long

journey, had not spoken of stopping to eat, [did not





dare to mention it. Finally



we perceived the lights

of the city; and after haying traversed two or three



deserted streets, my uncle stopped before a mansio



n

front of which was a large porch resting on heavy



Zz

stone pi » Tle took out a key and unlocked a





door; [stepped forward to enter, but he checked me





—the opening of this door was not finished. LHe took

asecond key, and used it; then a third which



was of enormous size, ‘The hinges turned with a
loud grating noise which L have since heard used in
theatres to signal the opening of dungeon doors.
The undoing of so many locks awed me. At home
At M.de

Bihorel’s we had merely a button. Why did my uncle

we had only a wooden latch with a stri





take all these precaution
He shut the door

me to take his hand, that he might lead me in the



he had opened it. Then he told

darkness across two halls which appeared to me very

larg

ge, and which echoed to our footsteps like a de-



serted church, ‘The house was filled with a strange
heavy smell which I soon Tearned to know. It was:

that of old



hments



{piles of damp paper. ‘The



atmosphere was laden with the woes and cares of men
and of broken households.

He lit

candle, and T saw that we were in a sort


ROMAIN KALB. 97



of

sideboar



itchen, but i



was so encumbered with furniture,



s, dressers, old chairs, black oak tables and
stoves that I could scarcely see floor or walls.
Des

jumped for



te its disagreeable appearance, 1 could ha



oe





joy, for here at last was a chanee to get
warm and find something to eat.

“What! do you wish me to light a fire



said my



uncle—* a fire?”

He spoke in a voice so wrathful that T dared not



say Twas half frozen, though my teeth chattered in
my head.

& We will have supper and get to bed,” he remarked.
He went toa cupboard, and took a roll of bread and
cut off two slices. On cach he laid a small morsel of
cheese. Tle gave me one, laid his own on the table,

and carefully replacing the roll and the cheese-pape



locked them up.
L do not know how a prisoner feels when he hears

the key grate in the lock as he is shut in from liberty



and happiness, but L hope he does not feel much
worse than I did when I heard that cupboard locked.
Tt was evident that it would be useless for me to ask
for more bread, though T could have eaten half a
dozen slices such as my uncle had bestowed upon
me.

‘At the same moment three lean eats sprang into the

kiteh



nd ran to rub aga



my unele’s knees.
98: ROMAIN KALBRIS.

This gave me a ray of hope. ‘The eats had come for

thei dif the cupboard were opened, I



would hay nee to get one more fragment of food.
My uncle did not disturb himself,
©The wretches are thirsty,” he said.“ It is bad to
leave them without drink.” ‘Therefore he gaye them
a dish of water,
“As T shall leay

house,” he said, “T want you 2



you frequently in charge of the

Iways to recollect to





give my eats plenty of water to drink.”
“And th
“There are plenty of rats, mice and roaches if they

ir food 2”



will catch them. If you stuff them with food, you

make them lazy, and they become too fat.”





Our supper being specdily



finished, my uncle told

L

me that he would show me to the room wh



should sleep.

The encumbrances which I had noticed in the
airs, Well was it
that the room was unusually large. [t was with diffi-

kitchen were multiplied above:



culty that one could foree a passage. On every hand



were piled bureaus, wardrobes, fire-irons, clocks,



tues:



and yases in wood and stone,



brackets, stands, pier



tables, pottery and ornaments of the most. singular
and diverse forms, and dozens of articles of which
L did not know the name, Upon the walls hung

pictures, curtains, mirrors, swords, helmets, robes ;


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 99

and in the flickering, uncertain light their wavering
shadows increased for me their mysterious and weird
appearance.

What in the world did my uncle do with this im-
mense collection of movable





‘This question puzzled me, and I found no reply to



it, for it was only after some time that I learned that

to the business of auctioneer he added another much



more lucrative.
Going from Port-Dieu in his carly youth, he had

entered the employ of a pawnbroker in Paris, where



he remained twenty-one years, He left ostensibly to



work as ¢



be auctioneer of Dol, but in



ality

only covered up a more prof



able trade in second=
hand goods, pawned articles and antiquities and euri-

y variet; where to be

osities of eve



Going eve





nt at sales, he had a rare chance to make good

ains, and knew better than most people how to



cover of a fict



profit by them. Under tious name he
knocked down goods to himself’ at low prices, and

rt or fashionable knickknack



ur



Levery treasure of 3



which came in his way. ‘These he sold at enormous
profits to great merchants in Paris with whom he car

ried on a lively trade. Thus it was that his house



from cellar to garret was made a regular magazine of
antiques and of second-hand furnishings.

As every room in that old house seemed to have
9
100 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

been built for giants, the bedroom in which my uncl



established me was immense; yet it was so well filled



with his properties that he had to show me the bed



and how to climb into it. Upon the walls were tape:





tries woven with life-size fi



ures; upon shelves were



stuffed animals—a cormorant, a crocodile, a gray cagle





-, behind a box
it of
mounted by a helmet, which looked :

with wide-spread wings; in a corne





which hid the legs, stood a full



rior, sur

if it held a





living \



rior.

“Are you afraid?” asked my uncle, seeing me



staring.

I dared not admit it, so I said I was cold.



“Ah, well, move about quickly. [am going to
take away the light. You can tumble into bed with-
out a candle.”

T jumped into bed, but hardly had be shut the
door when I shricked after him, Ife returned. He
came to the bed and glared at me :

“Never call after me again, you little fool, or you
and I will have trouble.”

During the next half hour I remained hidden under
the damp bedclothes, shivering with fear, cold and
hungry. ‘Chen, finally, forced to subdue my emotions,

T found a little courage and



ised my head, openin



my eyes.



The storm had ceased ; the ni



t had grown clear:
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 104

Through two high windows the moonlight fell into

the room and divided it apparently into three apart-





ments, two light, one dark. ‘The wind was blowing ;

, and little
clonds continually drifted over the fice of the moon,





the windows rattled in their leaden frames
1 kept my eyes long fixed on that bright orb. I

believe I would have gazed on it all night, for it



seemed fo me in my misery like a lighthouse to a
But the



sailor. I could not be lost while it shon



s I watched



moon rose toward the zenith, and finally



it disappeared above the edge of the window. I shut

my eyes, but could still



plainly every angle of the



room, every fragment of marble, Some irresistible
attraction seemed to bind my thoughts to my singular

surroundings, and with my eyes closed T seemed to



see quite as ly as if they were open.



pla



All at once a gust of wind blow through the house,



crea



the windows



Kked, the tapestry waved, a man em-



broidered in scarlet shook a yellow sword, the cro«



dile danced clumsily, the eagle fluttered his wings,

monstrous shadows ran along the floor, while the



hook in his armor.

the

warrior hung up along the wall



T wished to cry ont, to extend my arms, to entr
warrior to defend me from that frightful red man, but

I could neither speak nor move. I thought I was



about to di

When I came to myself, my uncle had me by
102 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



the arm, and it was broad daylight. My first look
was for the red man. He hung immovable on the

tapestry.



“You will have to learn to wake yourself up ear

in the mornings, my lad,” said my uncle, “Now, up



and be lively, for I have work to do, and T must

out to



My uncle had that wonderful activity which one so
d received the



frequently secs in little people. He

nd in him it had



abundant cnergy of all the Kalbr
only a microscopic body to animate, and it really
seemed as if he would fly to pieces.

He rose

to his offic



ry day at four o'clock, He went down

and worked furiously until the hour when





his business people ved, about eight or nine in the



morning. This work of his four or five hours—lists,
prices, bills of sale—it was my business to copy.

Hardly had my unele set out when T left the task



he had set me, for since my first waking T had been



filled with only one idea—the red man of the tapestry.

T was sure that if the next nig!



t this man could get
Joose from the wall [ should surely die of terror.
Wi
swe

I
When L had found them—and that was not diffiealt,

T thought of his frowning brow and yellow



the sweat rolled down my fice,



searched the house for a hammer and nails.

for my uncle had often to use them to set in order
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 103

furniture which had ved in bad condition—I has~



tened to my bedroom.

T went right to the red man, Te wore the most
inoffensive air in the world, and remained perfectly
T did not :

ul tranquillity,



low.



tranquil in the midst of the tapestry



inyself to be deceived by that hypo

and with sounding blows of the hammer I nailed him

to the wall. The wa made an effort to stir in



his armor, but it was full sunlight; the hour of



phantoms was gone by. I hit him a good blow on



his bre:



plate, and by a gesture I gave the crocodile
to understand that if he did not mind his manners

I would serve him in the same style.





This done, and my conscience being calmed, as 1



had resisted a desi



for vengeance which had pos-

igh the red _ man’s



sessed me to drive a nail th
neck, I returned to thi



office, and finished my



copying before the return of my excellent uncle.



He showed himself satisfied, and kindly told me
that whenever I had got through with my task in his
absence I might for a recreation set myself’ to dusting
and polishing the furniture with a piece of cloth and
acake of wax.

Well, here was a change from the happy, improv-



ing, honest, careful life I had led with my good M.

de Bihorel! I, however, applied myself heartily to

the work which my uncle set me for fourteen how
gs


104 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

each day, but L could not accustom myself to the
ed. The roll

of bread locked up in the eupboard was not an acei-



meagre nourishment which he furnish

dent—it was the rule; and at ev



-y meal T was forced



to content myself with the single slice which my
uncle cut for me.
‘The fourth or fifth d

grew bold. T reached out my hand



antic with hunger, E



he was closing
the door of the closet. My gesture was so eloquent

that my uncle understood it.



You want a second slice?” he said,

his locking up. “You do well to ask that. From

continuing




this day out I will give you a roll expressly for your-

self, During the day, when you are hung



you
will be able to help yourself.”

Twas so grateful E could have hugged him, but he





went on to
“Onl

less the ne

umly,



if you eat too much one day, you must eat



t, because the loaf’ is to last you a week.



I have a rule about food, as about everythii



It is poor policy to pamper the appetite, and at your
re h

‘Twelve ounces of food a d



age children’s than their stomachs.





rive



arly what they



in the hospitals. ‘That will be your allowance. It

is enough for some men, and it ought to be enough



for you. If it is not enough, it is becanse



you are a
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 105

glutton, and I will not encourage you in any evil



T was very anxious to know what twelve ounces

looked like. I got the dictionary, but the punt of



the number of grains in an ounce did not make the

matter any clearer. The dictionary gave no help to



arvin|



eyes or appetite. T wa:
Before I left home m:

cent piece. ‘This T took to a baker who lived oppo-





mother had given me a fifty

site, and asked him for twelve ounces of br ad.



‘After long explanations he sold me three-quarters
of a pound.

One-quarter less than one pound was the amount
of food so generously offered me by my uncle.

In ten minutes, although an hour had not passed
since what was called my dinner, I devoured this
bread. ‘Therefore at tea-time I was less famished.



I know well,” said my uncle, mistaking that for

discretion which was simply lessened hunger as T



cut the bread, “that what [ told you to-day would

restrain your greed. It is the same everywhere. We



save W is our own, waste what belongs to another
Thus it will be with you in eating, and Iam sorry to
see it, When you begin to have money in your
hands, you will hold on to it.”

I had forty-five cents, but I did not keep them

long. Ina fortnight they had been spent to. supple-
106 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

ment the twelve ounces of daily food. My regularity



of bread as soon



in going after my sinall supply



my uncle was gone out attracted the attention of the
baker,
“My man and 1,” he said, “do not know how to

write, and we are obliged every Saturday to give a



written bill to one of our customers. Lf you wish to



help us, L will pay you in two raised cakes, which you



may choose for yourself on Monday morning.”

He made me this offer the very day my money gave
out, ‘Thus Providence watched over my forlorn eon=
You may

dition, in answer to my mother’s pr



judge if I did not :



seept with eagerness this proposi-



tion, I would rather have had bread than the two
cakes, but was loath to say so, for the baker who
dealt with me did not supply my uncle, who got his
bread from the country a cent cheaper, and T could

dure to tell any one how hed L was.



not





ple in starvation,



There scemed something disagree



T might have known that he would not despise my

mise



Why did not a portion of bread which my uncle



supported men suffice for me? Tt was because



in prisons and in hospitals soup, meat and beans are



added to the bread, while with us it was almost the



icle of food; for the rest we only had a



sole ar

hh the best was a red



few odds and ends, of whiel
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 10%

herring, which was sometimes added to our dinner.
there, we divided the herring



When my uncle w



between us. en he was off on his journeys, he:



always ordered me to save half the herring for next
day.
‘To sum up all in a word, what I suffered with



hunger in those unhappy days ean never be told.



Next to our house was a little court separated by a
hedge from the nearest dwelling. ‘This property v



inhabited by a M. Bouhour, who, having neither wife



nor children, had a passion for animals. Among
these animals the one which held the first place in his:
atte
with snow-
Pataud.

‘As it was unhealthy for Pa



stion was a magnificent dog from the Pyrenees,
ite alled



hair and a red nose, that the;





aud to be shut up



in the house, they had built him a cunning rustic

cottage, made of tree trunks, draped with climb





shrubs, and set against the hedge which divided our
yard from M. Bouhour’s.
‘As it was also unhealthy for this dog to eat at his

ter’s table, because the variety and richness of the



food stimulated his appetite, and over-cating gl



ve

him a disease of the



kin, they fed him twice a day in
his own little house, and one of the articles of food



brought him in an elegant poreclain basin was—mill

soup.
108 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

I other animals who keep quiet, Patand had



dainty appetite, casily satisfied; and gen-
erally, if he breakfasted well, he would not eat his

dinner, and if he ate a good dinner, he scorned his



breakfast.

Through gaps in the hedge, I, wandering in our



barren court, saw slices of white bread floating disr



garded in Pataud’s overflowing basin of delicious



milk soup, while the dog slept lazily, haying eaten
all that he could.
nd DP:

times walked through it into our yard.



‘There was a hole in the hedge, ataud some-





the dog



had a reputation for ferocity, and it was not altogether



undeserved, my uncle ne Jared drive him out, and



ventured no unpleasant conduct in the ely brute





presence. Indeed, my uncle rather yalued his pres-



en



as an unpaid watchman, who might euard agair
possible robbers.

Despite Pataud’s high temper, we were soon the
best of fi

leaped out to play with me.





and whenever I entered the yi



One day he «



ied my cap into his house, and



would not bring it back. T gathered up my courage,

and crawled through the break in the hedge in search



of my property. ‘The bowl of soup was in its usual



place, full to the brim with good «



samy milk. It
Saturday night. My loaf had not sufficed for




1 PUT MY MOUTH TO THE BRIMAUNG RASES AND
DEAN GRREDILY

ROMAIN KALBRIS. i



wined for



my eating all the week, and there only re

my next meal a crust about the size of a common





potato. [was so hungry that a dull pain gnawed in

my chest. I could not resist the sight of food.
Kneeling, I put my mouth to the brimming basin
and drank greedily, while Pataud sat by wagging
tail.

Brave beast! He was in those dreary days my



only friend. Thereafter each evening he came, and



nose



putting his beautiful rosy to my hand, led me

rs to share hi



to his quart 's supper, and cach instant as



Tdrank he gave me a caressing pat, while his great
brown eyes regarded me tenderly, Such a singular

friendship and confidence sprang up between us that



to this day I think he felt my hunger and lonelines:
and was as conscious of his protection to me as I was
grateful for it

But whither did this life tend?

Pataud would not be always with me to supply my
wants, and most likely as time passed on I should
have been insensibly dragged into evil ways, and into
deeds which I should have blushed here to relate.
‘The spring-time came, the season when M. Bonhour
took his establishment into the country; he departed,
taking the dog with him, and I was left doubly alone,

having no companion but my uncle, who ga



ye me no



love, no fi
10

jendship, nothing in the world but the nig
112 RO}



(NV KALBRIS.

gardly portion of food which barely served to whet
the appetite of a hearty and growing boy.
Those were sad da

T had often Jong hours un-



occupied when I was left to k the house alone.



With nothing to do in the sombre office, Isat think-

ing of my mother, happily unconscious of my troubl



and hopeful of my future, It was too far for her to

labor for



come and see me—she depended on a

her bread. T often longed to write to her to relieve

my sad thoughts, but a letter from Dol to Port-Dieu





cost six cents; and then, besides the fact that I could
get no money to prepay the postage, I remembered
that she by a whole day’s-toil earned only ten cents
and her board, and so, though I often poured out my
sad heart to her in letters, I ended by tearing them
up on account of the expense of sending them.

‘Times were very hard for the poor when I was



young.

I tried to content myself with watching for some



friendly market-carrier who would bring me news of



her, and take a letter for me without charge. ‘The
supply of nourishment which for weeks had awaited

the h



ble man



ion of the dog Pataud had
prevented my fecling for a time the dire exigencies of
cd of food

lays dragged on, until each one



my position, When he was gone, dep





and ]



ymate, t

seemed a year long.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 113

Now, while my uncle’s loaf was shut in a cupboard,
under lock and key, my loaf lay in an open drawer.
‘This did not appear noteworthy to me, because there
were only us two in the house, Still, T thought my
C
my dire suspicions. T happened to go unheard into



bread vanished faster than I ate ance confirmed



the kitchen just as my uncle, my rich uncle, was cut-
ting a slice off my poor stale loaf and stuffing it into
his mouth, A whirlwind of passion swept over me.



T flung back the door by which I had come. Indig-



nation gave me a courage of which hitherto I had not
been capable, for I greatly feared the man:
“Uncle, what are you doing? That is my loaf!”
“Don’t think I cut it for myself,” he

utmost deliberation. “Tt is for the white cat. She





id, with the



has kittens, and surely you don’t want them to perish
of famine. Never forget, Romain, that it is your duty

to be kind to animals.”



T never had in the least loved or respected my



uncle, I had smothered an aversion to him.

it bl

cruel tyrant. I hated myself for being his nephew.



Ww



ed forth, He was a hypocrite, a liar, a thief, a



How came he of the



free, generous, jovial Kalbris



blood? How dared he call himself my father’s
brother?
The whole root of this man’s badness was his

ayarice. Well is it written, “The love of money is
14 ROMALN KALBRIS.

the root of all evil’ His greed for gain made him



harsh, indifferent to privations, careless of the woes



of others, sensible only to the possession of gold, di





honest, unqnict, unhappy, wretched over every cent
he spent, tormented by fear of approaching old age,
when he could neither defend his possessions nor add
to them, ‘To-day the memory of his queer, stingy
ways has a ludicrous as well as a wicked side, and

I fi

their time were bitter facts of personal es



uently burst into a laugh at recalling what in





In those times T had all the honest indignation of
boyhood at injustice, and all things presented to me

their tragic side. We have to grow somewhat old



before we can see the comical in what hurts us.

My uncle was, as may be guessed, almost perfectly



indifferent in his dress and personal appearan




could go both dirty and ragged without any
Therefore Iwas much amazed one morning to find

him given over to brushing, blacking, washing and





polishing himself and his garments, and practicing airs
and graces before a huge mirror in the vestibule. He
put his hat on his head, cocked it on one side, took it

off and rubbed it, regarded it, examined his looks in



it, retired backward, howed low, pressed forward and
smirked repeatedly. What was the queerest part of

the affair was that he brushed his hat two ways—from



top to bottom, Tt was a high-crowned beaver hat,
ROMAIN KALBRIS, lo

and he laid half the hair down perfectly smooth and

shining, then he rubbed the other half up from




bottom to top, and left it standing bristling ab-

surdly, I made up my mind that he had become

©



y, for of all things that beaver hat was hi
ticular care and delight. He always wiped it

entially with an old silk rag; and if he went out with



lwa



it when it was damp, he



pied a brown paper



over it carefully, to absorb the moisture and protect
the fur, Likewise he never put it on without a

band of paper laid inside around his head to. pro-



tect his



from sweat or the outlines of his hair,
This band of paper often clung so closely to his

head that when he removed his hat to bow—for he was



ile in his polite stuck ridieu-

ht

to all—the pape




to his head, making a droll crown, at the
th all the small boy

of whi



in the street went into fits



of merriment. I would also observe that these urchins





were uu



xtremely particular to do their laughing out of
reach of his walking-stick.

“Come, nephew,” he said to me, secing that I eyed
all his motions closely. “What do you think of my
hat?”

I thought all sorts of things, but at that moment
could not venture to express any one of them, so
I said, cautiously,

“T th

108



it is exceedingly well preserved.”
116 RO.



MAIN KALBRIS.

“That is not what Task you, Does it look as if I
were in mourning? Does the lower half, where I
have rubbed the beaver up, look as if it had a erape
band around it? ‘Phat is what Tam aiming at, stupid.
See here, nephew. Our friend Jerome, at Cancale,
has just died, and I am forced to go to his funeral.
Tt is quite bad enongh for me to pay a quarter of a
dollar of fare to get to Cancale without having to lay

ont money on a mourning hat-band. Ci



ape would



only do me once; if somebody died every day, it would
be another matter, but none of my friends may be

Be

a fool as to go into mourn

buried a



ain for yea! vsides that, Tam not such





x for a stupid who died

so poor th

debts.”
Nev

in which I



he had nothing to leave a



fier paying his

ory






hed to indulge. T had never seen this



Jerome who was dead; I only knew that he was a



man who had alw olde

nd had been his playmate in



s been unhappy, who





than Uncle Simon,



childhood, his comrade in youth, until th



growing
cares of life had driven them asunder, I went

back to my office-work stupefied with wonder. I had



gained from my mother and M. de Bihorel chiv:



rie



notions upon fami



- ties, the loyalty of friendship and

the memory of



rly love,

Where was there in my uncle a tr



of generous
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 7

fecling? Not even death or an open grave could
make him for one instant humane.

My ideas on these subje



ets were not the only ones

which were disturbed by this daily contact with my



uncle. Not that he cared enough for me to give me



any direct lessons either good or bad, but his hideous

example was for ever before me.



Auctioneers in Normandy are the confidants and



witnesses of many sorrows. ‘To that: profession my
uncle joined that of usurer, pawnbroker, unlicensed
banker; and the collection of woes and anxieties
which passed through his office was singularly com-
plete. In the office he and T sat at the same table
face
with his customers. If he was transacting any very

to face; thus I assisted at all his interviews.



weighty affairs, he dismissed me to the garret to polish
old furniture.
Never did I

though besought never so pitifully for

him yield to a prayer for moncy,





a few days?

grace before he should foreclose a mortgage, distrain



for rent or sell pawned goods. ‘Tears, supplications,
the most touching reasons, found him harder than a
rock; he remained as placidly indifferent as if he

were absolutely deaf. When he began to be weary of



entreaties, he would draw out his watch and lay it
hefore him on the table, saying:

“T have no more time to lose, my dear friend. It
118 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

is quite enough to be daily losing my money. If
you have yet anything worth while to



ay which it

will pay me to hear, I am at your se If I must



listen to you, consider, I charge for my time a dollar
an hour. It is now five minutes before twelve ; pro-



coed, if you will talk on my terms.”

dl. I have seen



Poor women wept and supplic



great men fall on their knees in their distress, begging
time, only time to pay what they owed—a week, a
month, ten days, even ten hours. This they entreated.
But ii
witnessed, It is enough that I tell you this only to



would take too long to recount all which I

make you understand fully the character of my uncle
hi he filled my
soul. I had been bronght up in a nobler school. But
Tw:
cruel, I did not comprehend the ruin and misery of

Simon and the sentiments with whi





so young that, while I thought him wicked and



his victims. A child still, the woes of my fellow-

creatures passed from my mind when they vanished



from before my sight. A child’s philosophy is that
everything will be got along with somehow by grown
people, Neither was I old enough to understand the
frauds and rogui



y of which my uncle was guilty.



‘Lhe first time when I clearly perceived his dishonesty
I paid dearly for my knowledge, as I shall now

proceed to show you.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 119

He hud purchased at a low valuation an ancient



landed property, which he found he could sell to
advantage if it were renovated and set in order.

‘Therefore he got men to work, and each Saturday





ight there came to the office a troop of laborers and
artisans to be paid for their week’s work.

One Saturday I saw a master-mason come in, He



appeared surprised to find me in the office alone, be-
cause my uncle had charged him to come in at that

hour to have his bill settled. Therefore he sat down



to wait for him.
One hour went by, two hours, and yet my uncle did

not come; four hours, and yet he remained absent.



Still the master-mason waited anxiously. Finally,

He



at cight in the evening, in walked my unc
cried out:
“Hoity toity! is this you, M. Refarin? Very



sorry iness, you know.”



, but bu



ee seen used



My unele had a manner whieh [have
by other people—that of endeavoring to make them-



selves seem of importance when they appear simply
ridiculous. Now, instead of attending to M. Refarin,
he turned to me, pompously questioning me as to what

had passed during his absence, read the letters which



had come for him, examined some newly-arrived



bargains, and then, when he had given a good half
120 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

hour to such performances, turned to the master-
mason, who still waited in stony silence, saying,
”



“Well, my good fellow, what do you want
“You know you promised me to settle my
bill?”
“True, I did, but ’m sorry to say I haven't the

money.”



ir, to-morrow is my pay day, and I have a bill
of two hundred and fifty dollars to settle at the house

of your partner, and he presses me for it. See, sir, six



months ago you promised me faithfully that to-day I
should have this money. Sir, I relied on your word.
Don’t fail me now.”

“My word! What word?”

interrupted my uncle.
“Did I say to you, ‘I give you my word of honor

s No, I didn’t.
A word? A

I will pay

that I will pay you on





Then what word do you invok
mere nothing. I said, ‘Come Sa
you.” What Saturday, pr:
Refarin, there are words and words; don’t forget
that wis







now, M.

dom.”





r, I don’t understand you, Pardon me. Lam



Dut a poor simple man. when I say I will pay





Saturday, I pay. I keep my wore



“ And suppose you don’t have the money ?”



“When TI promise, I see to it that I am able tc
fulfil. I think, sir, you are merely joking with me,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 121



but th
house has my word. I owe him, and he'll press me

affair is seriou:



Your partner in the other



for the



money.”

Refiurin then set himself to explain his position.
He had borrowed moncy, fully trusting to the prom-
ised and overdue payment of my uncle. If he did not
pay next day, on Monday he would be seized and put



in prison, His wife was ill, very low. Such ans’



and trouble would kill her.
‘To all this painful story my uncle only replied,
“No mon



ey, my dear fellow—no money. Do you
want me to fly to the moon for the sake of paying



you? Sue me,



you like, but lawsuits cost money

and take time; and if you choose that way of getting



your cash, it will take you a y

Now, four or five days before this I had been
present at an interview between my uncle and his
partner in trade, I had heard this partner explain
the case, and my uncle advised him to push matters
to extremity and sei



e the master-mason’s property,



alue to them than the
the

as they could make it of more



debt. More than this, my uncle



1 creditor,



for he had furnished his partner the money which had
. With-

out understanding all the merits of the case, it seemed

heen lent to M. Refarin to use in his busines



to me that even at the risk of offending my uncle I
ought to come to the aid of this poor man. His sick
122 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

wife might die. I thought of my mother, and her
tender heart stirred in me.

So just 2
“T tell you I have no money. If I had one dollar



my unele repeated for the tenth time,

you should haye it,” I cried out in a loud voice,

“Uncle, you have it. Some money was paid in to
me to-day while you were out.”

“What are you doing, my little Romain?” said my
unele, glibly, coming near me.

We privately seized my arm, and pinched it black
and blue.

“The child is half witted, and lies besides,” he said,
calmly, to M. Re



farin.

This man, who had not seen the pinch and the
kiek with which my uncle had favored me, thought
he was trying to escape from the subject in hand.
‘Lherefore he at once led back to business so very
important to him, saying,

“Then, sir, you sce you have the money.”

My exasperation was at its height.

“See it, see it!” I





reamed, pulling some bank-



notes out of a drawer and displaying them.
‘The two men at the same moment sprang toward

my hand, but my uncle




more active than the mason,
grasped the roll of notes.





“Hark you, Refarin,” he said, after a few mo-

ments’ silence



“I want to do for you all that I possi-
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 123

1)

words, but outpourings of honor and loyalty, T make



can, and to prove to you that these are not idle

you this offer.
lars
them a sacred debt, T shall be dishor

Behold; here are seven hundred dol-





which I have just this day received to pay with

if I do not



pay it to-morrow. But I will risk my reputation. 1



will give it to you, though I cannot possibly raise



another cent in time to pay




any other bill. T sacrifice

inyself to your needs, Refarin, Say no more. Sit
down and write me a receipt in full for your
bill”

At the first moment Refarin looked



he were

re nd thank him, be-



dy to fall on my ucle’s nec!



eause he had not been so wicked as he at first had



intended, but common sense spoke amid excited feel-



ing. Said Refarin,
“A rec

bill is one thousand dollar
“Ah, well?”
“And you oft

you, kind employers they will do me much



sipt in full? Sir, do you not know that my









Thank



me seven hundred, sir?



good—



save me from difficulty. T take them, and I will give

you a receipt for so much on account.”



My unele would not yield. If he then and there





paid the seven hundred dollars, he would get a receipt



in full for a bill of one thousand. Not to get any





money that very day would be ruin to poor Ref
0
124 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

death to his wife. Refarin argued, explained, im-

plored, but all to no purpo: He had to agree to



these terms.
«'The notes,” he said, angrily.
“ Her
Then the master-m
“
poverty, such as mine, to moncy made as you make



they are,” said my uncl



amiably.



on, rising, put on his hat.





,” he said, firmly, “1 prefer an honest



yours. Your wealth is accu

“That is merely a matter of taste,” said my uncle.
Then, smiling most cheerfully, he conducted M.
Refarin to the door, and with many bows bade him
a cordial good-cvening.

Seareely had he closed the door upon the master-
mason than the expression of his countenance changed ;
and without giving me time to say a word or defend
myself, he give me a terrible blow which laid me
prostrate on the floor.

«Between us two,” said he, “Iam sure you spoke
of that money just for spite, knowing well I did not
wish you to do so, you abominable young profligate.”

The blow hurt me cruelly, but it did not daunt me;

all T thought of was to revenge myself for insult and



injury.
“Tt is true, I did know you did not wish the
money mentioned,” I said, wrathfully.

Te sprang at me like a tiger, but I prevented the
ROMAIN KALBRIS



now attack, for T jumped behind the table, and pulling



it toward the wall, kept it between us. Seeing that

Thad escaped from his hands, his fury so increased



that he seized a great quarto dictionary and hurled it
at my head; I fell to the floor, In my fall my head

uck the corner of the table, and I became insen-



sible. In some moments I revived a little, understood





my situation and slowly struggled to my fect.
L supported myself against the wall, and the blood,

flowing freely from my wounded temple, ran over my



shirt and coat. My unele just glared at_me, without





offering me any help or expressing any sorrow.

“Go wash yourself, you vile magpie,” he growled,

“and consider what you have got for mixing your



prate in my affairs, If you ever meddle again in my
business, V1 kill you.”

“Sir, I wish to leaye your house.”

And where would you go?”
PT

Oh, indeed, indeed! Well, you won't go there,



“Tome to my moth aid, in a choked voice.



You were bound to me for five years, and T mean to





keep you. If your mother helps you off, she will



have to pay the legal forfeit for aiding runaway



apprentices. Oh, T want to go home to my mother!

mammy, mammy, mammy! Oh, E want to go home

tomy mammy! You great baby !”


CHAPTER VII.

{4 HAD been for a long time tormented by an
time that I

me



idea which



was hur y une’
ae
& too roughly—th:
My thought was to escape from Dol and go to

Havre to take ship. During the hours of my un



y, every day,





T had frequently amu



absence from the office



journey upon



myself by tracing my prospecti





at chart of Normandy which hung in the



Jacki IT had fashioned myself one of



aL compass
wood. dT had

Bihorel had taught me to do. My route would he
136



ured the distanees as M. de


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 127

this: From Dol, going to Pontorson, 1 would sleep

at Ayranches. From Avranches I would go to Ville-



dieu, Villers-Bocage, Caen, Dozule, Pont-lEveque,



Honfleur, Tt would be more than an



y walk.
If I could get together twenty cents—only twenty
conts—I would at least be sure not to die of hunger

on the



ad. But how could T amass such 2 capital as



y of this



twenty cent T had always hesitated in vie



impossibility.

The dictionary matter decided me. Shut up in




my room, after ha



¢ bathed my head under the
pump in the yard, and thus having stanched the
flow of blood, I saw no longer any difficulties ;
nothing was so bad as to stay where L was.

The blackberries had commenced to grow ripe
along the hedges, there were cggs in the birds? nests

by the woods, fortunate people had found. p



nnies



lying in the dust of the highways, and, morcover,

why \ urket-man who



s I not likely to meet some 1



would kindly give me a ride in his cart, or even grant

me a morsel of bread as payment for driving his



ho



«es while he slept? Such things had happened.
Thad read of them, heard of them, seen them,
At Havre I did not doubt that 1 could find plenty

of captains who would take me on their ships as



acabin-boy. Once at sea, there would follow a lucky

» be a sailor, Then [



voyage, and I would at om
re
128 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

would retum home. I would go ro
D

mother in my arms and press into her hands all my

ly to Port-



I would enter our little house,



clasp my





But suppose we were shipwrecked ?

All the better. We were of course to be wrecked



on a deserted island, and I would have parrots,



find sa’



ges, and imitate thee, O Robinson Crusoe

Thinking thus, I was no longer conscious of the



ain in my head, and forgot that I had had no



dinner.



Every abit



Sunday morning it



my uncle's



to start off c:



rly to inspect and gloat ever his new
property, and he did not return from the estate until

late in the evening. Therefore I was sure that from



the Saturday night when we had our quarrel until

the following Monday morning I should not sce him,



and by setting off immediately I could get thir



ake.



hours’ start of any pursuit he might undc





how could T get out of the hous The doors were



double-locked, the keys in Uncle Simon’s pocket. I

decided that T would jump from my window to the



Once in the garden of M. de Bou-
get to the field

yard, and then ereep through the gap in the hedge by

Patand’s house.





hour, I could
Tt w





iny bed that I discussed and arranged my






ROMAIN KALBRIS. 131

plan, only waiting to execute it until my uncle was
abed and asleep.

Soon I heard him enter his room, ‘Then almost
immediately it seemed to me that he was coming up
to the second story, taking care to make no noise,

What! did he suspect my plot, and was he watching



me? He stopped at my door, and warily opened it
With my
hidden in the cov
half-shut lids T

the trembling of his hand, which he held before the



face turned toward the wall, and my nose
rs 11

aw his shadow on the wall and noted





till, but between



perfect







candle to shield the flame from my He stole



gently near my bed, seareely breathing.
I feigned a profound sleep. I knew that he was
and held the



disturbed about me, that he drew ne:



light to my head, and that with the tips of his fing



he carefully parted the locks of hair which covered
the wound on my brow. ‘Then he muttered to him-
self, “That will do no harm.” After this he stole out
as he had come.

t, such a mark of interest, would onee



Such an
have sufficed to melt my heart and change my pur
pose, but now it was too late, Tn fancy Thad smelt
the salt breezes of the beloved sea, I had heard the
rattle of cordage, I had opened the tantalizing portals
of the unknown.

‘An hour after the departure of my uncle, when T
182 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

thought that he was sound asleep, T rose and began

my preparations for my exodus. ‘They were small



chief’ two shirts



enough; Thad only to tie in a handker
and a pair of stockings.

I hesitated whether to wear a thin cloth Sunday-





suit—my especial pride-but a ray of good sense

unexpectedly illumined my benighted little soul, and
T took instead a stout jacket and a pair of gray cloth



pantaloons; then, my shoes in hand, [ stole out of my
room. Se

idea possessed m



reely had I shut my door than an amazing

T returned. While the moon was





not full, the night was not very dark, and my ey




accustomed to obscurity, could casily distinguish objects.
I put a chair on my bed; and climbing thereupon, L
was able to reach the crocodile, which hung from the
ceiling ; with my knife I cut the cord which held it;
and eatching it in my arms, I serambled down, laid it
at its length in my bed, and put my little white cotton
nighteap on its head; then I tucked it neatly in, and

pulled the bed clothes over it.



I pictured to myself the figure my uncle would

make on Monday morning when he came, enraged at



my sloth, to call me, and would find in my y
crocodile, T laughed until T cried, while like a sim-
pleton I wondered if he would think the crocodile
had revived and eaten me up. ‘This bit of pleasantry

was all my effort at revenge.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 133



It

above them confer upon one. W



onishing what valor four walls with a roof



nT found myself
in the garden of M. de Bonhour, after having happily



scrambled down from my window upon a shed and

thence



to the ground, I did not fecl in the least like
laughing. I looked suspiciously all around me; the
trees seemed in the night to have assumed strange
forms; between the masses of foliage were great black
hollow



from which I longed yet feared to turn my
a light breeze passed over the br
tled with ter
what I did, I crawled into the little rustic house of



eye hes, and the





leaves ri ble si



ands ; without realizing

my Ioved and lost Pataud. Poor Pataud! If he had
been there, F would haye had one friend, and need not
haye run away.



Thad always believed that I was brave, but now I





felt my knees shaking, my tecth chattering in my





head, and T was
if Tw.

to get back into my uncle’s house. I sprang out of



shamed, But T argued upon my



emotion really afraid, my only resoure

mmy hiding-place and walked up to a dark-leayed rust=

ing tree. Tt was my orac



it seemed to say to me,
«Do not be afraid to go your way; nothing will harm
and

you. ‘There is no nd but the stir of leavi





the chirp of birds which haye their nests among the
trees.”

T took comage. I flung my bundle oyer the wall


134 ROMALN KALBRIS,

which divided the garden from the open country ;



then, boy like, T erawled and struggled up until I
on the top of the wall. I looked far out across the

ure stirred upon



ficlds; they lay in peace; not a er
them. ‘They were quite deserted; I heard no sound;
iny spirits rose. Morning would dawn after a while.
I slid to the road upon the outer side.

Picki

hour without once stopping, for I knew if I paused

up my little parcel, Tran for more than an



and gaye myself time to look about and think, I
should be ready to die of fear, At last breath failed

me. Twas in the midst of broad fields tra



versed by

aditch or canal which, by its drainage, turns the once



swamp into a plain, carrying the water to the sea, Tt

was hi



ying-time, and throngh a white mist slowly
rolling up from the moist ground [ saw the hay-

coeks which bordered the road, Without changing



the general direction of my course, I crossed into the

field from the highway and burrowed under the hay.



ain of b



T was cer
the
the world. At last I began to breathe casil;

ing more than two leagues from

ity, and J felt as if IT had got to the end of





Overcome by divers emotions, weakened by my

wound, enfecbled by hunger, [nestled down under



rm from the bright sun



the sweet-seented hay, yet we i

which had blazed on it all day. ‘There I slept, lulled
by the strident song of millions of houscless crickets,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 135



who in the di



hes and along the close-worn plain
kept up their discordant plaint the live-long summer
night. I slept soundly—too soundly for my good in
such unhealthy quarters.

The cold aroused me. The humid chill of early

dawning penetrated to my very bones. I ached and



shivered



as I slept. I opened my eyes; the stars were



1 the shadows



paling. Great white rays of light p
of the night, and over the prairie trailed a cloud of
mist which rolled itself and rose like columns of

smoke.



My clothes wer had been dipped

in water ; for while the hay had at first warmed me, it



had from its looseness permitted the heavy dews to
fall upon me, and now I was chilled to the heart.
of

ening I had been



But more painful than the cold was a se




ness which overcame me. In the



sad and lonely, grieved and disappointed; in the
morning I suffered from what is worse—an unquict
conscience. While my body had slept my soul had
had time to regain power, and now the voice which
God puts in every heart to guide




The shipwreck, the deserted isle, the glor
new Crusoe, no longer seemed to me so agreeable as
home. Suppose the runaway should return no more ;
suppose I should never again see my dear mother,

What if she died while I was away? My eyes filled
12
136 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

with tears at the thought ; and despite the cold, I re-



mained sitting motionless on the haycock, my head
resting on my hands

When I fi
T would go at once to Port-Dieu, and I would not



ly rose up, my plans were all changed.
set out for Havre until I had seen my good
mother,

I could reach my home



at evening; and concealing



myself in the garret, I could remain all night and go
off in the morning without any one suspecting that I
had been there, I could sce her if she might not see
me or speak to me. It seemed to me that if I could

thus look upon her, and ean



with me the memory
of her face, the fault which I should commit in



leaving her would be less great.

In those d:



the Jaws concerning apprenticeship



were vel



stringent. I knew my uncle would seek

for me, and it was needful that my mother should





be absolutely clear of all participation in my es
cape, if she was to be free from the imposition of a
fine.

I picked up my parcel. I had twelve leagues to

travel, and it behooved me to lose no time. Day



would soon dawn. Already I heard the voices of
the birds fluttering in their nests and increased the

whirr of insects,



Tt was necessary for me to walk briskly, and as I
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 137

thus exercised I grew less sad ; the chill and pain in



my limbs passed away. The rosy flush of morning





lighted all the sky; the east glowed in beauty. As



the shadows fled the dismal ideas which tormented



me passed away, and all the exaggerations of my feel-



ith the vani



ings departed hing night.
‘The mantle of mist which hung over the plain col-

lected over the



anal; white, fleeey clouds seemed to
divide from it and drift low in the sky. Long
streams of yellow light and flashes of crimson flame
blazed up to the horizon. A gentle breeze sprang up
and toyed among the moist branches of the trees along



my path, Herbs and flowers seemed to up into

a new life and beauty. The:



ayed and nodded on



their stems as if saluting each other. The darksome





night had performed its mission and was
golden day

While I lived with M. de Bihorel
the sun ris

gone.



es, birds, flowers, lost boy, all were glad of the



I had often s
nd had never paid much attention to it,



en





but now, as if by my emancipation I had become one
of the masters of the earth, I condescended to take
pleasure in the beauty of the spectacle.

‘The new-made lord of creation did not delay to
find that if Nature had gratifications for his eyes
she offered nothing for his stomach. Flowers were
everywhere, fruits nowhere. I had perhaps done
138 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

wrong in leaving the matter of food to mere hap-
hazard.
‘After having walked some hours the matter of

doubt became a certainty. Mother N as





niggard as my uncle Simon, and was leaving me to



In the fields there y
the contrary, the villa



absolutely nothing to eat. On
seemed full of food, As I



went through these little Norman hamlets I saw prep-



arations for the



Sunday family dimer. Upon the
tables of the cottage
b

women ¢



were joints of mi



it; from the



n the boys with big brown loaves, and the



ried home pots of soup and basins of baked

beans, C1 nell of hot



sp fritters gave forth a goodl,





butter. When I saw these things, I fairly grew faint
with longing.

Whenever an unhappy creditor had complained



to my uncle that he was stared in the face by famine,



my uncle had never failed to tell him,

“Pooh, pooh! ‘Tighten your belt; that will cure
you.”

T wonder if those who do not seruple to make thi

recommendation ever tried their own remedy ? for in



my extremity I followed the often-heard advice, and
drew tight the buckle of my waist-strap. ‘The leather

hurt my flesh, I breathed with difficulty. I was



warmer, and none the less faint.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 139

T thonght that if I could only cease to think of that
terrible hunger I should suffer less, therefore I began
to sing. Some people who were passing, going to

church, looked curiously at a poor little vagabond





who went on singing softly, a bundle in his hand and



on his head the bloody mark of a recent blow, while





My songs did not last me long. Nature would not

added thirst,



be repressed; and now to hunger w:



isfied. Across my path ran
plenty of little rivers, all making, like myself, for
the sea.

Finding a clear pool, I knelt down, and putting
my mouth into the water, drank greedily, thinking



wrongly that, provided my stomach were full, liquid
or solid, food or water, it did not matter; I would no
longer be hungry.

I remembered that once I had had a fever for four
or five days, and that then I only drank and never ate
anything.

‘A quarter of an hour after my big drink T was
drenched with sweat. This was caused by my weak-
ness and the quantities of water I drank while walk-
ing under the hot sun. A great languor seized me;
my courage failed; I staggered to a tree, and sank
down in the shadow.

T did not realize how weak I was. My ears caught

128
140 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

every sound. All I saw was ina strange red light.
Twas near a village, and I noticed the striking of



clocks and the ringing of church-bells, Alas, 1

thought, of what avail is it to be near human
beings when I have not a penny to spend at the
baker's ?

Then I noticed that the peasants going to and fro
gazed on me and whispered to each other. I must
move on, or they would begin to question me-—would
haye me arrested and returned to my uncle. The

!

thought was agony. Better a thousand death



When rest and the coolness of the shade had



restored me a little strength, I set forth on my way

once more, The pebbles in the road were ernelly



sharp, the rays of the sun were scorching. I knew
that if I pushed on as I had since morning I should

presently fall, without power to rise; therefore I



resolved not to walk over half a mile without stop-



ping to rest, and every time I grew faint I would sit





down at once without forcing myself farther,

As I thus toiled on, three lines of a little hymn
which I had learned to repeat to M. de’ Bihorel came
into my mind with a persistency which wearied me.

‘The words ran thus :





“Shall God his childre
See, to the birds he gives their dwellings



And in his bounty doth all nature share.”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 141

It seemed to me that I had been forgotten, the one
poor creature lost to the divine



sight—less than the
birds which darted from bough to bough uttering

erie:



joyous



For a long while I mechanically repeated this
little ver



in a sort of music, a kind of dead march
of my hope, rather than an ccho of my confidence,
‘Thus I entered into a wood—the first which I had yet
found, Suddenly my eyes were attracted toward a

bank covered with yellowish leaves, among which



little points of crimson burned 1



¢ coals among the



herbage. Strawberries! ‘They were really straw-
berries. I forgot my fatigue. With one leap I

cleared a ditch which inter



ened. ‘The slope was
laden with large berries,



exactly as if it had been
a carefully-cultivated garden-bed. Under the trees
and through the grass grew the fruit, until all the
ground seemed covered with a red carpet. IT have
since eaten strawberries larger and more beautiful,

neve!



y which tasted so good as those. ‘They gave
me strength, happiness, hope. I felt able to travel
through the world.

«sg



all God his children leay

Wood strawberries ar



not. very ing, and it

hunger. When



took me a long while to appease m



T had eaten enough for present nec



sity, I set myself



to get a little provision for my journey.
142 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

I wished to gather enough to trade somewhere for





d. A crust of sweet bread was my



dream. But time pre

ed. Tt was past mid-day, and



is yet six



leagues from Port-Dieu, and I knew

that to my weary leg:



they would be very long, slow
leagues indeed, I lined my handkerchief with oak
leaves, and filled it with what fruit I dared panse to
pi
and more courageous by far than when I had left it.
W cad of going
half a league without resting, I was obliged to stop
eve



ek, then I struck out on the highway, much rel



freshed.



ness, howeyer, overeame me; in





y quarter of




My feeblencss and fatigue were probably evident,
for as I sat resting a market-earrier drove along with
his cart, walking himself at the head of his horses;
he stopped to take a look at me, and then said,

“Well, my young man, you are just about fagged
out; isn’t that a right guess?”



“Tam some tired, sir.”



“Phat is plain to be seen, Are you going far, my
lad?”

“ About five



ues yet.”
“Well, if you are going in the direction of Port-
Dieu, Iam going that way, and will give you a lift.”
Tt was a decisi



» moment. I plucked up what
iE
Sir, I haye no money to pay for a ride; but if you



ngth and courage I had left,




ROMAIN KALBRIS. 143

will take some strawb



ies in pay for a ride, I will
give you what I have picked;” and I opened my

leaf-lined handkerchief.



“So, so! they look very good. Come, then, young-



ster,” he said, changing his tone when he found that

despite my decent clothes I was penniless, “you



may ride all the



ne, for you look very tired. As to

the berries, you can trade them off at the inn in Beau-



Moulin; and as pay for your ride, you may buy mea
glass of grog with the change.”
x cents for



My poor strawberries! ‘They gave me s





them at the hotel of Beau-Moulin, though my ea
vowed that was sheer robbery, and that I ought to
have more, the frnit was so out of season and rare.

“Now,” said he, when our journey together was
ended, “haul out your six cents, and let us each have
a glass of grog.”

L was too badly off to be timid; Espoke up: Please,



sir, would much rather have bread than grog, if you
will allow me.”
“Tut, tut! Never refuse a good drink when you



n get it, my hearty



If you are really hungry, why,



T’'ll treat in my turn, and I will buy bread for your



share—a big biscuit.”



“Yes, but if you please, sir, Im so awfully hungry
that I'd like to have my share in bread both treats.”
‘The man laughed, but looked compassionate.
144 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

« Poor wretch! come in,” he said, kindly.
Happy was I. I gave him the three-cent glass of



drink for which he had bargained, but I got myself a
small roll, to which, in his turn, he added the prom-

ed. I was



ised biseui I felt wonderfully refr
now only a mile from Port-Dieu, and in place of get-
ting into the village at dark, thanks to my jolly
about four o’clock—the hour when



carrier, I enteres

my mother and her neighbors were at afternoon



chureh-service. I entered the house without being
seen by any one, and took my measures to hide in the
one little attic room, unused since my departure from
that dear and humble dwelling, I found the place
L left it—j
death—fall of his nets
full
of codfish and mackerel. My love and sorrow over-

s it had been



just as I



since my



and his fisher-



revered fath¢

man’s clothe: ‘et of the odor of the salt sea, and





whelmed me. My father’s son was an outcast. I






dared not make myself known in my own home, fear-



ing the consequences of it to my poor mother. Did

she become the



complice of my eseape, she might,
by my unele’s spite, lose even the poor shelter and



the tiny garden-plot which she possessed. I cla



ped



the nets in my arms; I kissed them, sobbing. ‘Then

I gathered some of them into a heap; and disposing



others like a curtain to hide me, thus made my bed.
At least, would sleep at home near my mother. I
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 145

had chosen my resting-place near an opening in the
floor, where the chimney came up from the room
below. [hung my nets in such a way that without
any perceptible change in their usual arrangement
they concealed me, while they gave me opportunity
to look down the opening and see, unseen, my mother,
while she prepared her evening meal at the fireplace.



Thad not considered my fatigue. Hardly had I seated

val from church



wu



myself to await my mothe



when I fell asleep, and only after a long interval did
T rouse, and then at the sound of voices. I had slept
soundly; it was now night. My mother was kneeling
on the hearth, blowing the firebrands into a flame;
aut in the chim-



near her, my aunt, one of her si



ney-corner. My aunt was speaking:

“So you really mean to go on Saturday next?”
nd if T
t rest. I have had



“Yes, Lam so worried ; an see with my



eyes how my child is, I will be



letters, and he docs not complain, but I know well
he is not happy.”

“fT had been in your place, I would not have
apprenticed him to his uncle Simon.”

“What, then, would you haye done? Let him go



to sea?
“Well, why not?”
«Why not? Where, then, my sister, is your eldest
son? Where are our brothers? Where our cousin
146 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Fortune? Where is my poor dear man? Where is



the husband of our sister Fanny? Look about you,



and see who remains. Oh, the It is a monster
which has devoured our beloved ones.”
« Any way, I fear the sea less than I do Simon.

Let me tell you there is nothing in nature so cruel a



a man whose god is money.”

Tt is that thought which keeps me awake of



nights. How much my poor little son may have to
endure before he becomes a man! The Brothers
Leheu spoke of Simon the other day. ‘They say



ve thousand dollars.



he is worth seventy-fi Every

one knows that



ach a huge fortune as that could
not hav



been honestly made in his line of life.
What wickedness he may teach my son! Ah, if my
Romain had not been bound to him for five years!
and he has only been gone nine months, But I
had no one to advise or help me, and Simon in-
ed.”

“Well, ean you not get him away now?”



“Tf I took him back, Simon would be angry, and
press the letter of the law. I find that if I brought
him home I must pay an indemnity, and you know I
have not a penny unless I sell our home. But for my
son I would do that, only I don’t know what to do
with him if I get him back, He must have restraint,
busines



support, and how can I give them him,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. M7

working hard all day for ten cents and board, and no
one to help me?”

My aunt shook her head and wiped her eyes.

“So the first and best thing to do will be to go and
see him. I shall work hard this week, and set out
afoot Saturday morning.”

“Well, so you had better. Friday evening I will
rake it
T don’t believe the child is

bring you a pot of my best butter, You must





to Romain, with my love.
very well fed.”

My mother’s fire was kindled. My aunt went
home. Mother set herself to prepare her supper.
As the steam of the potatoes boiling with bacon
recalled to me old times when I went to school, and
also ran away from school, and I remembered my



simple plentiful meals sitting by my kind parent, I
felt famished, heartbroken.

My mother sat down to the table, and her fa



was
turned toward me, fully revealed in the light of the
candle. She did not eat long nor with relish. She
often paused, and at one moment turned to the door



and listened, as if expecting to hear somebody coming
up the walk. ‘Then, again, she looked at the places

where my father and I had been wont to sit, and her



Poor dear mamma! T can see her yet; her touch-

ing picture
13



engraved on my memory. Watching,
148 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

I seemed to



1 all her loving, pa



ient, sorrowful
heart.



There had been hours—and I am glad they
were few—when I had forgotten her, but she had



never turned her thoughts from me, her absent son.

Longer yet was to be thy dreary watch, my mother!



My eyes lingered on that good face, so sad and so

sweet. Of me she thought, of me she sighed. Twas



not three paces from her, held enchained by my ter-
rible resolution, in which good and evil contended.

My duty would have been to throw myself in her




arms, tell her all and bravely abide by her decision.

God would hy



e then raised up nds to aid us.
‘This I did not realize, because T was bent on going

to sea, and I knew my mother would hinder it. Self-



will lay at the bottom of what I strove to call self
fic But I he
With her habitua

cons to learn



1 many Ie





order a



nd propriety, my mother



put everything in its place, washed her cup, set back



the table, and then,



in prey



ion for her night’s rest,
she knelt to pray



Tfow often at the same time and in the



me place

had she and T bowed down together, besecching that



God would return my absent father safely to his

home!



Hearing from my mother’s lips the fervent words
which she had often uttered before, T knelt upon my

couch of fishing-nets and softly joined her suppliea—
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 149

tions. But now it was not my father’s name which
yielded
to Heaven in behalf of humanity, Tt was my name

issued from my mother’s lips. Him she had



which formed the burden of her prayers,
My good genius urged me to spring from my
hiding-place and th



f at my mother’s feet.
I hesitated obstinately, and by my hesitation I was
lost.




CHAPTER VIII.



63
& oe crimp myself to sleep. My slumber was
i Jess tranquil under the maternal roof than
it had been the night before on the prairies
TCO of
2 of Dol.
Before dawn I was roused by the beating of the sea
against the cliff, and with great care to make no noise

I crawled out of a trap-door in the roof, and made my







cseape.

‘The tide began to ebb at four o'clock, and when I
reached the shore, the flow was at its full; therefore T
knew that daylight would soon appear, and I did
not wish to be seen by any early-rising neighbor.

In my plan for my travels T had not pro-
160
ROMAIN KALBR:



vided for



great difficulty—the difficulty of tearing



‘one’s self aw



rom one's birthplace, Nature was
rt



strong in my h for reaching the little hedge
which divided our plot of ground from the public
common, I stayed my steps, and in spite of myself
returned. My heart beat as if it would burst.

In our hen-house a rooster, my pet bird, woke up
with a clarion crow, and all the dogs in the neighbor-
hood suddenly barked in chorus. In the next yard
a big bull-dog heard my stealthy steps, and as he

growled his doubts I heard the clank of his chain in



his efforts to
Mon

a band of yellow light along the hor

yp into our g





w¢ began to dawn, and the stars paled before





zon. The sum-



mit of the cliff was luminous, the little house Jay in

shadow.



My childhood from my earliest hour of conscious-

ness returned to me, and passed as in a panorama



before my eyes—nights when I was weary and sick,

ried



and to still my erying my good father had ca

mas up and down our bedroom, singing,



me in

“The swallows skim along the sea 5

Babe, they bring good news to thee.





I recalled the first living bird which T had eanghi—a

sand-peep which had a broken wing, and learned to
152 ROMAIN KALBRIS,



eat out of my hand—the anxious vigils of my mother



when my father was away at sea, and my prayers

ing
ch T had seen



by her side when she and I trembled at the 1i





gale. "The anxicties, the miseries, wh

that dear old soul suffer, I, by my seeret ¢



arture,



was about to cause her to endure with added poign-



ancy. Oh, was it not a crime to leave he
The lantern in the lighthouse was extinguished, the

wate



s shone under the gray sky. Above the villag

chimneys columns of yellow smoke curled straight

into the air, and a noise of wooden shoes clattering



along floors and sidewalks came up to me as I stood
in a recess of the cliff.



ion



‘Thus, upon a jutting rock, hidden from obser
by a tangle of vines and brash, I lived my additional
hour of grace; doubtful, impatient and unhappy, dis-
contented and desolate,

The spirit of adventure, the vague hope of in some
fortune without being char



rgeable to



way making my

any one, my natural disposition, the unknown di



ngers

of return to my uncle, seemed to drive me from



home to the sea; while my youth, my timidi



my

wakened conscience, above all, the thought of my



to bind me to home.



mother, were strong chain



From a cathedral not very far off a chime of bel





rang the “Ange The call to prayer had not



ceased to sound when my mother opened the door
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 153

toil.

Was she going to work in the village or in the town



and appeared at the gate, ready to go to her da



higher up along the shore—that is




to say, to a place



inhabited not by fishers, but by farmers and trades
men?

If she went to the village, she would go down the



cliffpath, and thus be fi from me at every step.



If, on the contrary



» went to the inland town, she
would come up along the path I had taken—would

turn the jutting rock and be close upon the ph



where I was sitting. I had a distressfi] moment, for

I did not know what I wanted to do, to go or to



re



in. Tt was well that on this Monday morning



she worked in the village, and therefore she slowly

walked out of my sight, and T was spared the great



temptation of flying to her arms,
When the gate swung to behind her, [ rose upon
tip-toe to follow her with my eyes. T could see no-

thing but her white muslin bonnet, whic



appeared
above the hedge.

The sun rose aboye the cliff, and now the house Jay
in the full light; under the brilliant



ys the green
mosses which grew along the roof took a bright green
color like velvet, spotted here and there by yellow
sprigs of wall-flower,



The breeze ruffled the surf



and bore
to me from the waters an inyigorating saltness which

of the sea,
154 ROMAIN KALBRIS,



I even now seem to snuff



I write. I breathed,

rejoicing, my native a



r. It eame to my lips full of





health, and I drank courage in every vein.

But I would not y



ld to my emotions. I re-
solved not to be



conquered by my yearnings toward
home.

‘To save myself from Dol and the horrors of life



with Uncle Simon for four years to come, I must tear
At thi
thought I began to run, and only rested when I was



myself from my mother and my birthplace.







fairly out of breath,

This violent ¢



my

doubts. One does not think well when one is very





ition,



vely engaged. Quiet brings consid
When I paused, I began to reflect. I had at last

set out—that was well. It was now needful that I



should



rrive somewhere, do something. Ah, there
was the difficulty.

T sat down under a fence. The adjacent fields were



deserted, and there was no danger of my being sur



prised. Far off I saw on the edge of the cliff a cus-

tom-house officer on duty, whose image was darkly



outlined against the luminous zone of the sunrise,
‘The result of my reflections was that instead of

follo

along the borders of the sea.
My two da



ing the public highway I took my journey



’ experience had taught me that high-


ROMAIN KALBRIS.



ways of travel do not offer unbonght hospitality, and
that a traveller with an empty pocket is sadly s



pected in the busy ways of men, Such an one should
look for help among those whose poverty has taught

them sympathy. My great anxiety, of course, was to





obtain now



hment on my journey. A remark of M.
de Bihorel came often into my mind: “The sea is for
all men a more bountifial nurse than the land.” ‘This,

coming into my memory,



ght me to look to the s



beach for supply of my wants; oysters and muscles



would be there in plenty. At the idea of oys'



confess that my appetite was excited, it had been so
long since I had eaten any ; what a feast I would now
have!

T started on my way. How many leagues were
there between me and Havre, where T could find a



ship? Very many it appeared to me, but what dif

ference did that make? A trip along the level sands
seemed to me a glorious holiday. However, I dared



not seek the beach at once, for fear of meeting some
of the people of Port-Dieu who would recognize me

and put Uncle Simon on my track, Consequently, I



followed the high road above the cliffs for three or
four leagues, and after that took courage to go down

upon the sands to look for



y dinner or breakfast, or
whatever it might be called.
I found no oysters,



nd was obliged to content my-
156 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

My
sed upon

self with the muscles which covered the rocks.



hunger being appeased, E should have proc



my way, but old habits were strong upon me, and I
was so happy to once more look upon the ocean that
It

moist sands and

an to amuse myself by running up and down the



arching in the crevices of the rock



for hid treasures, I was free to laugh, dance and



sing. What a difference betwe



1 this and my impris





onment at Dol! Decidedly, it was most entertaining
to travel.
A broken bit of pine board which I found wedged

between two boulders of granite gaye me extreme





pleasure, I could now rig up a boat. With my



knife [ shaped it something like a ship, narrowing
t.



itto a point. L cut a hole and fixed in it



For cordage I had some split osiers which I pulled
from the side of a little stream which trickled down
to the sea. I then set another mast, and to this
attached my handkerchief for a sail. Thad now a
nt f

of my mother, and then, the tide being low and the

most magnific



gate, to which T gave the name







water calm as a mirror, [ rolled my trowsers up above

the knees, slang my shoes and stockings over my arm,
and wading along at the edge of the sea, drew my ship
the y

after me ater,





ised me in this play. It was necdtial



to look up a shelter for the night. [chose a little




ROMAIN KALBRIS. 159



grotto near the se
Tt had beer

tremendous wayes in equinoctial storms. Hither I



, but high up above water-mar



pund out of the rock by the beating of



brought armfuls of dry seaweed collected from the
“highest part of the beach, and of this I made my
bed. It was not a palace, but it was better than the

marshes of Dol. I wa



shelter



1 from cold, and also

assured against



urprise, I had a good car, and I

was



urrounded on three sides by solid rock walls.



The open side fronted the se



, and was in the steep

side of the el





From my grotto I could sce the familiar beam

of the lighthouse. It seemed to me both protector



and companion, and secured me against loneliness.
that the ni

moment. I dreamed of sailing in my fri:

I slept so sweetly





ht passed like a
te fr





into fairy-land. After being shipwrecked on a

charming island, where loaves of bread and juicy



cutlets hung from the limbs of all the trees like



apples and pears, I was elected king by a tribe



of complaisant sa



ges. T then sent a cimoe for

my mother, who came to me at once, and was



crowned queen, Seated in a flower-decked arbor, we

drank bowls of sweet new



vider, and all our dutiful
subjects shouted for joy, crying, “The king drinks!
‘The queen drinks !”

Hunger aroused me by day dawn. I felt cold and

M


160 ROMAIN



faint. The bountiful sea had swept ashore a provision



of mus



les, and [set myself to eating. But the more



I ate, the more I wanted, My breakfast certainly

lasted for two hours, and then it ended because I



weary of the labor of gathering and cracking open the ,
shells. I began to tell myself that a piece of bread



with the muscles would be a very satist



i thing, but

the ocean docs not afford baked bread.



Pray, reader, do not conclude, because Tam alwa



speaking of bread, always of hunger and of food, tha





I was a contemptible glutton. I had simply th



royal appetite of a healthy and growing child, and



the question of cating, in the condition into which [
had now for months been unfortunately thrown, was
the capital question of my life, and was becoming very

d

agreeable sensation of appetite, when :



tressing. Th



who know of hunger only by an



good d



ner



has by del



jayed an hour beyond its time, cannot





unde



and me, but there are those who, after long,



months of privation and of half nourishment, have



been compelled to go for da



s without food, and the



will appreciate the liveliness of my memories of these



distresses.

If the shore where [ spent the night had afforded



oysters, I would perhaps have lingered there



some





time, for it pleased me by the facilities afforded for



ling my ship-—I would have been disturbed by
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 161

nobody, and then the grotto, the lighthouse, pleased
me—but hunger drove me on, for perhaps further
along I should find something more nutritious than

muscles,



I dismantled my ship, put the sail in my pocket,

abandoned my little cave, but, as every judicious





traveller should do, I gave it a name before leaving

it “The King’s Grotto.”



All the way along the cliffs, which I was now

obliged to take, as there was no sandbeach for a while,



I was tormented by that one idea of bread, and the
longed-for food came at the moment when my need

was th



» greatest. I came to a river so deep that I
was foreed to wade it, going up to my shoulders in
the water. I took off my clothes, rolled them up

and cai



ied them on my head. This cold bath in-

weaknes



ereased 1



, my limbs almost failed me,

and I foresaw trouble.

In this feeble state I drew near a hamlet which
occupied a little plain on the border of the sea. I
resolved to go through it, trusting that I would not
meet any one whom I knew. Reaching an open
square near the church, I was not able to resist the
temptation of stopping to gaze in at the windows of
a baker's shop.

Inside Jay numbers of great brown and white

Joaves, and from the door came a delightful odor of
162 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

bread and cakes. I stood in open-mouthed admira-





tion before that spectacle, wondering if the intense

longing in my eyes would not suffice to drag the



loaves from the shelves and put them into my mouth,



when T heard a gi



it noise around me in the square



a confusion of shonts, a clatter of wooden shoes, and

all the usuai uproar of children set free from school.



Was it because T was a stranger Was it because

T looked feeble and starved and odd? Very likely



for with my ship under my arm, my parcel in my
hand, my dusty shoes, and hair rough and tangled
under my cap, I had the air of an absurd little strag-

gl y, they crowded around me as soon as



any w:





they saw me, ‘The first-comers called the tardy ones,
and I had soon around me a circle of youngsters who
examined me as if had been a wild beast. My
frig

with that high-sounding title,



‘e, or rather the bit of wood which I hono



eemed to astonish



them greatly. They whispered together :
“Hey, Joseph, what is that under his arm?”

“Don’t you see it is a bit of board 2”



“No, it is something to play music on.”
“Music, you goose! he has not a white mouse,”

A white mouse! They took me, then, for a stroll~



we Savoyard. My pride was wounded. “It is a
tigate,” said I, with dignity ; and I made some steps

forward to get out of the crowd.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 163

“A frigate! Well, that is

at the sailor,”



jolly. Ho! look, look

I was abashed at these shouts, every one about me
langhing and joking. I wanted to get from the cen-
tre of the group, but behind me a little rascal
frieg

snatched by another






, the

hardiest of the band, seized hold of my nd



at the same moment my cap



and flung into the air. I cuffed the nearest boys to
make them get out of my w:
it fell

m)

T caught my eap as





and crowded it upon my head. T doubled up



y fists to reve



ge or defend myself, Just then the





church-bells broke into a sweet carol, and all the
children rushed to the poreh, erying out as they car
ried me with them, “See, see, a baptism !”

The father and mother came out of the church, and

searecly had they crossed the door-stone when the



father, an elegant gentleman, took a big purse from
a servant behind him and flung among us Inds a

p was at once a g



handful of coin. The nd rough=



and-tumble scramble



mong the children, but before



we could get up from the ground the gentleman

threw out more coppers. He alko east among us



me

handfuls of candies, and on the pavement. 1

rolled and rebounded some g



vat twvo-penny pil

T leaped upon them, As I knelt grasping them



new seatteri



ng began, and T had the wonderful hap-

piness to get the biggest coin of all, a ten-cent piece,
ue
164 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

under my hand. Although this money had not been
one second on the walk, the boys about me saw it,

and flung themselves on me in a fary, yelling,



“Fle is not of our town; it isn’t fair!”
They trampled on my hands to make me open

them, and I, though so weak, held firmly, in my





despair screaming lustil



Happily, the gentleman had not emptied his purse,

t a chance at the new dis-



and my tyrants left me to g
tribution. [made good my escape. T had twelve

cents, and T fled into the bake



's shop and made him
eut me a thick slice of bread. Neyer was musie so
sweet as the sound of that knife crunching through
that erust. Eagerly cramming my mouth, I made

haste to flee from that village. All my thoughts of



e were gone; T had but one wis



veng’ ito escape
from the clutches of my foes. I walked for about two

hours, when T found an old and abandoned co:



guard house, where I thought to pass the night,



Thad often heard the saying that riches drive away

ized for me.



sleep; it was res

With some armfuls of dried grass I made for



myself an excellent bed, but upon it I slept very



poorly, tormented to know what I should do with
that precious money. I had to pay three cents for a
loaf of bread for my supper, and there yet remained

to me nine cents. Would it be best for me to live


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 16

thr



¢ days upon my little capital? or ought I to invest
it in some articles which I might use in obtaining

This double



food for the remainder of my journey?
question distracted me all night.

If I had recently had a vessel of some kind in
which to cook my fish, I need not have gone so
hungry—I could have eaten crabs, shrimps and Job-
sters; and if T had owned a net only as big as my

handkerehief, I could have caught in the shallows as



many prawns as I wanted.
Finally, in the morning, I resolved that at the first

village which lay in my way T would buy a box of



matches for a penny and a fishing-line for three cents;
with my



maining fivepence I would get a tin pot to

cook my food in, I must confess, however, that the



thought which induced me to make this wise ¢



sion
was not a very wise one—it was the glory and joy of
owning a complete store-bought fishing-line.

This line would be so long that I could throw away
the split osiers, and rig out my frigate with ropes of

real cord, and there would be enough string left to



make, as I knew how, a little square net. In those
dl

of gi

s three cents would buy a hook and any amount



od string.



I began, then, by buying the cord, and next the
matches; but when T came to the tin pot, there was

tronblo, for the cheapest cost fifteen cents. Happily,
166 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

I spied one in a corner so bent and dingy that it



had been cast aside rubbish. I asked the shop-



man what he would sell it for. He told me that as



a mere matter of kindness I might have it for five
cents.
‘That

of my trip, f



y I got over less ground than on any day



s soon as Thad found a good place I
sat down, whittled out a knitting-necdle and a reel,
and procecded to make a little net. I had been used.
to this work from childhood, and it was to me a mere
pastime. For my dinner I had the happiness of eat-
ing some shrimps caught in this net and cooked in

sea-water Ove little fire of twigs which I collected



from the hedges.
I

had made my fire under an overhanging rock, and the

But all good fortune could not come at on





wind carried up the smoke in little whirls, which
attracted the attention of a coast-guard on his beat
Is

to see whence the smoke came.» Then he departed

abov



w him bending over the edge of the cliff





without speaking to me; but at evening, when I was
rambling about looking for a place to sleep, T again
attracted his attention, and I thought that he looked

at me with a ver No wonder IT was an



object of curiosity, with my boat on my shoulder, my



pot hanging to a stick, my net with its long handle

and my little bundle in my hand, T knew quite well
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 167



that my appearance was not such as to inspire con-

fidence. Already, as I p



ed through villages or met
countrymen on the highway, I had been narrowly
y had wi

looked at. ‘Th ched_me, and the only rea-





n why they did not question had been that T quick-
ened my pace.

sk what I was




Suppose the coastguard should

doing there—should arrest me? This



ased me,
in hope of escaping him, to turn from the shore and
¢ path T found,
ve the cliffs, and therefore I



take myself into the field
Ce

was safe from his clutches.

by the fi



st-guards could not |

But if in the fields I had not the patrol to fear, T
also had not their abandoned huts to sleep in, and T
What

a single tree.

was now obliged to lie down in the open ai





ma
The

plain but some haystacks, which afar off lifted their

le it worse was that I could not se



1s nothing to break the monotony of the

blac!
Tt

night in sv




cones against the sw

as evident that I must onee more pass the



ch a manner as on the marshes of Dol,
and that had been bad enough. But I had better
n left
»T leaned against the stacks



fortune. Some rakes and pitchforks had be«
Thes

y over them, making a sloping



lying by the hay

and spread h



roof to



shelter me from the dew. I then spread under this



some bundles of seed clover, and thus T was well and


168 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

warmly sheltered from the dampness in a little per-
fumed nest.
The

me set out in the freshness of carly morning, when



of being surprised by the farmers made

the first bird cries had aroused me. I was still terri-

bly drowsy. My very legs seemed asleep, but it was



so



ential that I should not be captured that I stag-

gered on, napping as I walked. It was not, as you





may divine, my appetite, but opportunity, which fixed



the hours for my meals. I depended much on the



tide. I was only able to breakfast or dine when the
sca was low and I could catch fish. So, as it was high
tide about eight o’clock, I was not able to eat until
noon, and then I was obliged to content myself with
crabs, which I trapped on the wet sand. ‘Therefore,

that I might not be in exposed to such an absti-




nenee, I resolved always to have provisions in ad-

vane



and my lunch finished, T began industriously
to fish for shrimps. I took a great number of the

kind the people in P:



call the bouquet, also three



plaice, very fine ones, and a sole.



secluded



As I strolled along the shore, looking for a

spot where I could cook some fish, I met a le



dy who



walked with a little girl on cither side of her and
taught them to seck for shells in the sand with a

pointed stick.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 169

Well, my boy,” she eried, stopping me, “have you
had good Inck 2”

She had snow-white hair curled on cach side of her
face, a tall figure, great kindly eyes and a sweet,
motherly voice. Tt was four days since [had heard
a kind word. The little girls were blondes, and
very pretty. They danced around me, looking at
my trophies, and I did not fear to stop and speak

to them.





Yes, madame,” I said, stopping and opening my
tin pot, in which the shrimps were lying in a little
water.

“My child, perhaps you would be willing to sell



id the lady.

your fish?” s

Guess if I did not pr



k up my ears at that proposi-

tion. A dozen loaves of bread danced before my



eyes, and I snuffed a sudden odor of fried meat.



“How much do you ask for them?” she said.

“Pen cents,” said Lat a venture, having never sold



anything.
“Ten cents! Why, boy, the shrimps alone are

ve. You do not seem to know



worth twenty



the price of your merchandise. You are not, then,
a fisher ?”
“No, madame,” I said, blushing.

“Oh, then you are just fishing and’ picnicking
170 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

for amusement. Suppose, then, that you sell me
the shrimps and the large fish for eighty cents?”
She held out to me two f



cent pieces. I was so

astounded at the magnificence of the payment that I
could not open my lips.

“Come, my child, take it,” she said, smiling. “1



trust that with it you will buy yourself something



usefull and entertaining.”
So she put the eighty cents in my hand, while one
of the little girls emptied my shrimps into a little

pail she had brought for her shells, and the other took



the plaice and the sole, strung together on a green
twig. Eighty cents! S
their ba
sand, Eighty cents! This was the tune to which I
frolicked.

Scarcely a quarter of a mile off the roofs of a
illage showed themselves against the sh Thither
Tha
no fear now of the constable. If anybody questioned



vely had my patrons turned



cks when I exes



cuted a wild dance upon the






ned, resolved to buy a good big loaf, I had









me, I could display my money, and prove that I was
no low-lived stroller, but a gentleman of means, I
had eighty cents, T could say, “Let me go. I am



lf”
T met neither coast-guard nor constable, and in



rich, you see. I am able to support my:



entering thé town I could not find a baker. I walked
twice the whole length of the street and found an eat~
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 171



Tt

was needful, however, to get bread. My money rat-

nd a



a grow avern, but no bakery






tled in my pocket, and I was desperately anxious to
ays.

The mistress of the inn was standing in her doorway,





spend it. I was no longer timid, as in other d





and I yentured to ask her where the baker lived.



We have none in this town,” she replied.
“Then, madame, would you please sell me a loaf

of bread ?”



“We do not sell bread, but I ean get you a good



dinner if you are hungry,” she answered.



From the open door came to me the smell of fried

cabba 1 heard the soup bubbling in the kettle.





My hunger could not resist it:



“What must I pay for a dinner, madame?

“For soup, fried meat, bread and cabbage, thirty
cents, and with the rest you will have a mug of sweet
cider.”

Tt was terri



bly dear—almost half my fortune ; but



if she had said fifty cents, I must have accepted it.

She led me into a hall, set before me a small table



bread which entirely ov

good; and instead of eating it with knife and fork, I



sp
wiches, which I appreciated chiefly for their thickn

The



d the slices on pieces of bread, making sand-





first mouthful whetted my appetite for the second,
w
172 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and that for the third, it was so good. The loaf



diminished wonderfully. I cut a fourth round, vow-
ing in my heart that it should be the last; but enor-

it



mous a , when it was finished there remained



yet a little bacon, so I returned to the loaf for another
d

noise, as of some one laughing, and half-stifled words,



cut. I thought I was alone in the hall, but a confus

made me turn towards the door, behind which was an

elevated passage-way and a stairease. On this the



and a maid-servant were star-

ely.

Never in my life was I so confus



tavern-keeper, his y



ing at me and laughing convuls



d. The three

came into the room.

“Has the gentleman dined well?” demanded the
man, with a mock reverence, Then they burst forth
into another laugh.

Twas in haste to fly from them, My money was



in two forty,



ent pieces, I offered one to the landlady,

ving,
“We charge a man thirty cents for his meal, but an
sf ry 7



She pocketed it, s



ogre forty.” So she gave me no change. Half my
money gone, and to-morrow I would be hungry again !
T made
back
too qui

Despite the wa
a thief; and not until I had pnt a long dis



my way out of the door, when they called me



“Take care of a fit of apoplexy. Do not walk



ly; it will be dangerous after over-feeding.”



ing, in my mortification I ran like





tance be-
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 173

tween these cruel creatures and myself did I slacken



my pace

I was, indeed, ashamed of having spent so much of



my means on a single repast, but physically I was

very much better for it.



I had not known such feclings



of energy and
strength for months. Having had plenty to eat,



carrying forty cents in my pocket, a clear sky over



head, the world all before me, I went forward cheerily



‘These forty cents, well saved, would furnish me food
for many days, I coneluded, therefore, to leave the
long route by the coast and strike across the country,
across the department of Calvados, in the course of
travel I had long ago marked out for myself,

One difficulty only disturbed me: whereabouts
was 1? I had passed through many villages and two

large towns, but had not found out their names.



Along the highway would have been guide-boards
and milestones to inform me, but I had kept to the

d

information; that would attract attention



sea border, and



een nothing like signposts. I
dared not





to me as a vagrant, and I might be arrested. I re-

membered clearly, as I had studied it on the map, the



shape of the department of La Manche, and I knew



that it lay lengthwise by the sea. Therefore, if I



would cross it laterally, I must turn to the east; but



would that route bring me to Isigny or Vire? At
174 Ri



IMAIN KALBRIS,

Isigny I would be on the coast by the fisheries, and

find, perhaps, a vessel on which I could ship, but at



Vire I would be far inland, with my forty cents

expended and no means of replenishing my pu



Se.

‘The question was a serious one, and I pondered it
lo At length I decided to try the eastern course,
and at the first |

back to the sea. My hope was to find milestones





zhway I tumed about and put-_my





before it was too late to retrieve an error.

Tt was not long before I saw one, and read,

»

“ Quetteville, three miles.” I had, then, three miles



to go, and at Quetteville I should be able to satisty

myself. At the entrance to Quetteville I found on a



comer of a high stone wall an inscription painted in



white letters on a blue ground, and read, “ Depart-

No. 9. From Quetteyille to

ment of Highways,



Galianivre, five miles.” Now, I did not remember



ever having seen either of these place



on any map
of the department of La Manche. I had never heard
these two names mentioned. Where in the world was
IT? Could it be possible that I was lost?

I went through the town; and when I had got far
cnough off not to fear the eyes of the inquisitive, I
seated myself to think. I rested on a beautiful piece
y. This

is a cross and a little altar at its foot. Tt was erected



of stonework often found in Franee—a calyai

where four ways met, at the most elevated place on
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 175

the road. The steps of the calvary were of granite,
and perched on the highest I could get a wide view
of great woody plains, with here and there the spire

of a stone church rising above the gree



, and beyond
all the line of the sea, which mingled with the blue of
the sky. Thad walked since morning. ‘The sun was

very hot. As I still tarried to consider wha



t way T
should take, I fell asleep.
When I awoke, I was conscious of a pair of eyes
fixed intently on mine, and a voice saying to me,
“Don’t stir.”

Very naturally I obeyed by springing to my feet,



and looked from sid
fo Th



to side as if I would fly from a.



voice, which had first. spoken in gentle

s now very impatient:



“T tell you, youngster, don’t stir, I am just in the
midst of an unusually good study. If you'll lie down
again just as you were, and shut your eyes, Pll give
you ten cents.”

I dropped back upon the step. ‘The speaker was
not like a constable, and seemed to have no wish to

arrest me. He



1 splendid young man, dressed in



a Spanish hat and a suit of gray velvet. He was





ting on a pile of stones, and had a frame lying on his
knees. T saw he

ly



taking my portrait—a tired boy



ng asleep at the foot of a wayside cross—and he

158


176 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

seemed well pleased with his work. As I Jay down
he said, pleasantly,

“You needn’t shut your mouth, my lad. What
do they

”



all this place her



“1 don’t know, sir.”
“Ah, then you don’t belong in this vicinity.
May I

pots?”



k if you are a tinker or a peddler of tin

I could not rest



ain a hearty Jaugh.



“ What under the sum are you laughing at? If you

are not a tinker, what is the meaning of that battered



kettle you earry on your shoulder
Questions had begun already. But this gentleman

had the air of the man of the world, a royal good

fellow, not a sneaking inquisitor, and I felt greatly

attracted to him, so I was not afraid to reply. I

told him the truth:

sme to



“Sir, Tam going to Havre, This pot +
cook my fish, and my net to catch them, I have been
eight days on my journey, and T have now forty cents

in my pocket.”



“And yon are not afraid of being murdered when



you confide to a stranger like myself that you carry



about that immense sum in coin? Oh, stupid boy,
did you never hear of highwaymen, brigands, rob-



bers?



T laughed again, merrily.
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 177

He continued the conversation, and before I knew
it I had told him how I had set out and how I had
lived on my journey.

“Ah, well, lad,” he said, “you are certainly a
curiosity. You began by playing the fool in run-



ning away from your mother, but you have conduc





yourself very fairly since. I love lads of your st

pe.

Would you like it if we w friend:



Look here;

what F propose to you is thi



I also am going to



Havre, but I am not hurrying myself. I will get

there perhaps in a month. That will, however,



depend on the country I travel, for where T find



©



scenery I shall stop to draw. If ther



is nothing

worth sketching, T s son more rapidly. Would



you like to come with me?



which li



s yonder, and I will pay for your food and

lodging.”
‘The next day I told my new master all my history





as you have read it.



“What an old seamp your uncle was!” he said as T
ye “What say you?

nd I will proclaim his villainy from every wall of





finished my stor



ekudeetaiDol;



the cit T will er



, “Look at Simon Kalbris, who



left his nephew to perish of famine!’ Five days from



the hour T begin at him he will be forced to leave the



y. No? You do not wish to go there and punish



him? You had rather keep clear of him? You are




ROMAIN KALBRIS.

merciful and sensible, But there is one thing in your
history which appears important to me. You wish
to be a sailor. You have, it appears, a genius for
that vocation. Still, it seems to me that, while it is

not my business to dispute your preferences, you are



fatiguing, ill-paid life. It

choosing a very dreary,



looks in my eyes all dangers and nothing else. You

are now attracted by the heroic and adventuresome



side; and although you are very young, you may be
ign ) NeyOULE )





right to choose for yourself, Certainly nothing could

be worse than the dog’s life you led at your uncle's



But let me tell you, young man, you have done one

ing your mother



you are distr



very wrong thing
terribly by this unexplained absence. Tt must now
be eight days since your uncle advised her of your
dis
agony she has since then endured on your behalf?

V

that she is alone in the world. Come, sir, unlock my



ppearance, and can you imagine what anxiety and





hout doubt she believes that you are dead, and

satchel and hand me my portfolio. I shall now make
you write to your mother, while T make a sketch of
yon old mill. You shall tell your mother all that

you have told me—of Simon’s ernelty and wicked-





ness, your sceret stay in her house, your adventures



and good fortune, You may then say to her that by





chanee—yes, you may say by a happy chanee—you have

met a landscape painter named Lucien Hardel, which
ROMAIN KALBRIS



179

painter will take you to Hayre, and will recommend
you toa friend of his who is as

position, Go on now; and when you have finished



hipbuilder, who will



lp you to embark upon a good ship in a decent



your lett



*, let me hear what you have had the heart



to writ
M. Lucie:

mother a letter, which I fairly drenched with my





Hardel was right. I wrote to my



's, confiding to her all my story.

This greatly





ieved my conscience.
Oh, those w



re beautiful days of my wandering
life, the days I spent with Lucien Hardel, the genial



paint

We wandered on and on without troubling our-



selves as to the journey. Sometimes we tarried







nearly all day under a tree where there



wall SOME:
view which he wished to sketch ; at other times we



ied.



strode along all day without delaying any. I ca
his travelling-satchel, which was not very heavy, and

I bore it strapped on my back like a knapsack, yet



often he kindly insisted on carrying it a while to give
me a rest.

Each morning he sent me to buy provisions for our



noonday Inncheon—bread, hard-boiled eggs, slices of
cold ham and a bottle of sweet wine, which we min-
¢ in the thick

shade of some tree, and in the evening we got our



gled with water. We thus dined in
180 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

supper at the inn where we might happen to put up
for the night. Then we did not have



a repast of

crabs, shrimps or muscles, but good hot soup. We



did not have piles of damp hay for a bed, but a ni

couch with white curtains in a clean, cosy room,



where one might undress and go to bed in comfi
able sty





My new friend was surprised not to find me an
ignorant country boy. ‘The year and more I had
spent with M. de Bihorel had afforded me knowledge
which often surprised the artist. I knew a deal about

trees and flowers, the ways and names of birds and



insects, and an infinite variety of curious facts which

people do not usually get hold of. We did not pass



much time without speaking, and there was in M.





Iardel a readiness to hear, a kindness and a cheer-
fuln

most charming companion.





s, which set me entirely at case and made him a





Going on thus, without any great attention to our
route, we arrived at the suburbs of Mortain. This

place was not on our direct course to Havre, but I did



not distress myself about that, because I now felt sure



of getting there safely and being put on a good
vessel.

Lhad fixed my mind on making a voyage on one



of the many fast-sailing packets which run to Brazil,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 181

so that it mattered little to me whether I gained or
lost time.



The country about Mortain is, I will not say the
most Norman, but the most picturesque in all Nor-
mandy, Pine forests, crags and precipices, sharply-

outlined hills,



sombre gorges, everywhere foaming
torre



nts rushing along ravines and falling in cascades,
and, finally, a verdure of a freshness and an intens



ity
of green which is marvellous and attracts to it many

painters, who have not to look far for studies for the



most



chanting of pictures.
Without making any plan, we travelled in a circle
of which Mortain was the



entre, and of which the





reme diameter went as far as Domfront, Sourdeval,
Saint Hilaire and Teilleul. While M. Hardel worked,

I fished for trout, or caught crawfish in the rock





fissures for our supper. I too happy. Such



happiness could not last for the truant, There was





before me yet a longer period of the suffering which

ill-doing and unfilial conduct is



ure to bring in its
train.

One morning we were seated side by side »



mountain



m, busy with our ayocations, when we
saw a soldier coming toward us. From afar there
was something grotesque in his appearance, and it was
plain that he had been enlisted neither for his height,

dignity, nor elegance of demeanor.
182 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Quick to notice in men or things all which per-
tained to the development of his art, M. Mardel bade



me take a good look at the fellow; and at the same
time, on the margin of the picture which he was paint-

ing, he roughly but most correctly sketched the pecu-



liarities of the soldier’s appearance.
The man approached us; and seeing that we regavded

him closely, he pressed down his hat on his red, bushy



hair, took in a threatening way his sword from its
sheath and struck an attitude of ludicrous pomposity.

‘The pencil, moving swiftly on the paper, followed the






soldicr’s movements and produced a ¢ ture which
caused me to laugh uproariously.
‘That puzzled the soldier, who stepped up to us.

ze at Me



“Pardon! exense me,” he said; “but you g



so closely that I want to sce what you are w



“Ah, well, my soldier,” said Lucien Hardel, placing
the picture in his folio, “you cannot have a look at it.
If I stared at you, you also stared at me, so we are

quits.”



“You are mistaken,” said the man; “what I claim

to see is your passport; it is my duty and my business

to demand it of you, since you are travelling along

the grand highw:



Without replying to the soldier, whose manner was
offensive, Lucien Hardel turned to me, saying,

“Romain, take from my satchel my passport—you
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 183.

will find it in my tobaeco-pouch—and present it
politely to this agrecable gentleman.”
‘Then he addressed the soldier :

“I would out of respect to your position present





you, al



», with a piece of money, but in travelling, as



you know, people are not always very flush of coin,

and ¢



not do as they wish. It is precisely for that
reason that Romain appears in your honorable pres-
ence without gloves; but as you wear none yourself,
as I remarked before, we are quits.”

‘The soldier now comprehended that this very polite





‘angue to which he had listened with great pleasure
a burlesque. He flushed, bit his lips, crushed
ap on tighter, then, to recover himself, began to
ate

“We, ete, request the authorities,



il and mili-
vel M.—
Hum, hum, hum! M. Lucien, Lu—Lu—Lucien Har-



y, to permit to pass and freely to



—Har¢



profession of—of—” Here he stopped,

embarrassed; then took cor



ion of,




we: “Pro

” Then he mum-

paint—painter, landscape paint
bled something more, and handed me back the pass-
port.

“That is well,” he said, majest



ally.
Then, just as he turned his back to leave us, Lucien



Hardel, inspired by some evil genius,

“Pardon me,

16

topped him.

sir; you have passed the essential


184 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

point which is
paid fifty cents without a murmur.”

& What is it?”

"That you owe me aid and protection.”

“ Well, what of that?”

“Well, would you tell me in what quality I am

in my passport—the thing for which I





permitted to travel along the highway 2”



“In the quality mentioned in your passport.”
“Then, in the quality of a travelling painter 2”
“Co

“Tf you please, then, would you tell me what is

ainly, since that is your business.”



permitted and what is prohibited to my profession 2”
“Oh, indeed, you should know yourself, So you
expect me to teach you your trade ?”
“My trade? No. But that of a travelling painter.

ind me, in the view of the police, I



You see, unders

am a landscape painter 2”

“Oh dear, yes!”





“Very good. Suppose, a couple of miles from here,



I meet one of your sort; he demands my passport ;
maybe I am cating my dinner or doing something
else not laid down as landscape painting, and he ar-
rests me ?””

“Nee
“You see it makes it needful for me to know ex-

avily.”



aclly what, in my business of landscape painter, I may
do, what I may not.”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 185

Great drops of sweat flowed down the face of the
poor guard. He saw that he was being made fun of,
and he began to think that he had said or done some-
thing foolish. ‘Then his wrath rose :

«Do you expect to go on interfering with the au-
thorities in this way, you with the long beard? Come,

sir, this is not to the purpose ; what is your profession,



or what is not your profession? It is not clear in your
own mind; and if it is not clear to you, you cannot

expect it to be so to anybody else. Sine



you need so



much information, you must come with me to the

mayor; you can explain yourself to him. As to that



fellow”—he pointed at me—“he is not mentioned in
the p:

about him, ‘Travel ahead, sirs.”



sport, and it is needful that we find out all

“Then, in the quality of a landscape painter, you
do arrest me?”

“TJ arrest you because I do, and it is not worth
while to talk further with you about it. I have said,
asa military guard on duty, March on, and I hope you
understand that.”

“Very well; let us march. If the mayor is a
man like yourself, it will be worth some trouble to
have a look at him, Come, Romain, pick up the
satchel and let us go. Soldier!”

“What do you want now 2”

"Pie my hands and draw out your sword. Carry
186 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

it bare. If I am to be arrested, I mean to have it



done in style. I demand a first-class arrest.”



I was far from sharing my patron’s gayety. I saw

that he had much better ha



ve held his peace—that it
is dangerous to try to vex the most humble; they may
be able to turn upon you. “And the mayor will find
That
The nimble-tongued Lucien

the soldier had



out who the boy is,



word rang in my ea

would in mere bra



ado tell my story, but evidently
it would be the magistrate’s legal duty to restore the
ntice to Un



runaway appr Simon, at Dol. Lucien



walked before, his hands behind him, singing,



“Oh, the poor prisoner,

Pray give him his dinner!”

‘The guard followed him at arm’s length, and I came
after, four or five paces behind. After going half a
mile we turned toward the village, and our way lay

through a little wood. It happened that the road



‘ht, and that nobody was in sight; s



was strai



reely
had we gone a hundred steps into the wood, when,
yielding to the inspiration of my terrors, my mind

uddenly made up. “It is better to run all risks



w



alone,” I said to myself, “than to risk being discoy-



ered and sent back to Dol under arrest.”
I had not buckled the satchel to my shoulders, but

carried it in my hand. I lagged a little in my pace


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 189

to be the better out of hearing; then I dropped the
bag to the earth, and cleared at a bound the ditch by



the roadside. ‘The noise of these motions attracted

the soldier; he ran back, but already I was in the

woods.
“Stop!” he
“Don’t be af

back. ‘This will only turn out a good joke.”



houted,



id!” cried Lucien Hardel ; “come

L only screamed my explanation :
“My uncle! Good-bye, good-bye.”
I sprang over stumps and tore onward. Would
he folloy me? Would he not follow me? I ran

straight forward, not daring to take time to look be-



hind. I was heedless of the branches which whipped
against me, of the thorns which tore me, I went on
so wildly that I saw nothing which I should have
seen, and suddenly the ground gave way under my
t pit. T lay
seconds—not that T was wounded, but



, and I rolled to the bottom of a grea





quiet for some



T was in an inextricable tangle of bushes and weeds

that I could not see the s!



and vines so den:



d

me. Cowering close to the earth, I shrunk myself as

‘The instinct of an animal hunted by hounds gove





small as possible, dared not move, only lay listening.
I heard nothing but the twitter of birds which
T had alarmed and the rattle of loose earth which

my fall had shaken and scattered among the bram-
190 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

bles; grain by grain it fell gently like an immense

hour-gl:



S.

After some minutes, when I was certain that no
one pursued me, I began to reflect on my unfortunate
position. This is how I reasoned: Lucien Hardel
1-
dier and his companions would be despatched to look
for me. If I did not wish to be captured, I had



might be imprisoned by the mayor, and then our s



better start off in a hurry to gain an advance. It



never occurred to my guilt-burdened heart that the
mayor would dismiss Lucien Hardel with apologies
to him and reproof to the soldier, and that Lucien,
being at liberty, would seek for me, that we might

resume our journey toward Havre.



Iw:



in a state of mind where only extreme meas-



ures present themselves, since they only accord with



an excited and overstrained frame of spirit. To



eseape being taken by the soldiers, examined by the
court and remanded to Dol, I believe I would haye
walked through fire.

Without doubt my heart begged ten thousand. par-
dons of Lucien Hardel for haying abandoned him in
this way
his absurd j



fter all, I remembered that it was to





sting and teasing that we were indebted
for this fright and detention.


CHAPTER IX.



FAPWO hours later T reached the outskirts
by Sourdeyal, but for fear of attracting attention
ue ~ 1 did not go through the city, but turned to

°S the left, that I might enter the road leading to
Vire. ‘The long walk had quieted my excitement, but
Twas by no means secured against the great troubles
on the way to Honfleur, I had now no longer my
useful tin kettle; my little pareel had been dropped
with Hardel’s bag at Mortain, and in the midst of
the fields T walked, finding myself in the same posi-
tion which I occupied at the hour of my setting out.

Hunger had not yet annoyed me, for 1 had dined
191
192 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

heartily with Lucien, but I should return to that old
experience before long.

Add to this that the soldier guards were now scat-
tered everywhere, with almost unlimited power for
making arrests, and you will see that I did not travel
ina very pleasant frame of mind ; besides this, I missed
my recent companion, and as I pursued my way, to
my terrified eyes every countryman’s cotton cap be-
came a tri-colored cockade. Before I had gone three
miles I had more than ten times left the main road to
lurk in some by-path until somebody got past me.
Tn jumping a di



ch on one of these escapades I heard



aclear jingling in my pocket, as if money were rattling
ing
under a hedge, and found six pennies, and, what was

s. At Mortain

I had been sent by M. Hardel to buy him some to-



there, I searched myself, therefore, while eroue



yet more valuable, two forty-cent pie



bacco, and here was the change out of a dollar.
Ought I to keep it? But how could I return it? I

vowed within myself to refund the eigh



whenever fortune bl



d_me with an opportunity.
At Havre, perhaps.
So frequent had been of late the changes of my



fate that nothing now astonished me. After some
moments of reflection, and of holding counsel with

myself, I fixed on a plan as follows: I would con-



tinue my journey on foot, and T would sleep in the
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 193



fields or woods, but I would not stint myself of food
lest I should become weak. I would not refuse my-
self necessary nourishment. It was dark when I got
to Vire, and I resolved to press on through the city,

walking while it was cold and damp, that I might



p in the warmth of daytime. As I went out of



Vire, instead of taking the road to Vill
r-Noir

was only when I reached a place called Chenedollé

that I saw my mistake, I had been so careful a



-Bocage, I



got into that leading to Conde- au, and it



student of my geography that I seemed to carry all
the French maps in my head. The



ofore I knew
that by way of Harcourt I could reach Caen. I did
not torment myself with my mistake, but slept pro-
foundly in the shelter of a great stack of cabbages.
Two or three hundred paces from my resting-place
rd

the breeze bore to me the warm smell of the floc

saw a shepherd’s hut in the middle of a sheep:





and gave me a secure feeling, as if I were not alone
in the wide plains, while I could hear the bark of
dogs chained inside the folds, who now and then

made known their consciousness



of my presence.
When I had recounted to Lucien Hardel all my ad-
ventures by the seashore, he had said that he looked
upon it as a miracle that I had escaped fevers caused
by the night dampness and the morning cold. Now
under my pile of cabbage-stalks I was aroused by the
194 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



chill of daybreak, and I rose. It was



yet scarcely
‘The

horizon from east to west was gold-colored ; in the

light, but already a saffron tint lit the tree top:



zenith the stars burned feebly in a pale azure sky,
while all around me trailed a great black veil, out of
which great folds of gray vapor writhed themselves
nts and slid off into the valleys. ‘The dust



like





little birds swayed, chirping and pruning their feathers,
shaking from them the dews of night,

I continued my journey for two days, in which
nothing particular happened to me, but of course,
as may be supposed, I did not march on from
morning until evening without stopping. ‘Toward
noon I looked for a favorable spot, and slept some
hours to make up for what I traveled at night to es-
cape danger from dews and observation.

The third day after leaving Harcourt I reached
led the “Cing

in the day, the heat was so great





a great fo is Woods;” although




it was quite ea

and stifling that I did not wait until noon to take my
mid-day sleep.

I thought I had never been so warm; the earth
burned my fect, and I cast myself under the trees,
hoping to find a little refreshment, but in vain. Even

in the depth of the wood, as on the great route,
ROMAIN KALBRIS 195



ir was furnace-like. Not a leaf



the a irred, not a
bird whistled; such a st ed all

things that one would have believed that the fairy



inge stillness p

of silence had




sed through the wood, touching
with her wand skies, earth, plants, animals and winds,
and had laid herself down to sleep. Only the gnats
had escaped the universal spell. ‘They darted through
the shadows, and danced on the slanting shafis of sun-
if the

¢ their natural clement, and by it they



light, and whirled and darted up and down



fiery heat we



renewed their life and vigor.
Hardly had I

asleep, my he

sated myself under a tree when I fell





L resting on my arms. I was roused by
a sharp pain in my neck. I put up my hand, and
captured a big yellow ant; at the same time I felt a

n infi-



sting in my leg, and another on my side, ther





nite number of bites all over my body. I undr
quickly, and searched and shook my clothes, full of
these horrible ants. I got rid of any number of them,

but that did not help the poisonous bites already given



me. Like musquitoes, they had left their venom in my



blood, for I was half wild with the burning and itch-
ing, The more I scratched and rubbed, the worse T
felt, and in about an hour I was spotted with blood,
n off the skin, I tried to get



where my nails had ¢



out of the woods, thinking that there would be more

air and I should suffer less, but the road lengthened
196 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

‘on interminably, trees still on every side, and the tem-
perature that of a furnace. Finally, looking down a

bank, I spied a little river before me, which wound in



the mi of a clump of trees. In ten minutes 1

rei



shed its banks, disrobed promptly, and plunged in

for a glorious bath.



‘The banks were fresh and green as one could find



in lovely Normandy. Farther on, the waters turned



the wheels of a mill, of which one could hear the





monotonous tic-tac, tic-tac, droning through the dis
of

reeds which swayed gracefully to the motion of the



tance. The stream flowed gently among mas:
current, and the water, clear as crystal, showed plainly
ried here and there by little
of

led in the sunlight, and in



its bed of yellow sand,



mossy stones. Growing in the shallows, a mas

fla

the shadow of their broad leaves darted dragon flies




and water-lilies ru:

and bluc-bottles, humming and quivering. Among

streamers of water-roses and tangles of eress, through



wreaths of aconite blossoms and the shimmering coils

ad, went rainbow butterflies on dainty

of gold thr



wings; terrified by the noise of my plunge into the

water, a flock of pigeons rose from the bank and



lighted on the willow trees which ov

and there they sat, turning their pretty heads from





side to side, their brilliant necks glittering in the sun.



Soon reassured, they settled down at the water’s edge,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 197

and dipping their heads into the stream, sprinkled and
dressed their feathers, while farther off some king-

fishers and swallows, mor 1p and down,



timid, fle



not daring to draw too near; when they flashed across
a streak of sunlight, their plumage shone like tur-

quoise, da



ling the eyes.



T remained a long while sporting in the water; its

freshness and the sense of cleanliness and coolness



was most delicious. I was like one struck by a blow



when a harsh yoice suddenly addressed me, coming



from the very spot where I had left my clothes :
“ Ah, you thief! I eatch you bathing, do 12 Well

and good this time; you may look for your clothes at





the mayor’s office.

My clothes! Was he taking my clothes to the





Every rag of apparel which T pos-



ssed? What! c

naked in the stream? I could scarce believe my ears,



-y off’ my garments, and leave me



Stupefied, I stared at the speaker. He was a little



man, coarse and fat, and from the bank he shook a



walking-stick at me. In the middle of his breast,

upon his gray woollen blouse, burned a little oval plate



of brass, furbished until it shone like gold.

‘The little man did not lose time. He proceeded
to make good his threat. He stooped, rolled my poor
wardrobe into a bundle pell mell, and lifted himself



up. I shrieked, “Sir, sir, mister !”
198 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“Yell away,” he retorted. “Look for your clothes

at the mayor’s offic



T desired to leap from the water to pursue him, to

ions from



hold of him, to wrest my lost posse:
sp. But the fe
1 the shame of my nudi





1 of that yellow badge was on
held me back. He





1 policeman—a man who earries a sword, and can

conduct his vi



ims to jail. Suppose he seized and
T am thankful



questioned me; what could I say?

that I never knew how to lie glibly.



‘The bundle was tied together; he slung it by his
cane over his shoulder; and shaking his head threat-
cningly at me, he shouted!
“Bxplain yourself to the mayor, little villain!”
He
T remained so perplexed that I forgot to make the



s gone.
needful movements to keep myself afloat, and sank to
the bottom like a stone. Why not die? N
less, penniless, what hope was there for me?

But the love of life a

heart. I rose to the



‘aked, home-

rted i



If in my young




suri



c, struck out for shore, and
as soon as I gained the bank, for pure shame T hid

myself in a clump of rushes, their long flexible leaves



clinging closely about me, and I had at least a cover-



ing from passers-by ov pursuers.
Tt did not take long consideration to show me the
horrors of my state. How could I go to the mayor
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 199

to look for my clothes? Where was the mayor? Of
course in the village, and how could I go there or into
the streets without even a shirt?

Here I need not play Robinson Crusoe, for I was
in very truth worse off than that famous adventurer.
‘There never was so lively an affair as mine printed in
a book.

Since I fled from Dol I had never been so helpless,



so wretched, so morti All my other troubles

dwindled into insignificance before thi I had been



unhappy and discouraged often; now I was absolutely
in despair,

I believed myself utter





y lost, without hope, with-

ont any way of escape, without help; all my fortitude



forsook me, and I groaned, heartbroken.



I wept a long while, drearily; inser



ibly the chill
of the water crept over me, and T shiv



J dreadfully.
A little way from me the bright sunshine fell upon a
space of yellow sand, and the bushes near it were dry.
T stole thither and rubbed my shivering body with
dry hot sand until T was warm, but such was my

horror of being scen by somebody that I returned to





my reeds. However, the cold drove me back, and at
last I changed my hiding-place.
Along the higher bank above the sand fell a drapery

of dark leaves, long gra



es and rank weeds, and under



these I withdrew my
we

f, pulling them over me like a
200 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

curtain, and crouching in a hollow under the upper



edge of the broc



The sun gradually warmed me, and I came back to
the wants of life. T was so hungry, and, alas! with

off my little



my clothes the policeman had carrie
sum of money.

Thus seve



al hours rolled by, and no means of

scape suggested itself to me. From time to time I



heard the steps of passers-by on the road above me,
but of what use was it to hail them?—I could not crawl
out before any one in my present state. How should

T ever be able to leave this concealment?



After a time the idea might have come to me to

weave a garb of dock leaves



mulleins and long grass.
T cannot tell; I did not think of it then.

The sun



as slowly setting; night was coming on—
not a beautiful starry night such as I had spent under
the shelter of a haystack, protected by my clothes,
having eaten a supper; but no—a dark night, to be
spent cowering naked against the cold earth. I grew
nearly wild; running and flying before my eyes
of the
sleton forms, surmounted by soldier caps



seemed to pass horrible phantoms, creatures



darkness, sk





and wearing police badges, stretching out huge claws
to grasp me.
An hour before dark L heard along the road a great

noise of wagons which appeared to follow one another
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 201

closely. Presently the sounds ceased; the eavaleade
of whatever kind it was rested just above my hiding-
pk
the road, but from the clank of chains and sound of



ulment I was not able to see



ce. From my cone



voices I concluded people



unharnessing their
horses. ‘Phen came roarings and growlings and

strange noises, such as I never heard in my life—



sounds more shrill than the neighing of a horse,

louder than the bray of an ass; and the birds who



were secking their nests seemed terrified by the cries,
t

ge in its hole,

and flew wildly hither and thither. A great ra





leaped across my legs and took rel



gainst the entrance of which I was lying.

Tt grew dark. I heard steps on the earth above
me and sound of voices. T was not mistaken.

“T have a chicken,” said the voice.
“Where did you catch it?”

“On the road. I tied a stone to a string and



whirled it around its neck; it was choked without
giving a cry.”

“Then let us cook it.”
“And if old Cabriole sc

ind give us nothing but a whack on the



us, he'll clap it into his



own pot,

head.”
This charming dialogue by no means encouraged

me, but for that yery reason it filled me with the

audacity of despair, and [ dared speak as T would not
202 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

to decent people. I reached my two hands to the
edge of the road, dragging up my head between the
overhanging dock-leaves, so that I could see over the
field.

The two speakers whose harsh, rough voices I had
taken for those of men were boys of about my own
age. This emboldened me. I hesitated a little. Then
my resolution was taken,

CeT

They started and looked all about, seeing no one,

.” said I.



on ple



for my head was almost hidden by leaves, surprised





and terrified also, The dishonest are s cowards ;
they know not whether to advance or retreat.
“Oh, look at that head !” cried one, seeing me.
“It’s a ghost,” blubbered the other.
“Oh, you dunce! i
At the

loud voice bawling,



live boy.”

‘ame moment T heard from the distance a



“Come, you miscreants! we want you to gather
grass for the horses.”
I looked and s

red and yellow; it was a caravan of travelling





w in line three long wagons painted

mountebanks,
“Cabriole, Cabriole,” called the two boys.
“What do you want?”



“There's a savage, a wild boy; come, look!”

Cabriole advanced slowly.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 203

“Honor-bright, we ain’t doing no foolin;
“Where

“ Hiding in the wi





is your savage?”



ceds, yonder.”

‘They all three came near me together, and all be-
gan to shriek with laughter,

“What language docs your savage speak?” de-

manded the man they called Cabriole.



“French, if you'll believe it,” said the boys.

“French, sir, if you please,” said I.

I then told them my recent adventure. I was
travelling; I stopped to bathe, and a policeman had
1 since carly
morning—was cold, hungry and terribly mortified.
Th
on the ground in an cestasy

carried off my clothes. I had been na



ne





Laughed and shouted, the boy




fairly rolling

of glee at an adventure



which appeared much more



charming to them than
to m
Finally Cabri
“Buttons,” said he to one of the boys, “go and



ecovered himself.

bring
In less

back, and T lost no time in getting into the garments.

1 pair of trowsers and a shirt.”



than two minutes Master Buttons had come

I leaped upon the bank,



pw,” said Cabriole, “let us go and see the mas-

ter.



He led me toward the first wagon; I mounted it by

some little wooden steps. Near a brazier over which
204 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

boiled a meat stew I saw a little dry, withered old

ach a



man, and near him a woman so tall, so huge,
mountain of humanity, that she terrified me.

It was needful for me again to relate that portion
of my story which I had just told, and again a chorus
of wild laughter broke forth.

2” said the

“So youre going to take ship at Havre
little man,
“Yes, sir.”

And how do you mean to pay me for that shirt



.”



and pair of trows

I waited a moment in distress, then I took courage,
and said, “Sir, if you choose, I will do as much work
for you as will pay for them.”

“And what do you know how to do? Can you
drop your bones out of joint for a show?”

“T cannot.”

“Can you swallow a sword?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you play the trumpet, the drum or the tam-
bourine ?”

“None of them.”

“Well, what on earth do you know? Tt scems to
me, my lad, that your education has been singularly
neglected.”

“Stupid, ignorant child !” said the fat woman, with
like all the world. He



asigh like a porpoise; “he i
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 205



knows nothing, and yet talks of travelling with a
show.”
She ex:

shoulders, and so shook the whole yan, and then she

mined me from he:



J to foot, shook her



closed her eyes in utter scorn of my debasement.



Then she looked toward me, groaning in tones like

distant thunder:
“Oh, if

“ As, for i



pu were only a monster of some sort !”




tance, if he had but two heads or three
arms,” said the little man.



“ But he is made like everybody else. What a hor-
rid shame !” said Cabriole.

“Do you know how to curry horses?” demanded



the little man.
ed.
“Very good. That ends the matter. From this



“Yes, sir, I can try to do that,” Tansy

day out, you are engaged as hostler in the menagerie
of the Count de Lapolade, celebrated, I beg leave to
say, by the beauty of its animals, and by the courage
of the illustrious Dié¢lette—Diélette, our adopted

daughter. Yonder is Cabriole; he will show you what



you shall do, where you shall sleep and how you shall
eat. In one hour you may come back here for sup-
per. By that time the stew will be cooked.”

Twas not in a position to choose for myself. Lapo-

lade owned the clothes I wore, and [ could not go



naked to Havre,
206 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

I was not able to make any difficulty or offer objec-



tions. Indeed, in my



tremity, T very thankfully
accepted the strange resource offered me. I should
have clothes, supper, a bed. This, after my recent
disasters, savored of paradise,




CHAPTER X.




EHOLD me now a mountebank, or, to speak
with less vanity, the hostler of the caravan of
his lordship the Count de Lapolade!

My patron was not, as one would have every

right to imagine, a bogus Count. He had his pareh-





ments, which he willingly ted on all grand

occasions, which gave him the right to bear his high-
sounding title, After a life troubled by all vices and
by all evil passions he had fallen thus far. ‘To put
the finishing touch to his misfortunes, he had in an
hour of drunken degradation married the immense

woman, the giantess, who had been pleased so to de-
18 207
208 ROMAIN KALBRIS,



spise me, Celebrated through all the fairs in Europe
as the “Big Bordelaise,’ though in truth she had

been born in Auy



ne, she had in her youth occupied

the high position of a phenomenon or “female colos-



st s clad



Her portrait on placards represented her

in ros



volored gauze, delicately poised on a gray

cloud, her monstrous legs resplendent in white sill









stockings. Another picture showed her in a blue vel-
vet spencer, a bouquet in her hand, making bows to a
grenadier as huge If, with an inscription in






gold letters, “I weigh six hundred pounds.” She
had by h

which tempted Lapolade, ‘This man had no fortune

sum of mone



hibitions gained quite a



>

but his talent for begging. No one could resist his
ble
reputation equalled that of Mangin and De Turquetin,



an



importunate and endless pertinacity. His

The “Big Bordelaise” and himself had been partners

in a show; and haying married, the beautiful couple





had bonght a menagerie, which during its first years
had rivalled in celebrity that of Huguet of Mas-
silia.

But the qualities which had made Lapolade’s: for-

tune ended by cos



ing him dear, His limber tongue
loved hearers, and with his boon companions he fell

into drunkenness and gluttony.



His principal wild beast, badly fed and cared for,

had died ; others had been seized and sold for debt ;
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 209

and at the time when I entered the caravan it was



composed of an old lion, two hyenas, a big snake, a
learned horse, which by day dragged a wagon and at

night appeared upon the stage as an actor.



At supper I made the acquaintance of the members



of this mountebank company.
Besides C
al

unt de Lapolade and his big wife



were





‘ole, the clown, Buttons, the other boy whom I
alled “Thread,” two Ger-

one of whom played the



had already seen, and was

ma



elarionette, and w:



named Hermann, while Carlos, the other, played the



tambourine; lastly, the illustrious Diélette, a little

girl of twelve, of 3



rail, nervous appearance and





great blue pensive eyes.
Although e
T was

personages.





tering the company as a simple servant,



at the table with all of these famous



recel

The word table, perhay



does not exactly designate

in. that:



the thing which for the time being served us



capa



sity. It was a large, long pine box which oceu-

pied the middle of one of the vans. It served a triple



purpose. Within they kept the gala costumes of the
I-times it was the
Dié

this box were placed two others

company ; at mea



able, and at night



it held the mattress which was ette’s bed, Beside



, making seats for



the company, for only Monsieur Lapolade and his

Countess were honored with chai)


210 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Kor the rest, the inside of the van looked very well,

and had quite a stylish air, being ornamented and cur-





tained. Indeed, many lodging-houses at Paris have
not such a nice eating-room. A glass door with two
pancls opened at the back, two little windows were
decked with red damask, and some prints were hung

between them,



At supper Tw s to my hi

and told what I had befor

again questioned



tory,



rehe



sed, mentioning



neither my mother, my uncle nor my native town.



When I came to the incident of the soldier who
arrested Lucien Hardel, Diélette declared IT was a

dunce, and that in my place she would have been



much amused, and have gone with them as a good
joke. The two musicians applauded her remarks,

not in words



for they never spoke, but by three
united shouts of genuine Bayari:

1 Jaughter.



After supper there yet remained some hours of light,

“Come, my children,” said Count Lapolade, “let



out.



us profit by the remaining day to put oursely
of joint a little, We should alwa



ys exer



our



muscles.
He placed himself on the steps of the van, and
Diélette brought him his pipe filled and lighted, while



Buttons and Thread, placed upon the ¢
Thread
pulled off his blouse, lifted the cover, got into



the boy





by the roadside a little covered box. The!
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 211

the box, drawing down his head as if he wanted
to break it off; he then had himself shut up in the
box, where he disappeared.

Twas amazed, for the box looked so small that I
would not have put a child in it.

Then it became Buttons’ turn, but with all his efforts
he could not hide himself in the box, and from the

wagon-steps Lapolade hit him a vigorous blow with a





long stick, crying,

“You have eaten too much. ‘To-morrew J will put
you on short rations.”

Then he turned to me:

Come, it is now your turn.”

T made several steps backward to get out of the



stic



reach of hi , and asked, “Must J get in there?”
“Not ye

how todo. Jump yon ditch for me.”

my lad; show us only what you know



Tt was large and deep, but T was used to such
games, and IT jumped two feet farther than was.
needful.

Lapolade appeared much pleased, and vowed that
lh

van belonged to the owne





T was born for a rop
Phe fir

erie, the second to the wild beasts, the third served



ncer,



s of the met



as a store-room for food and needful articles, and a
sleeping-place for the other members of the company.

there was no bed provided for me, they gave me
18


212 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

two bundles of straw, and T lay down upon them.
Although my bed was better than I had had the pre-

ceding night, T remained a long while without sleep-



ing. The lights were put out, the noises sed ;
soon there was profound silence, broken only by the

as the beasts



stir of the horses tethered to the wagons



stopped at interva Now and



s to nip at the gras
then in the adjacent yan I heard the whistling breath

of the lion, as if in the silence and darkness of the



night he recalled the depths of his African jung





with a sigh, and now and again T heard him lash his



sides with his tail



s if a ray of courage inspired
him; he despised his captive state and longed. for
liberty.

He wi



in astrong cage. [was in the open air.
One moment I thought of profiting by my opportu-
But the clothes [

wore belonged to Lapolade, and I did not wish to be

nity, and. speeding on my wi



athief ‘Then I had promised to serve my new mas-
ter, and conscience held me to my word. After all,
he could not possibly be worse than my uncle, and

the day when I had worked enough to pa



for my

clothes and board T would he free.



The caravan journeyed on to Falaise, to the Gui-



bray fair; there, for the first time, T saw Diélette enter
into the cage of the lion, and T heard Lapolade make

a speech.


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 215

‘The costumes had been taken from the chests. Dié-
letto, laying aside her plain garb, wore a robe of silver
tissue spangled with gilt; on her head was a crown

of roses.



My comrades, Buttons and Thread, were in red

the two Germans were costumed like Polish



tights ;
lancers, with plumes that hung over their eyes. For

s to the



me, they had blacked me like a negro, my art
shoulders, my head to my breast. I represented an
African slave, brought with the lion from the desert,
and I was warned not to utter one word of French,
Loe

by a broad grin, show!



ery question addressed me I was to answer only




ng all my teeth, My poor
mother herself would not have recognized me.

This was exactly what Lapolade would haye de-
sired, for he did not know but in the crowd might
be some of my previous acquaintances, and he had
already made up his mind to keep me.

For two hours we made a great parade to draw the
attention of the crowd. Cabriole had finished his
antics; Diélette danced a reel with Buttons; then
Tapolade appeared on the stage in his most magnifi-
cent attire.

Around us was a great crowd. My eyes were fairly



dazzled by the numbers of white cotton bonnets, the
headgear of all the Normans about us. ‘The general,

ceased. Then



Lapolade, made a gesture. ‘The musi
216 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

he turned to me, holding out a cigar which he had





half smoked, saying,



“Keep it going for me while I speak.”
T ste
hind by Cabriole, who shouted :
“
and he don’t know enough to smoke it.”



ed at it, amazed, when I was cuffed from be-





a Hottentot! The general offers him a cigar,

The public deigned to think this a very fine joke,



and applauded it enthusiastically.

Thad never smoked. I did not even know that you
should blow the smoke out of your mouth, But
With one hand

Yabriole grasped my shoulders, with the other he

there was no time for explanations



pulled up my nose, and so foreed my mouth open, and
Lapolade thrust his cigar between my teeth. Cer-
tainly my horrified grimaces were very comical, for

the country folks laughed, holding their sides.



The general raised his cocked-hat, and bowed low ;

silence at once reigned around us.



“You see before you, my fri



nds, the celebrated
Count de Lapolade,
“What, that Lapolad

dress of a general? ‘The same, it is he. And why,

e? That charlatan in the



s himself in a

style so ridiculous? Oh, it is to please you, my lords,

you ask, does a man so illustrious dr



for to tell the truth, if at home and alone you are sen-
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 217

sible and honest men, when you get together in a
crowd you cannot help being fools.”
There v



a movement of impatience in the crowd,
and some grumbling tones.

Lapolade, without losing his. self-po



sion, took
his ciga



from me and smoked a few whiffs; then to

my disgust and utter despair he again thrust. it



between my lips.



“Halloo! below there,” he said, “that man with
the crumpled cap, and the one with the red nose, what
are you mumbling at? Is it because I told you that
at home you were honest men and added a little hint

about a fool? I—



II, I forgive you; I was wrong.
At home, if you like it better, you are clowns, and

here you are scamps.”



The crowd shouted with joy, because two were sin
gled out as the butt of his wit.
When the noisc
Then, if T we
place of standing before me with open mouths and
ey
be going indifferently on your way. But I understand



bsided, he began again:



» not disguised as a general, in



as round as saucers to stare at me, you would all

human nature, and know of what follies it is com-
posed. Therefore I haye been to Germany to look
for these two musicians, eminent in their art, whom
you see before you; Master ‘Thread, of whose renown
you have surely heard, and the accomplished Buttons,
218 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

whom you behold on this stage. Moreover, I have
the wonderful Cabriole, of whom it is needless for me
ak, after all that he has said for himself. Now

that you are gathered together, you begin to wonder,

tos



‘What is the Count Lapolade going to show us?



Come, now, Messrs, Musicians, a little lively music.”

This speech, which he varied according to the num-
ber, class and country of his hearers, I ean repeat to
you word for word. I heard it often enough, and
remember it perfectly. Thus often we find absurd

nothings lodged firmly in our minds, when graver



re quite forgotten.
It is well when we recall nothing worse than the
Count’s nonsense,
However, on this first day of exhibition, I heard
nothing clearly; the cigar smoke had sickened me
s and half



vilely, and I was in a state of dreamin
stupor when I went into the exhibition ring. Fol-
lowing the part which had been allotted me, I should
have opened the cages the instant Diélette approached
them.

T saw her come to me as if across a sort of cloud ;
in one hand she held a wand, the other hand she
kissed to the lookers-on.

In their cages the hyenas paced with swift, cat-like

steps. The lion appeared to sleep in his own den,



resting his head on his paws.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 219



id Diélette to me.
She entered. The lion did not move. The

her little fair hands she took hold of his

“Open the door, slave!”

n with



and



pulled with all her strength to make him lift up his
head. He still did not stir, She became impatient,
and hit him with her gilt wand on his shoulder. As
if he had been possessed by a demon, he raised him-
self on his fore feet and uttered a roar so terrific and

trembled under me.



deep-mouthed that my kn
Fear added to the distress which the tobacco smoke
had oceasioned; my heart failed, and half senseless I
fell to the ground.

Lapolade was a man quick to take advantage of
y incident.



“Behold,” he cried, “ the ferocity of that brute!
His roar alone causes a child of his native Africa
to faint with fright.”

My illness was evidently so real and so unpr

meditated that it was evident that it was not a scene





prepared in adyance, and the audience greeted it with
shouts of applause, while Cabriole carried me in his

arms and laid me on a pile of horse-trappings behind



the vans.
During all the remainder of the exhibition T re-
mained there, horribly sick, unable to make a move-

ment, conscious of what passed around me, recogniz-
1»
220 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

ing the roars of the lion, the cries of the hyenas and

the applause of the crowd.



‘Then I heard the people dispersing, and some mo-
ments afterward I felt some one take me by the hand.
It was Diélette, and she held a glass of water.

“Take this and drink,” she



1; “it is sugar water.

You are very stupid to get frightened on my



account,
but, all the same, I see you are a good boy, not like
these other ones.”

‘These were the first words she had spoken to me
since I entered the company, and this mark of notice
and sympathy comforted me. I felt. less alone,
Thread and Buttons were a pair of little scapegraces
who would desire only to do me every harm in their
power; I was thankful to find a companion.

‘The next day I wished to express to her my grati-
tude; she merely turned her back, and would not listen
to me, nor did she give me a word or look of regard,
There
Thad also gotten enough of a life where kicks were



, then, an end of my visions of friendship.

showered freely upon me, and I thought that by cur-
rying horses



and cleaning cages all day, and playing

the negro by night, I had more than earned the gray



flannel shirt and the shabby pantaloons which had
been given me. I concluded to quit the caravan and
get to Havre. My poor mother! Did I leave the

shelter of your honest roof to range the country with
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 221

mountebanks? Oh, if she could see me! Oh, if she
knew the truth !



The season advanced



the nights were becoming



cold; the days would before long be 3 it would
soon be impossible to sleep in the open ficld under the
Tty

that after leaving Guibray, where we were, we should



chilly ; needful to hasten, and the rather

turn toward the Loire, and thus be going further from
Hayr





I did not wish to venture until I had
taken prec s, I made provision of all the crusts
time in fash-
My

well marked out; the first night that the

T could save, and I employ



ed my sp



ioning myself some shoes out of old boot-le





plan was
caravan would be on the road again I wonld fly.
The da;

den, working on my shoes, when Diélette surpri

T was _hid-



fixed for our departure came.



ed me.

“You wish to save ” she whispered.



I made a sign as if to interrupt her, «



“For these eight days



watched you,” she



said. “You have a store of bread in a box under the



hay; you do not lay up crusts for nothing. But do
not fear that I shall betray you. No, I wish to es-
cape with you.”

“What! abandon your father?” T said, in the earn-
est voice of one who knew by bitter experience how
bad it was to abandon parents,
222 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“My father!” she retorted. “These people are
not my parents. But somebody will see us here. Go
wait for me behind the stone wall yonder, and I will
presently join you. If you are a good boy, I will
help you, and you will help me.”

I remained over two hours, strolling along the
ditches, without seeing her, and I began to think she
was deceiving me, when she suddenly appeared.

“Come, let us hide in the hazel bushes,” she said;
“it is necessary that no one should think T speak with
you, or we may be suspected.”

I followed her; and when we were hidden in the

thick bushes, seated on a pile of dry leaves and well



concealed from all eyes, she began to talk:



“1 suppose it is right for me to tell you my story.”
Although we were of about the same age, Diélette

had in speaking to me a tone of authority such as a



grown person might use to a child; and I could not

understand how, being so self-assured, she needed any



aid from a little dune
I felt for her a yery lively sympathy; and as, more-
over, she was mistress of my secret intentions, I could
not refuse to play the part of her confidant.
“TLapolade is not my father,” she said; “I don’t
know who my father



; he died while I was only
ababy. My mother kept a thread and needle shop
in Paris. She lived in a street near some market-
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 223,

house. Ido not remember my mother’s name any

more than I remember the name of the street we



lived in. All that I recall is that she was a beauti-
ful young woman with long fair hair—so long that

when my brother and I played in her bed in the



morning we were able to hide ourselves under it.

She loved us very much; she always hugged and



kissed us; she never struck us. My brother was a

little larger than I was, and his name was Eugene,



Many coaches passed through our street; in the morn-
ing there were on the walks piles of cabbages



beets,

carrots and beans of all kinds. When we on the



doorsill, we saw opposite us



a high church with a

beautiful gilt clock; above that



a little tower, and
on the tower two big black



rrows which all the day

whirled about in the wind. I mentioned this last





yea
here from Paris, and he told me that was the chureh

ar to a dancer in the Masson troupe, which came

of Saint Eustache, and that the black arrows were the
weather-cock,
“As my mother was busy in the store all day, she

hardly ever went out to walk with us; we were taken





out by a clerk. One day in summer, when it was very
warm, the streets were full of dust, and the girl took
us toa woody park. This park was near the barrier
of Trone, and you have heard them speak of it since

you have been here with us, I don’t know why my
192
224 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

brother was not out with me, but it happened he was
kept at home.

“T saw for the first time a troupe of mountebanks,
and they amused me very much, I wanted to go into
one of the vans, but the girl had no money, and I had
only four cents, which had been given me to spend in
cakes,

“She took the four pennies and paid our way into



a side-show.”

“And what is a side-show2” I demanded.

“What a stupid! Don’t know what a side-show is!
‘Then what ever do you know? Why, child, it is
a show where they exhibit a phenomenon—a female
colossus, or a learned pig, or some other queer thing.

“In this show there were two pigs inone pen. Ido



not know how it was, but my girl began whispering
toa man in this show. He looked at me closely, and
said I was very pretty. He went out with us, and
took us to a little ale-house where there was a small,
tired and

hot, and while these two drank ale and sugar I went

dark room with nobody in it. I y



IK



to sleep.

“When I woke up it was almost night, and the girl
He
replied we would go and find her, He carried me

was gone. I asked the man where she



out. All the world seemed to be near the park. The
vans and stalls were illuminated, and the musicians
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 225

were playing. He put me down, took my hand and
walked so fast that I lost my breath.

“Soon we left the crowd; we were in a wide road
bordered on each side by trees. ‘There were no gas-
lights, and only here and there a house.

“T began to be terribly afraid. I dragged so wearily

that the man asked if I were tired, and offered to





carry me, When I was in his arms, I began to seream,
Some soldiers were passing and stopped. ‘Why do

you ery? he asked, ‘I am taking you to your



mamm;

“T wanted to walk again, and the road seemed to
grow longer and longer, and was all changed; we
passed by great dark walls, and through a big gate
where were soldiers for sentinels. We entered a
wood which looked as if it never would end. Fear
overcame me; T stopped.

“You had better trot on, you vile little pest, or you
and I will fall out,’ said the man in a loud angry
tone.

“Nobody was passing; I was tired out; I began to
cry loudly. You understand? I was not: yet five
years old, I was timid, and I thought of my pretty
mamma,

“T don't know how long I walked, only T was very
tired, when we saw the lights of a village, and entered
a place on the edge of a wood where were some me-
226 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

into one of these we climbed. We were



nagerie vans
reecived by a woman who had no legs, and was drink-
ing brandy.

“The man whispered to her, and both stared at
me, ‘Then the woman’ said,

©You fool! she has a mark on her check.’

“The mark was a little red rose, where now you
see a small sear.

“«Qonfound it! cried the man, and disappeared.

“Fe

«She will come to-morrow morning, my little treas-



cized me, and I screamed ‘ Mother !



ure,’ said the woman; ‘the best thing you can do now
is to go to sleep.
Pex

his head into the wagon.

he is hungry,’ said the man, thrusting



Oh, well, I am just going to give you something
nice, little angel.’

“Tt was now that I found out that the woman had
no legs, for she moved, half rolling, half dragged by

her hands. ‘That amazed me, and made me feel worse



than ever. But as she gave me very nice things to
cat, I began to feel better.

“éThe little beauty! The perfect lady! said the
ng that I ate heartily. ‘She won't be





woman, se
hard to feed”
“She did not know that her sweetmeats were to me a
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 227

treat. prohibited at home, as my mother considered
them bad for my health.
“Now go to sleep, she said, when I was done





“She drew asi¢ curtain from one end of the van,

and showed two beds. I thought it so funny to sleep



in a wagon, that I slept excellently.

“When I woke up, my bed seemed to be moving,
and I thought I was dreaming, I heard a noise of
wheels and chains. Above my bed was a little square

window. I clii



bed up there to look out; the trees
seemed to be walking by, and afar off I could see a
field and a river. I knew that my room and my bed

wert



» indeed moving; memory returned. I began to
seream, ‘Mamma! mamma!’ A coarse voice which I
did not know replied from behind a curtain:

“Hush! We are going to her.

“But Iwas the more afraid, and screamed yet louder.

Then a man whom I had not yet seen entered the
wagon. He was very tall, and his head, covered with
a policcman’s cap, touched the top of the van.

“
« As you may believe, I shrieked yet louder, but he
rushed at me with extended hands. I thought he was
about to strangle me, and I buried my head in my
pillow.

“When he had left the wagon, I looked for my
228 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

clothes; but not finding them, and afraid to speak, I
remained in bed. ‘The wagon rolled on and on, some-

times on the paved road, sometimes on country roads.



Finally the legless woman came to me.

“Mamma! where is my mamma’ I demanded.

«¢ Soon, soon, my little duck, she replied, so softly
that I felt cheered.

“
“That is just what you shall do, lovey. Here, see
your clothes.’ She held out a black gown,

«Phat is not my frock?

“© Tf is the one which you must wear. I longed to
fly into a rage, to tear the gown, to ery for my mother,
to jump from the wagon, but the legless woman fixed
on me such a look that I could not disobey her.
When I was dressed in that wretched frock, the van
stopped, and the legless woman made me get out. We
were in a great plain, and all around us as far as we
could see were green fields. The man in the police
cap had lit a fire by the road, and from three poles
tied together at the top he had hung a pot. I was
very hungry, and was pleased to hear the pot boil.
The man took the legless woman in his arms and set
her by the side of the fire.

That mark ? she cried, looking at me.

«old! that is true; we shall remove it.”

«Then this erucl villain took me between his knees,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 229

holding me tight. He passed his left arm firmly
about me, holding down my hands, and braced his




shoulder against my back. ‘Then the woman grasped

my head in her hands as in a vice, and the man, with
a little sharp knife, cut the red-rose mark off my
cheek.

“The blood, flowing down, filled my mouth and

covered my dress. I thought he was about to murder
1



me; and utter



ing piercing cries, I bit his wrist fier





Without troubling himself with my distress, he put



on my cheek something which burned much, but
which checked the flow of blood.

“«Let her go now,’ said the woman.



“She thought T would run, but instead I flew at her,
and beat her in the fa



with all my little strength.



“T think that in return she would have choked me



to death, but the man took me from her and shut me

up in the vy



I continued the journey without get-
ting anything to eat. All day T was alone, and at
night, the moment they opened the wagon, I demanded
my mother.
“<«She
“T considered a moment, and then retorted:
d! You tell a lie?”



dead,’ said the woman,



“She is not d



“She began to laugh, which only enraged me, For



three w



cks or a month J remained with the legle
woman and the man in the cap. They thought to
230 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

conquer me, as people conquer wild beasts, by hunger.
But they could not do it. To get something to eat I
obeyed them a moment. The instant I had eaten I
did as I liked. The woman saw plainly that I never
would forgive the cut on my face, and I heard her say
once she was afraid of me. She believed I was able
to cut her with a knife in return,

“We at last reached a strange country. I find since
that it was a part of Germany. I could not under-
stand the language, and there were many rivers.
Finding that they could do nothing with me, they
sold me to a blind man who was no more blind than
you are, but who made believe blind to beg. Every
day he stood ona bridge to beg. Luckily, he had a
dog, and at evening, at his lodgings, I could play with
the dog. If it had not been for this, I would have
died of vexation.

“T had no inclination to beg; and as I would not
follow people, entreating and weeping, I got many
blows from the man’s cane every day. Tired at last
of beating me, the blind man sold me to some
singers. They were a strolling party, and I was to
collect the coppers while they played.

“Why, we went to every country. I have seen Eng-
land, and even America. When it was cold, we went
in wagons; when it was warmer, we walked; when
we reached the sea, we took ship.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 231

“When we returned to France, the musicians sold

me to Lapolad




He bought me fora rope-dancer, and



while I was learning I fed the wild beasts. At that
time we had three lions. One of them was very fero-

cious, but he became very gentle to me; and when I



fed him, he licked my hands, One day, being angry
mite



because I could not ¢: some of the danci



ng
steps, Lapolade beat me, and I screamed as loudly as
Lcould. He was before the eage of my lion, and the

beast got angry at si flew at the



ing me beaten



bars, thrust out his paw, took Lapolade by the
shoulder and held him fast. Lapolade tried to save
himself, but the lion’s claws were in his flesh, and
gripped him well, Lf a man had not ran up with an
iron rod, Li



polade might have been killed.
“He was sick two months, but he had gained the
idea of making me enter the cages. ‘Since the lions

are your friends,’ said madame to me, ‘they will not eat



you; that big one will defend you from the others.’

“Well, I liked that better than rope-dan



ving, and
since that day, as the circulars have it, “The illustri-
ous Diélette conquers by her charms the wild beasts
of the j
of th

big lion, poor Rongaud, were not dead, you would



ngle?” Lapolade isa stupid with his beasts





jungle; they are as mild as dogs. Ah, if my

see. I could lead them all three into one cage. I

could strike the other two with my wand; and when
20
ROMAIN KALBRIS.





they growled, I could say to Rongaud, ‘Defend me!
and he would get before me and face them with
horrible roars, at which everybody trembled. ‘Then

T would make believe to faint, and he would lick



my hands and whine. ‘They would open the cage

door, and he would carry me to it in his tecth, hold-



ing my clothes, If you could have seen it, you would

have applauded like the rest. ‘The people threw me



issed



bouquets, cakes and money, and all the ladic
me.

essful that Lapolade made up his
id, At Paris

“T was so.



uu



T was ov



mind to exhibit in Par





T would run away and find my mother, But just as
we were starting, Rongaud fell ill. Tt was winter,

and he was so cold that he shivered all the while.





Ah, what care T took of him! I covered him with
blankets and fed him. But, noverthele

I so miserable, ‘They



, he died





in spite of me, Never w
thought I too would die, ‘The caravan could not go
to Paris, and I could not find my mother, I haye
since tried to escape, but could not. I haye no confi-
dence in Thread and Buttons; they are bad boys



You are not a mountebank by trade; will you not



help me to find my poor mother? Oh, you will see



and thank you.”
In return T told Dié-

how she will rej
from Hay



Paris was



lette my story,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 233,



“Ah, well, pray take me to Paris, ‘Then my



mother will pay your fare to Havre—will take you



there and look for



ship.”

I tried to show Diélette how hard it was to travel
on the highways—how difficult to get food or lodg-
ing.

“T have fourteen shillings and eight cents saved
up,” she said. “That will buy us food. We will
sleep out of doors, I will not be afraid if you are
near me.”

‘This mark of confidence made me very proud, and
decided me to consent. At any rate, Diélette was a

little body who would haye her own way, and no one






could refuse, she had a fashion of looking at one so



beseechingly with her great blue eyes, which were
both daring and timid in their expression. She

looked at once frank and experienced, mild and res



olute, and would endure neither refusal nor contra-
diction,

Tt was then decided that at Orleans we would
abandon the caravan. “Until then,” she said, “I
will not speak to you before people. You are a good
boy—I trust you; but you are too good to outwit
people, and you must leave me to do that.”

She n

relish her compliment.



ade a little grimace, knowing that I did not

“Shake hands,” she said, frankly. “Tt is just be-
234 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

cause you are a good boy and not: able to deceive that
T have told you my story and trust you enough to go
with you in search of my mother.”

Then Diélette ran back to the caravan.




CHAPTER XI.





7 ATURDAY was the day for our car:

a van to set





out. The



‘treets wi



full of country people ;
2%, and as 1 crossed the public square to get to the
©§” wagons, I saw ‘Chread and Buttons stopping

before Turquetin, a famous



juggler, then very young,
and just appearing before th
A bad

his sleight-of:hand performances, and his great delight



public,





ymnast, Buttons was quite remarkable for



was to practice juggling before a gaping group of
country folks. When I saw him among the crowd

around Turqtetin, I concluded that he there to.



amuse himself, and I stopped to find out what new
20% 235,
236 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

trick he would invent, only, as more than once by his
pranks he had got into a scuffle, I prudently kept at
a distance.

Soon I was enlightened.

This was the play-day of these two lads, and they



were spending it in stealing handkerchiefs and snuff



boxes from the crowd. Naturally the most dexterous,
Buttons was doing the pocket-picking. Thread stood
by; and when Buttons passed him a snuff-box he
filled it with ground coffee, and when he got a hand-

kerchief he sprinkled snuff all over it, and these



things Buttons promiscuously restored to various



pockets, the crowd being so delighted with Turque-

tin that they could see nothing else, and standing like
saw fit.



lay-figures to be dealt with as these boy:

Already many people had taken out their doctored
pocket-handkerchiefs and had gone into a frenzy of
sneezing, to the intense delight of these two compan-
ions in mischief, who laughed and chuckled to them-
selves, Already others had snuffed pinches from their
tobacco-boxes, and had then glared at the contents in

amazement. ‘The scene was so deliciously



perfect

comic that I longed to have a part in the fun.





But just as I was tempted to join the boys a poli

man came up behind Buttons, at the very nick of



time, when that raseal’s hand was in an old gentle-



man’s pocket. ‘The officer seized him by the nape of
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 237

the neck. ‘There was a great stir in the crowd, a
rumor of trouble, and then Thread also was arrested.

Without stopping to see more, lest the evil genius
of these boys should lead them to implicate me out of.
spite, I slipped out of the crowd; and trembling at

my narrow escape, I hastened tor



join our encamp-
ment, where I related what had happened to the boys
at their lively little game.

An hour after, two offi
in our wagons. ‘They found nothing, for my two com-
ng,
and never had stolen anything but eatables, which

arrived to make a search





panions did not make a business of pocket-p
they had at once devoured.

However, that hand in the pocket and two hand-
kerehiefs which ‘Thread was holding were so against
them that they took them off to prison, The expla-

nations of Lapolade, as he tried to persuade the



magistrates that this was only the freak of a pair of
fanny, harmless boys, served only to convince the

justices that their dexterity was vei



for fear of being implicated as their accomplice or
instructor, the Count dared say no more. The police

is never very amiable to travelling shows; and if any



crime is committed in a county in which they are trav
ling, they are always the first ones accused. It is not

thought needful to prove that they are guilty, but it is



laid upon them to prove that they are innocent.
238 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Thread and Buttons, thus caught with their hands



in other people’s pockets, could not make it clear to
the legal mind that they had play and not theft in
view, and they were condemned to stay in the house
of correction until they had become of age.

It was decided by Lapolade, in order to fill the void
made in his company by their absence, that poor I
should replace them both. At this proposition from
the worthy Count I stoutly rebelled. I had no voea-



tion for dislocating my joints or shutting myself up
in boxes of a quarter my size.

“Tt is not a question of boxes,” he said, pulling
my hair, which was the act the nearest a caress which
he could perform. “My dear, smart lad, you are as
supple as an elder withe; you will do admirably as a
vaulter and tumbler.”

T was to make my first appearance at the fair at



Alengon, Unhappily for me, that town was not fi
off, and I had very little time to become proficient in
my new business; so, although my performances were
of a light, easy kind, they occasioned an accident
ably delayed the flight of Diélette and





which mis



myself, It was on a Sunday, the wretched Lapolade’s

best show-day; we began performing at noon, and



kept on without a minute’s rest until evening. ‘The

weary musicians were scarcely able to blow their in
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 239

struments. Lapolade was so hoarse he could no



longer harangue the mob; the lion was so cross he





would not rise; and when Diélette shook her wand
at him, he rolled at her most pitifully his languid
eyes.

As for myself, I was nearly dead with fatigue. I
was hungry; I was thirsty; I could hardly move

my stiff arms and le; At cleven o’clock at night



there was still a big crowd around us, and Lapo-
lade resolved to give a last exhibition to secure their
fees.

“TI know what pleases the public taste,” he said, in
an elegant speech. “We are weary, but we feel it

our duty to gratify you, my lords, even if we die of



fatigue. We have full gratification now for your cu-
riosity. Come in, come in, one and all. Enter.”

He began the



spectacle with my performances.
the bac



These consisted of perilous leaps across s of



four running horses, and of somersaults turned at the
end of a pole held by Cabriole. I did pretty well in
my jumps, and the public applauded. When Cabriole
took the rod, I y T really could



tempted to say th:



not do anything more, but Lapolade fixed on me his
most ferocious glare. I was also ashamed to give
up. The crowd excited me; and summoning all my

and ran



strength, I sprang upon Cabriole’s shoulder



out on the pole easil


240 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Cabriole was, like the rest of us, tired and weak.
At the moment when with all the might of his arms
he should have held the pole straight and steady, L
felt it veer and quiver; my blood grew cold; I shook
and fell forward, stretching out my arms.

The crowd gave a cry, J. fell heavily on the
ground, striking upon a stone pavement, from a height,
of six feet. I was somewhat bruised, and felt a vio-
0 a little snap
d to salute

, who looked at me anx-



lent pain in my shoulder, I heard a



in it. I lifted myself up and endeavor



the crowd around the a



iously, but I could not move my right arm.
Th s hurt
T grew f
“There is nothing the matter,’ said Lapolade ;



aw Dw everybody called out to me;





faint from severe pain in my shoulder,

“the exhibition will procecd as usual.”

“He will not be able to do this,” said Cabriole,
raising his arms aboye his head.“ But he is not dead
yet, so let all the people go to bed contentedly.”
for



This stupid speech was much cheered. Truly,





six weeks I was not able to lift my two arms in the
gesture indicated by Cabriole, beeause I had broken
my shoulder-blade.

A caravan has yery little dependence on doctors.
They attend to or neglect their sick as pleases them.
Lapolade himself bandaged my shoulder when the ex-
sole internal remedy he



hibition was ended, and fo
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 241

sent me to bed with nothing to eat. I slept alone in
s of th
my beggarly bed two hours without being able to

the van with the « wild beasts. I lay on



sleep. A burning thirst consumed me; T tossed and

turned without being able to get an easy position for



my aching shoulder, when at last T heard the wagon
door open gently.

“Tt is I,” said Diélette, in a low voice, “ Are you
asleep, Romain?”

“No,” I said, erossly,

She came toward my bed, and bending over me

ed my face with her soft little hand.



gently cares
You suffer all this on my account,” she said, gently.
“Will you forgive me, Romain ?”

“J don’t see what you had to do with it,” I said.

“Tf it had not been for waiting for me and d.



ing to reach Orleans that we might get in the road
to Paris, you would have been gone before this, and

would not have fallen to-day.”



Through the bars of the yan window came the

moonlight upon Diélette’s pretty face, and I saw tears



pouring over her cheeks, I tried to act bravely, so I
replied,

“Oh, that is nothing; it was just my clumsiness.”

I tried to move my wounded arm, but the effort was
too torturing, and I gave a groan.

There! you see how you are hurt—for me, for
242, ROMAIN KALBRIS.

me!” and with a swift movement she drew up her

sleeve.



“Se, look, feel there,” she said, eagerly.
“What? What is it?”
“This; here, let me show you.” She softly took my

hand and laid it on her arm. I felt blood there.



“When I found you had broken your shoulder, I
seratched and bit my arm as hard as I could,” said
this wild, curious, untrained little creature. “TI would
not be well and unhurt when my friend was in so
much suffering on my account.”

She spoke with a savage energy, and her eyes glit-
tered in the moonlight like diamonds; what she said
and had done was sufficiently absurd and ridiculous,
but in my feeble state it overcame me, and I sobbed.



“Oh, you dunce!” she cried, divining my emotion ;



«you have done a deal more for me. But see. I did
something better than bite myself, I have brought



isins from Lapolade’s store-box.



you a bunch of
Are you not very hungry, Romain?”

“T am thirsty, but the raisins will be very good.”

She stole off to get me a cup of water, in all her
motions making no more noise than a shadow.

When she came back, she gave me the water and
for



had a soft pillow for my head.
id. “You must get well, so that





you to sleep,” sh
we can escape. ‘The very day that you are well enough


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 245

to travel we will set off, no matter where we are.
You shall not get on that horrid pole again, to kill
yourself. That is not the sort of life you are fit for.”

“But suppose Lapolade makes me try it before I
get well?”

“We make you! Ho! T’ll make my lion eat him as
if he were a sheep. It would not be hard. Open the
cage, hit him one cut, point at Lapolade—a spring,
erack! his teeth would be through him.”

She turned to go, then, standing in the open door
of the wagon, she waved me a sign of friendship,
saying, “Sleep !”

It seemed as if my shoulder hurt me less. I found
a position to lie comfortably in, and I fell asleep,
while sadly thinking of my mother; heartsick, but
not quite despairing.

‘This was a most disastrous accident; it so hindered
our flight that it would bring us fatally near the
stormy season of winter, I had hardly been able to
sleep out of doors during the fine nights of summer,
but in November, when the nights would be long and
cold, with perhaps plenty of rain and snow, what
then? Ah, indeed, what then?

Diélette tended me unceasingly. She fed the ani-
mals and took all my tasks. She showed more im-
patience about my illness than T did; and when I

said sometimes that it would be prudent to defer
246 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

our journcy until spring, she resisted the idea
vehemently.

“If you stay with them,” she said, “you will be



dead by spring-time. Lapolade is bound to teach you
the trapeze, and you will not be able to do it. Be-

sides that, we go farther from Paris every day, and by



spring we may he in the south of France.



These reasons conyinced me, and we began our
secret preparations. Every day Diélette put me

rin exerci She made me rest my



through



shoulder against the side of the van and then li



my arm as fir as I could, and with her knife she

made a mark each day to show what progress I made



in using my lame shoulder, ‘Chus day by day we fol-
lowed the progress of the cure.

and from



From Alengon we had come to Vendome



Vendome to Blois; from Blois we should go to Tour:
where I was to resume my gymnastic exercises. It
was then decided by Diélette that at Blois we should

leave the caravan,



nd by way of Orleans should: go

toward Pat



She gave me s



ame mon



vy at Vendome,



and I bought an old map of France. With a pin

from the harness I made a compass, and with this I





had calculated the distance from Blois to Paris; it was

forty

November, when the





leagues. We were now well on in the month of





are only ten hours long.

Diélette had never been much accustomed to walking;
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 247

would she be able to stand trips of six leagues? (A
French league is about three miles.) Diélette said
bravely that she could travel eighteen miles a day,
but I much doubted it. At the very best, it would be
a week’s trip; luck



in view of going, this girl had
hoarded her savings, and she now had ten franes
(about two dollars), Our provisions were laid up, my
shoes were finished, and she had had an opportunity
of



retly buying and hiding on my bed an old
horse-blanket, which we expected would be of great
use to us at night.



Being thus ready, we only waited the pert
of my arm before setting out. By our calculations
and the steady progress showed by the marks on the
van, we expected our time to go would be about the
end of our stay at Blois, but a rebellion of old Mou-
ton, the big lion, who was usually very quiet, once
more hindered us.

One evening two Englishmen, who had loudly
applauded Diélette, approached her when the crowd
left our exhibition, and demanded that the girl should
again begin her performances for their especial bene-
fit, ‘They offered a good price, as a big dinner seemed

to have made them generous, and Lapolade greedily



accepted their proposition. Diélette therefore r
tered the cage.

“The charming child!” cried one.
ae
248 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“ How very brave!” added the other, and they began
to clap their hands.

I think a feeling of vanity and jealousy stirred up
Lapolade, for he exclaimed that if she were able to
be so tranquil and amusing with the lion, it was be-



cause of the education which he himself had given
her in the art of training and governing wild beasts.

“You!” cried the younger of the two Englishmen,



a pretty young fellow with a red-and-white complex-
ion and merry smiles; “pooh! you are a regular
braggart; I can see that with half an eye. You dare

not enter t!



age!”

“Ton dollars to one that you dare not go ing” said
the other Englishman to Lapolade.

“J take it up,” cried the Count, hotly

“Very good. But the little girl must come out, and
you must go in alone,” said the young man.

Without doubt it requires very great courage to



enter a den of lions, or



en the cage of one.
“Give me your wand,” said Lapolade to Diélette.
“Remember,” interposed the elder Englishman,

“that the little girl is to come out, and not go in again

while you are there.”
7



“T remember,



tid Lapolade, shortly.
We all stood around, Cabriole, Madame Lapolade,
the musicians and myself, whose duty it was to open

the cage door.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 249

Lapolade took off his general’s uniform.

“Tf that lion knows anything,” said the young
Englishman, “he won’t touch him; he is too tough a
morsel even for a lion’s teeth.”

‘Thus they jested and laughed at our noble patron,
which pleased us all mightily.

Wise was Mouton, our big lion, surely—quite wise
enough to remember the many ugly knocks on paws
and nose which Lapolade had given him through the
bars of his cage.

The beast began to tremble when Lapolade walked
cage with rod uplifted.

This attitude of the brute encouraged the m:
ter; he believed that he held control of the old lion,

into his





and he struck him a sharp blow to make him rise



up.

But the blow of the wand was not like the fierce
knocks with an iron bar which had often been given
to Mouton by Lapolade, and suddenly the old lion

saw that he had his enemy in his power. ‘The light



of courage blay



din the eyes of the cowering beast ;
he sprang up, roaring, and before Lapolade under-
stood what was coming he hurled himself upon him,
prostrating the unhappy Count, and lying upon his
nearly breathless body.

Lapolade fainted under the two huge paws, the



nails of which were buried in his bleeding flesh, while
250 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

the lion rolled him under his stomach with a hoarse
growl.

“Pm dead !” cried Lapolade as he fell.

Crouched upon his vietim, the lion glared at us



through the bars, his eyes darting flames, his tail lash-
ing his sides, which resounded like a drum,
Yabriole seized an iron bar and struck blow after

blow at the lion through the cage, but he never stirred



from his prey.

Then one of the Englishmen took a revolver from
his pocket and held it to the lion’s ear, which nearly
touched the bar of the cage.

With a quick motion Madame Lapolade grasped
his arm, crying out,

“Don’t, don’t! you’ll kill the lion.”

“Hallo! she cares more for the safety of the beast
than for her husband,” said the man, and added some
words in his own language. By this time the cries
had attracted Diélette; she ran toward the cage.
One of the bars had been arranged to afford her a
place of exit if at any time she was in danger. The
light figure did not afford any



place left for he
chance for the lion’s escape. By this place she en-
tered the cage behind the enraged Mouton, who did
not see her, She had no wand, but she courageously
seized him by the mane, He turned so quickly that
he threw her against the bars; but on seeing who it
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 251

ended to seize



was, he drew back his realy



paw, 2



a foe, and releasing Lapolade himself, he walked off

into a corn



ified
that he seemed lifeless, and it was needful to lift him
ly,
tte now stood before
1 The

lion had trodden on her foot, and she had a swollen



not dead, but so bruised and

Lapolade



out of the cage. However, this could be done s
rv Did!

the lion, She left the eage, walking back



and T opened the door,



ankle which kept her in a chair for eight d



Meantime, Lapolade kept his bed, half killed, wounded
and blecding from his hurts.
Finally, aft

was able to walk as well as ever

about two weeks, she told me she







, and therefore the

moment was come for the exc



sution of our project.
Kept a prisoner by his wounds, Lapolade would not

be able to follow us; we had every



hance of escape,




CHAPTER XII.

t T was now the third of November, but the
{ autumn was unusually fine. If we hastened,
SEP we had a good hope of reaching Paris before



© the setting in of bad weather,

Our plan, long discussed, had been thus definitely
settled. As I was never watched, I was to first leave
our encampment, carrying our baggage. This con-
sisted ofa little bag of dried crusts, the horse-blanket,
a bottle, my new shoes, a little bundle of clothes of
Diélette’s which she had hidden under my bed, and a
tin pail. ‘Then, when the Lapolades were asleep, Dié-

262
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 253

lette herself was to rise, steal out of the yan and join
me at a designated tree on the highway.

I reached our rendezvous as the clock struck
eleven. Diélette did not come till midnight. I had

begun to despair, thinking she had been det



sted,



when I heard her light step on the road, and she was
at my side. As she came into the light of a strect
ch she

age



lamp, I saw she had on the large red cape w!

wore to cover her gay dresses on her way to the



for exhibition, She was quite out of breath, and



exclaimed,

“T thought I should never escape. Lapolade
groaned like a seal, and would not go to sleep.
Then I went to say ‘good-bye’ to Mouton, Poor
dear Mouton! he will die of vexation, Have you
got everything ?”

This was

our effec



not the moment to make an inventory of



and T told her that as we might be pur-

sued and captured, our first business was to



out of reach as po:



“Good !” she



“What for?”

Phat we may solemnly promise to be true to each



other, and to live or die tog
ing to do that?”

“Cer

ether. Are you not will-



inly Tam.”
254 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

these words:
be?

“Life or death!” She gave me her hand, and T
fairly

feeling she put in those three words.

“Phen give me your hand and




‘We will aid one another in life or de:





trembled at the earnestness and intensity of

A mysterious silence reigned in the sleeping city.

We heard nothing but the plash of a fountain, the



rustle of the leaves in the gentle breeze and the crea





ing of certain strect lamps over our heads. We
no motion but their quivering shadows upon the

pavement in the moonlight.
Sra



Come, let us go brave



id Diélette, going on

before me ear



ing her little bundle of clothes. We

made haste to leave the town, and before long w





in the open fields. Then as I looked closely at Dié

lette she seemed to be ¢ ing something under her



cape. T wondered what it was, and finally asked her.



“Tt is my mignonette,” she replied, drawing back



her large cape and showing me her treasure. Tt was

in a little pot covered with gilt paper. She had



with affect



always cultivated this little flows



jon.
She had kept it in the window of the van, and it had

often seemed to comfort her under Lapolade’s



tions and tyranni



However, I disapproved of such an encumbrance,



and said, crossly, “ How do you suppose we can carry

that thing along 2”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 255

“Tow could I leave it, Romain? It would die. It
is bad enough to desert poor Mouton, Do you know
T was tempted to bring him too? I know from his
looks that the poor brute suspected something when T
bade him good-bye.”

‘Lhe idea of our bringing old Mouton looked very
funny tome. Would she have tied the big lion to a
string and led him like a dog after her? T began to
laugh.

Diélette now insisted upon cai



ing half the bag-
gage, and I had a good deal of trouble to make the
poor child understand that she had as much as was
right.

Without being cold, the night was fresh, and the
skies were gleaming with stars. All over the fields
the trees stood darkly



against the cloudless blue, and
cts, no chirp of birds,



we heard no whirr o}



\s such
as enlivens a summer’s night. Now and then as we
passed a dwelling we heard a dog bark after us, and
the neighboring dogs caught up the chorus; so that
the barking of these guardians of the farm seemed
like the call and answer of sentinels at their posts.
In order to get out of the way of Lapolade if he
ordered a pursuit of us, it was needful for us to walk
all night. I was afraid that Diélette could not do
this, but she bravely refused to



say she was tired
before morning. We went through many sleeping
22
256 ROI



ALN KALBRIS.





A

y darted up the skies before us; the cocks

villages, and at last were fifteen miles from Blois



yellow:
crowed for daybreak from every hen-roost; in the
eurled up



houses we



w lights moving; then smo
8 5

from the chimn and some laborers with a slow



step passed us on thi
“Now,” said Diélette, “let us rest ourselves, Lam
no longer afraid.”
You haye been afiaid, then?” I said.



way to work,



“Yes, indeed ; ever since we left Blois.”

“Of what?”

“Of the silence—T never like such quiet—of' the
darkness of the night, and of these long shadows
and make one
fast.”

y dawned fully while we made our break:

which wave and double themsely:



jump, and sct the heart beating too fi
Da
our dry crusts

st on



Tt was a gray, damp day, and showed
ie

less hedges, while here and there, among clumps of





us a wide plain naked of all verdure, divided by I

half-bare trees, we saw by the columns of yellow
smoke where dwelling-houses lay. Fields newly

ploughed succeeded to fields lately reaped, and nowhere



of crows



could we sce fruit or greenness, Flocks



flew croaking over head, divided themselves into lit.
ray
own seed, while others, looking



tle bands, and settling on the fields, searched afte





grains of corn or ne)



for worms, followed after the plough as furrow.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 257

Having rested, eaten, and then got water from a
little rivulet, we thought it best to walk on, and



spurred by fear of Lapolade and hope of Par ic
P ys T 1

ceeded in making six miles more. Then we were





completely overpowered by fatigue. Diélette was so



exhausted that the instant we stopped she
ng

iety had becn te know how we should

oll asleep,





hours without stirr



and slept for five



My great :

get along during the nights, Thad had my experience



of sleeping under the stars, and Twas by no means

c



at the thought of trying it during the cold nights

of November. So when we again set out, we made up

our minds that without regard to distance, whether it
was short or long, we should stop when we had found
a first



ate shelter, ‘This we found under a high stone
wall surrounding a park. ‘This shielded us from the

wind, and against it was heaped up a large pile of



dry branches, It was four o’clock in the afternoon



when we found this place, and after our early nap we

had walk



1 sinee midday.

I concluded at once to make i



ngements for the
night. Going into the adjacent wood, I brought arm-
fuls of dry leaves and piled them for a bed under our
arbor of branches. These branches T fixed firmly
into the earth, and then hang our blanket over them
to keep off the chilly dow. ‘Thus we had a soft, dry
couch and a tent. Diélette was very well satisfied
258 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

with my work. It was, she said, such a droll little
hut; it would be nice to live in a week, if we were
not on such an important journey. Ah, if we only

had some butter for our dry crusts, and a little pot of



soup! Why, if she had the butter we could make a
pot of soup with water and bread over a little fire,

Thus she prattled cheerfully, but we made our
supper, as we had our breakfast, of crusts alone, and
we were thankful to have enough of them,

We sat in our tent talking of our mothers and of
meeting them once more until it began to grow dusk.
When the red sunlight ceased to glow like coals
through the trees, when the birds grew silent in the
filled the road,
we leaned back against the pile of leaves and tried to

trees overhead and the great shadows



sleep. Then Diélette seemed more timid.



“Romain, are you asleep ?” she whispered.



“Pretty nearly.”
“Won't you try to keep awake until I get asleep?
I won't be so afraid if you are awake, and I shall not



keep rousing myself listening for dreadful noises

We were not badly sheltered by our blanket tent,
but. through some holes in it I could sce the clear
shining of the stars as I lay trying to be wakeful that
the frightened child might fall asleep first. Tt wae

hard work; Diélette was very nervous, and startled



at each falling leaf. At last weariness overcame her,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 259

and she slept. Rejoiced that my vigils were ended,



J was soon in dreamland. I had good reason to fear



the cold. Before morning we were both awake.

» “Tam half

& Ave you cold?” demanded Diélette.
frozen.”
We could not help ourselves, We had done our

best in the way of a shelter. There was nothing to



be added to our cov



ng, and we must sleep until



daylight, so that we could resume our journey. Be-
tween frost and fatigue, we were cramped in every
limb. 1 strove to sleep, but it was impossible. I

was aching terribly. I shivered as in an ague fit.



All about us T heard a que



» snapping and cracking
sound, as if ten million insects leaped and ran among
twigs and dead leaves.

“Do you hear that?” whispered Diélette,

Although I wanted to r
“No.” IT did hea
T wanted to be brave, as the protector of my compan-
he; “But a

r nothing,” I said to myself,



are her, I could not say



it, and did not know what it w:



ion. I was not thirteen, neither wa



boy of thirteen should fe



Vor a half hour we lay listening, and not daring to
move. T[ heard Diélette’s teeth chatter, and our bed
of Ieaves shook and rustled with our trembling, while
still that sume cracking and snapping continued.

The continuance and sameness of the noise restored





my cour:



. Tt was made by neither man nor beast.


260 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

If it had been, it would have varied at times. I was
determincd to see what it was. I lifted up a corner of
the blanket. The white moonlight showed me that
all about us was in the same state as on the preced-
ing evening, Emboldened, I put my hand upon the
leaves outside; they snapped. I knew now what
had alarmed us: it was the frost. This comforted
but did not warm us. On the contrary, with the ap-
proach of morning, it got colder and colder. Sud-
denly I heard Diélette jump up.

“What are

“Getting my mignonette. It will freeze and be
killed.”

She took the pot in her arms and wrapped her cape

you doing?” I demanded.





over it that it might be warmed.
“1 wonder what time it is?” she said. “Is it
morning, or only midnight?”
‘The moon was setting, but I did not know what
was the hour of its going down. Tt became quite
impossible to stay under our arbor. We crept close

s over us, rubbed our hands,



together, piled the lea

but got so cold we could not speak. We decided to go




on our way. One thing was certain—walking would
be warmer than keeping still. We then proceeded
to break up our encampment and to load ourselves
with our baggage. Diélette, to keep her mignonette

from freezing, held it under her cape, and this not
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 261

only fully occupied one of her arms, but made it stiff
she at once flew



I proposed to leave the plant; but as



into a rage and told me I was a “heartless creature,”



T dared say no more. We were therefore once more



on the road in the fro
Th
burden poor Diélette with my fears.

ry night.



journey had begun very badly, yet I dared not
She travelled

animated by the hope of finding her



on courageous!



mother, and always had a gay word to cheer me, no



matter what our troubles were.

had walked about an hour when we heard the



owing, and began to please ourselves with the



thought that it would soon be d: Active exercise



had warmed us, and we began to chat about the fears

and troubles of the night, deriding cach other for lack



of resolution, After a little disputing we agreed that
T was braver than Diélette, but that she was wiser
than L.

For fear that if Lapolade pursued us he would
follow the road to Paris, thinking that we would go

that wa



, we had set off from Blois on the route to
Chartres, that being, as I thought by study of the

map, not a very great distance out of our way, and



taking us still toward Paris,
One evening we passed through Chateaudun. ‘The
day had been delightfully mild, but the night closed

in cold, and we resolved to lodge at a little wayside
262 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

inn. This would be a heavy burden on our finances,



but would be preferable to perishing with cold.

“When we are out of money,” said Didlette, “we





will sing through the villages, and e:



rn some more

that way.”



She said this so bravely, with such confidence in her

own powers, that she reassured me.



But it is not very easy to get money by singing, as

we soon found—not nearly so easy as to spend it.



Four miles beyond Chateaudun we asked for lodg-
ings at a tavern, They charged us twenty cents cach.

This was bad enough, but in addition they asked



endless questions: Who were we? Where were we
going? What for?

Fortunately, we had prepared a little tale in answer.
We belonged to a strolling caravan, and were going
to Chartres to find a place for it. The elder members
of the company would follow us next day or the day
after that.

Neither Diélette nor I enjoyed telling untruth:




we seemed forced to fabricate something, and it morti-
ficd us greatly. We blushed as we spoke.
From Chateaudun to Chart

wide plain where one finds neither hous

's there is only a great



nor ham-





lets, By going into | h villages,

but the high

ads you can 1





y Ieads through a desolation like the
plain of Sodom.
























y TO GEE MONEY GY st
SOON FOUND.

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 265



Reaching Bonneval, a large town, we flattered our-
selves that we should make our fortune by our sing-

ing, but we only earned three cents.



I did not recognize as generosity a basin of water
which one bearded gentleman threw on my head, nor
the pursuit of a dog which tore Diélette’s cape, having

be

to treat a poor little pair of singers.

1 set on us by a butcher. ‘This seemed a hard way



“If Lwore a mask and you played on the flute,”
said Diélette, “we would make lots of money. Peo-

ple want something queer or comic, and they won't



give coppers to anything commonplace.”

Diélette had a most amazing patience and endur-



ance; she grew angry at neither cruclty nor scorn ; she

lived in the anticipation of mecting her mother, and



with that in vie



he pressed bravely on.

By good luck we did not haye to pay for our lodg-
ing the fourth night of our travels. ‘They received
us kindly at a farmhouse, and let us sleep in the
there-



sheepfold, where it was quite warm. ‘This ws
fo

morning, just as we set out, the



the most fortunate night of our trip. ‘The next

rmer’s wife mounted



her tilt-cart to go to Chartres. She had pity on
the weary air of poor Diélette, and offered her a ride.
Didlette refused, looking at me with so expressive an
air that the woman understood her thoughts, and said

there was room for both of us.
266 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

‘Travelling thus, sometimes sleeping at a farm,




sometimes by a brick-kiln and sometimes at an inn,



and always walking as fast and far as we could, we

got finally to a little hamlet called Biévre, about nine



miles from Par



It was stormy ; we had not a cent; Diélette’s shoes



were in tatters



3 she had a blistered foot, from which

she suffered te



ibly at every step. Each time that
we rested it scemed harder to go on when we rose,
and we were so weary that it seemed as if we had
weights of lead ticd to our fect. All this journey
Diélette had not complained, and was every morning
the first one to set out. We could not sleep at an inn,
as we had no money, but at Saclay we found a kind



carrier who allowed us to lodge in his wagon.
“Tt is neces
Diélette. “Tt

time to keep it with my mother, and T shall give her



‘y to start very early to-morrow,” said



a holiday, and I must get home in



my mignonette. I ca it all this way that I might
haye something to offer her.”

‘That poor mignonette! Tt was leafless, yellow and



still a little life near



dry, but there root, and



one new sprig testified what it had been in its glory.



We started at daybreak, when our friendly «
came to harness his horses,

Until now the weather had, for the time of year,
been wonderfully favorable to us. The nights had
ROMAIN KALBR. 267



been cold, but the di



s dry and clear. Now, as we

crept out of the wagon, we found that the cold had

become much more intense. ‘The sky was cloudy ; not



astar shone, and to the cast, in place of the beautiful



red tints of dawning day which we had been ac



tomed to se
dark.
north wind which whirled the dead leaves about, while

ve the begimaing of our journ



sw

ay clouds. Besides this, there a sharp





it swept fiercely against us, as if disputing our way.
Diélette had

flower-pot. Day came, but dull and stormy,

id Diélette. “So

much the better; there will be less light to show our



great trouble to keep her cape over her

«The sun is not going to shine,” s



,



dirty rags.” She found con:
“Don’t fear the dirt,” I said, grimly

sure there’ll be storm enough to wash us and our

ation in all things.

“you may be





clothes before we reach Pari



T thought it would
rain, but instead of that it snowed. First little flakes
came dwn, swept about by the wind, then big flakes,

ill. The air seemed soon to be solid



and big ger

snow, and it beat in our faces until we were nearly



blind. We had hardly gone three miles of the six



which remained to us; the woods on cach side of the
road were thick and dark ; and as, in spite of our im-
patience, it was quite impossible for us to travel on in
that wild storm, we tricd to find shelter under the

trees, ‘There was not a house in sight.
23
268 KOMAIN KALBRIS.

e with dead leaves here




Above a ditch was a he



and there sticking to the branch We took some



brushwood and brushed away some of the snow from



under the hedge, and crept into this shelter, wrapped



together in our blankets. ‘Lhe hedge prot
pretty well for a long time, but the swiftly-falling
snow covered the ground deeply, and rested on the
branches above us, and piled high on every side.

Our clothes were thin and torn, I saw Diélette grow
blue and numb; her tecth chatiered; she shook; she

clung close to me, but Iwas too cold to warm her.



‘The snow, which sifted into my neck and shoes, melted,

and ran oyer me in little icy streams. I was as wet



as if Thad been dragged through a



For about two hours we kept under the hedge be-
fore the wind fell sufficiently to permit us to go on.
Then the snow had ceased falling, and went drifting

od



about in the wind, rolled into long banks or whirl

mids,



into py)
All this while Diélette had clung to her mignonette ;
she clasped it to her, sheltered under her cape, but the
snow, which insinuat
to it. When she
the pot,
“What do y
“Take

It vexed me to sce her take so much trouble for



od itself everywhere, penetrated

uw the flakes lying on the earth of



she wished to hand her treasure to me.



uu want me to do with it?” I asked,





are of it—save it, please, Romain,”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 269

this poor plant, and T said, cross!

shoulders and pointing to her fingers, which were



, shrugging my



numb and red from holding the pot,
“Look at these. You had much better tell me to
fling the thing away.”

We were in that mis



ble, painful state of mind



and body where quarrels ed up; we
exchanged some angry words—the first which had
passed between us; then, each falling into a sullen
silence, we sat staring straight before us at the falling
snow. Presently I felt her chilly little hand pulling
at mine, and she said, mournfully,

“Where do you want me to throw it?”

“Don’t you sce that it is dead, Diélette? The
are all black and stiff.”
She s

she whispered, with pathos,





id nothing, but



filled her eyes. Then

“Oh, my mamma, I will now have nothing to
bring you.”

"Phere! let us keep it,” I eried, overcome by her
sorrow. “Give it tome; I will carry it. Indeed, I
would like to do so.”

By this time the wind had fallen. The snow was
deep, and scattered flakes yet descended. ‘The snow
near us came up to our knees, and the longer we

ing
seemed inclined to cover us with his white blanket.



waited, the worse it would be. The storm:


270 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Then he would never give us back to life. We
would see no more summers. Again the verse of the
hymn droned in my tired head :

“Shall God his children leave without his care?”



All the warm-weather birds were off to the tropies ;
the robins had homes somewhere, and food; the snow-
birds were provided with warm jackets; all the young
leaves slept in snug varnished cradles, It was warm
deep in the earth, where next spring’s blossoms waited.

Only Diélette and I were houseless and hungry and



freezing, and God must haye forgotten us, his two



The coming good was so far off that we got no
glimpse of it. We could not guess whither we were
Ied on this painful way. We were wretched and
despairing, and still my song droned on in my head
and old names revived before me. I was getting
drowsy, and would soon have been asleep—a fatal
slumber. Diélette was also very still. Conscious of
our danger, I roused myself and her :

“Diélette, see how the limbs of the trees bend
under the snow. It may come down on us like an
avalanche and bury us. Then don’t you think there
must be forty pounds’ weight on this blanket? I
feel as if I were dead all over, don’t you? Suppose

we do die here.”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 271

“Then T won’t see my mother after all,” cried Dié-



lette; “and we have come so far, and she cried



over me for seven years. Oh, let us go on, Romain,

Just one trial more. If we can get three miles far-



ther, we will be at the city, and there the snow will



not be so deep. I believe it is most done snowing,



any way.
We struggled to our feet, and hand in hand fought
our way to the main road, going knee-deep in snow.

As far as we could see there was neither wagon nor



wayfarer in the road. Some hed on the



avens pert
topmost branches of the snowy trees with harsh cries
seemed to mock our toils and pains.

Having passed through a small village, we reached
the brow of a high hill, and before us we saw a great
cloud of smoke hanging low over the plain, and the

wall and towers of an immense city which lay a black



mass between two white snow-covered hills. A con-



fused hum and roar came to us, something like the



murmur of the sea.
“Tt is Paris!” screamed Diélette.
At once we felt less cold, less hungry, less tired.

Our goal was before us.



We now saw carriages and wagons on the road
converging to the city. But alas! we were not yet at
Paris. When we had descended the hill, the brilliant

capital had vanished out of sight on the lengthening
238
272 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

plain. ‘Then thirst, starvation, cold and hunger re-
turned upon us.

We shook and trembled with every step, and our wet
clothes steamed upon our bodies. The snow melted
on all the roads, and instead we had deep black mire.
Carriages passed by in a constant stream ; houses sue-
ceeded to houses lining the roads, and the plain was
cut up into parks and pleasure-gardens. In spite of
her energy, Diélette was obliged to stop; sweat poured
over her face; she was very faint. I brushed off the
snow from the steps of a house, and she sat down.

“Ask somebody how: far off we are now,” she
gasped to me,

T called to a man passing in a cart.

“Whereabouts are you going?” he asked.

“To the great market-place, the Halle,” T said.

«Ah, well, it will take you about an hour and a
half—fully that ; it is across the city.”

” sobbed Diélette,

“T never shall be able to do i 7



hearing this answer.
and breathed



She grew very pale, closed her ey
focbly.

I tried to arouse her, but she shook her head, and
only wanted to lie on the doorstep.

L spoke to her of her mother. She must not give
up, when less than two hours would restore her to her
home.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 273

This recalled her to herself. She allowed me to

help her up, and we again pressed on our way. Dié-



lette said,

« Ah, you will see how glad my mother will be, and
how she will thank you, Romain. We will have hot
soup and plenty of cakes, and I shall go to bed and
sleep eight days without ever getting up. ‘Then I will
be rested.”

‘At the barrier I asked the way to the Halle,
and they told us to take the right hand to the river.
The stre
than the main road. Some people stopped to look



of Paris were more icy and snowy

at us two forlorn creatures, Among the crowd of
carriages, hacks, hucksters, peddlers, strect-s



epers
and business-people we two looked like a pair of lost
birds.

Diélette had recalled strength and hope, and clasp-
ing my hand, walked on quite rapidly. Arrived at
the Seine, they sent us to Pont-Neuf; and then, going
to the right, we came in sight of Saint Eustache
church, When we saw the great gilt clock and vane
I felt Diélette trembling and leaning on me for sup-
port.

“The clock!” she cried. “See, the clock !”

It was not a ery of joy.

“T see the clock, Diélette, but no houses opposite.”

We were in front of the church-tower.
274 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“ We are mistaken,” she said; “this cannot be Saint
Eustache.”

Tasked a pass



d, “Saint



-by what it was; he
Eustache.”
DiGlette stood with staring eyes, unable to utter a

word, completely paralyzed.



“ Let us search in all the streets which are near the
clock,” I said to her.
She allowed me to lead her, but she had not now

and hope which had 1: conquered her



the energy
feeblene:
She did not recognize any of the streets.





Opposite the church was a square where the houses
had been torn down and the workmen were busy
building stores.

«Tt was there,” she sobbed, wildly—*it was there
T lived, and my house and my mother and my
brother are gone!”

“Let us ask somebody.”

“What shall we a
street and the name of my mother, but T would



I forget the name of the



remember the house if I could see it; and it is gone.”



Tt was a blow such as stronger hearts and bodies





could not have sustained; so many fatigues,

tr

many



Is, as we had borne in the strength of our hope.



We sat down on the church-porch. We looked
tupelied, terrified; the crowd about



at each other,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 275



church and markets so dense that we could not get
through it. Several people stopped and gazed at us,
two wretched bundles of rags as we were making
such a pitiable spectacle on the steps of the gorgeous
cathedral.

Stronger physically than Diélette, and far less



cruelly wounded in my best hopes and affections, I
was the first to recover my wits and remember that
we must do something. Taking her by the arm, I led

her into a great basement where were piles of vegeta~



bles of all sorts, ‘There were in a corner some empty
baskets, and I made her sit down on them.

She permitted me to lead her about as if she were
an idiot, I found nothing to say to her. Her stony
silence terrified me, she looked so deathly ; there
was not a tinge of red on her lips, and her whole body
quivered.

” T faltered.

“Ah, mamma, mamma!” she





ried, and great tears



rolled slowly over her white chee!



About us in this market-place was a continual noise
and stir—cries of hawkers, calls for errand-boys and
change, a tumult and bustle which deafened us.

But amid all this excitement the spectacle of two

children so beggarly



and famished, one of whom wept
ceaselessly and the other was in an agony of sym-
pathy, awoke some curiosity.
276 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“What are you doing here?” demanded a fat mar-



woman, leaving her stall to see us.
“We are resting,” I replied, faintly.
“Nobody rests here,” she said, bluftly.
Without an answer, I took Diélette by the hand to

lead her away. But where could I take her? I had

no idea, But the poor child looked so pitiful,



heartbroken, so almost dying, that the fat woman
pitied her, and said to me,

« Just see how weary and sick she



is! Are you not
ashamed to make her walk like that ?”



Then questions followed questions, and I was
obliged to tell her why we were there—that is to say,
that we had come a long way to look for Diélette’s

mother, and that the house was torn down,



“Ah, my Goodness! what a history !” cried the wo-
man, when I had finished ; and hearing her exclama-
tions, other market-people came running up and began
to ask questions also.

Then you don’t know the name of her poor moth-
er, nor of the street, nor anything more?” said a wo-

all

of you, have you heard of a thread and needle mer-



man, when I had again concluded my tale. “Say
chant who used to live in one of those houses.”
There was then a confusion of questions and an-

swers,



but nothing exact could be made out. Eight
years was a long while, and many changes had taken
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 277

place. The streets had been altered and houses re-



built for some time; the block now demolished had
been in process of destruction a year, ‘There were

hundreds of such shopkeep



in Paris, and which
one was Diélette’s mother? Where could she now be
found? Where ought she to be looked for, and how?
All was chaos.



During all this talk, Diélette sat speech
every moment, if pos
palsy.

“Don’t you see the little girl is freezing?” cried one

, paler



ible, and shaking as if with a

of the wome



“Come, my darling child, to my stall.
r of

She took us into her shop, and two or three women

I haye a bra:



‘oals there to warm you.”

followed us, while the others returned to their busine:



discussing our story.
Our friend did not content herself with warming



were dry and warm, and cheered a little, she put
twenty cents in my hand.
a great deal for a person to give, but how



it for us in our terrible emergeney! Where
should we go? What should we do? As for me, I
could go on to Havre from Paris and seck a ship,
but there was Diélette. ‘To what an extremity was
she reduced! She knew the full misery of our position,
for as we left the market together she said,
278 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“Where are we going?”

The church was before us, and once more the snow
was flying through the air,

“ We will go into the church,” I replied.

We entered the open church, Tt was very beautiful,
m, All

now and then some one looked in for a moment, en-



but, what was better, it was wa silent;
tered a pew and then departed. We sat down in a
corner.

Diélette bowed her head. I heard her whisper,
“© God, help us, help us!”
“ Listen, Diélette,” I said, putting my head down



beside hers. “Since you cannot find your mother, let



us go and find mine.”

“What, to Port-Dien 2”

“Yes, You can never go back to old Lapolade,
You have had more than enough of the caravan, [know,
There is nothing left you but to go to my mother,
You can help her work ; you will be company for her,
and not so much trouble as a boy like me. She will
teach you her business. ‘Then she will give me her
blessing, and I will go to sea, and I will earn money
for you both. You will see that my mother will love
you dearly; and if you are with her, she will worry
less about me, If she is sick, you can take care of
her, Yes, we must go to Port-Dieu to my mother,
Diélette, and the sooner the better.”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 279

Diélette seemed much comforted by this proposition ;
she raised her head, and agreed to what I said with an
red

the horrors of her lonely position. She made only



eagerness which showed how fully she had reali

one objection :

“Vm afraid your mother won’t want me.”

“Why not?”

« Because—because I have been a menageric-girl,
and everybody hates them.”

“And T haye been a menagerie-boy, but she will
not hate me.”

“That is not the same thing; you are her own,”
she replied, mournfully.

Tt is one thing to know what to do, the next thing
is to do it. Our future looked well enough, provided
we got to Port-Dieu; but the present?

I did not realize the distance between Paris and
Port-Dicu. I only knew it was very great.

At Montrouge, before we entered Paris, in our
weariness and eagerness to finish our wanderings I
had thrown away all our encumbering baggage,
everything but my map, which was in my jacket
pocket. Spreading it out in the pew, I studied it
some time, and saw that in leaving Paris we should
take the street along the Seine, That was the first
thing to know; by and by I should find out the rest
of the way.
280 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

We had

no shoes but tatters, seareely clothes enough to cover



But how could we make that journey?

our bodies, and only twenty cents of money. How
could we endure any more fatigue, especially Dic
int? One







lette, who cach instant appeared ready to
moment she grew pale as snow, the next her face
glowed like fire, and the trembling never ceased.

How could we pass the night out-doors in the storm?



In the morning, in full daylight, with hope so strong



in our hearts, we had nearly perished ; what could we



do now in night and hopelessne
“Are you able to travel 2” I asked Diélette.
«T don’t know. Coming here I started strong and

well, and T seemed to see my own pretty mamma



standing before me. That led me on—gave me heart.
I cannot see your mother in that way, Romain,”
“Wha

us, and we both started up.



re you doing here?” asked a voice behind

Our map was spread on the seat; we were whis-
pering earnestly. Tt was quite evident to the sexton
that we had not come in to say our prayers. He
said, roughly,

“Get out of this quickly.”

We rose and walked out before him, and he
grumbled between his teeth at our ragged appearance,

There was no snow falling, but an icy wind blew



sharply. We hurried along the street by which we
Dy: ig ys
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 281

had come. Diélette could scarcely drag herself for-



But T was excited, driven on by need, and

had been much strengthened by the warmth and the



bowl of soup. I did not feel my weariness. We

walked some ten minutes, when she stopped.
«] 1, feebly. “See how

I tremble; T am nearly fainting; Tam deathly si



n do no more,” she





my breast hur

She

ments rose, took my hand and came on aga



palearmmoine totic: »
me; Iam going to dic, Romain.



at down upon a doorstep, but after some mo-
in. We
and turned to the right. The



reached the Seine,



quays were hidden under masses of snow, and the



whiteness of the bank made the river look nearly
black.

on rapidly. Some boys were playing with their

Passers-by wrapped in warm cloaks strode



sleds in the streets.

“Ts it far?” whispered Diélette.



“To where?”

“Where we are to sleep.”

“T cannot tell; let us walk on bravely.”

“But I cannot walk on. Stop, Romain. Leave
me—leave me to die here. Lead me into that corner,
and let me die.”

T put my arm about her. I wanted to get her out



of Paris. I thought that, once more in the country, T
could find an empty house, a lime-kiln, an inn, a barn,

some place of shelter; but in the busy, hard-hearted
282 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

city every one passed us coldly, and if we entreated
aid, would arrest us. Whenever we had passed a
policeman, he had looked at us so severely that I felt
that he was our chief’ enemy.

Therefore we traveled on for a quarter of an hour
perhaps, but we did not seem to make any advance.
We were yet in the city; big houses, high walls and

policemen everywhere. ‘The walls seemed never to



end. ‘hey had on top of them sentinels, sentry-
boxes and trees whitened with snow.

Diélette no longer supported herself. To tell the
truth, I nearly carried her, and without my arm
around her she would have fallen at once. Despite



at poured over my forehead from
I knew that the child had

the cold, the s



1

and di



ress,



wearin
reached the limit of her strength. She was very ill,



and what would become of us?

Diélette let go of me, and dropped herself upon the
pavement.

“That is the end of it all,” she said, feebly.

I strove to drag her up. She got on her knees, and
then fell over,

I sat down by her, raised her head and begged
her to rise. We must go on; we would be arrested
and separated.
and



Ww



She was perfectly helples ed nothing.

Indeed, she did not hear me. Her dry, hot hands


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 283,



burned mine as I clasped them; they seemed the only





living part of he
Afte
body passed. I got up and looked about. I could

they were like red coals,
some minutes, terror overwhelmed me. No-



see nothing but the river, the wall and the snowy
street. I screamed in Diélette’s ears;





I strove to lift her up and carry her. I got her in



my arms, and staggered on some steps, when I was

forced to stop. I could not carry her.



She slipped from me to the earth. T sat down and



held her head. This was indeed the end of all; she
was dying alone with me in the cold night. Certainly
in this climax of our misery she was yet conscious,

for as T leaned moaning over her she patted my hand



tenderly with her little cold fingers. The gentle



action broke my heart; I wept wildly



I hoped, however, that with consciousness her
strength might return, and we could go on somewhere;
but she lay motionless, her eyes closed, and as she
reclined against me, if it had not been for a tremulous
motion of her body, I should have believed her
dead.

One or two people passed us; looked surprised to

see us sitting on the snowy pave, and went their way





regardless of our suff



ngs.

It was needful to do something, and I resolved te



beseech help from the next one who approached us.
ey
284 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

‘The next person was a policeman. I called him, and
he demanded what we were doing there.

T replied that my little sister was sick, and we were
unable to go on.

‘Then he began to question me, and I told him what
Thad made up my mind to answer to every one—that
we were going to our mother at Port-Dicu, on the
seacoast, that we had travelled alone more than
ten days. When I said that, he opened his eyes in
astonishment.

“Come,” he said; “this poor child will die here ;
let us take her into the station-house.”

But Diélette was not able to stir. When I prayed
her to rise, she made no sign of consciousness. ‘The
policeman spoke to her, but she did not understand
him.

He then took her up in his arms, and bade me fol-
low him. We hurried along the snowy road for about
five minutes; then he came up to some other police-
men, and related to them where he had found us and
what I told him.

One of the new-comers took Diélette to carry, and
presently we were at the station-house, a large building
with a great red lantern swinging at the gate.

In a hall about a red-hot stove were many police-
men lounging and chatting, and seeming very com-
fortable.




ROMAIN KALBRIS. 287

‘As Diélette was unable to speak, they questioned
to what I had said in the first place.



me, and I stue

‘They had laid the poor child on a lounge, and were
now looking curiously at her wan face.

“T believe she is dead,” said one of them.

“No, not yet; but she is precious near it, I can tell
you,” said another.

“The only thing to be done is to carry her quickly
to the general hospital,’ added the chief’ officer.
“And as for you,” he said, turning to me, “what
are you to do? Have you any means of subsistence?”



T stared at him, dazed by my miseri
“Say, boy, have you any money ?”
“Sir, I have twenty cents.”

“Very good. You had better use it in getting a



lodging; for if you are found as a vagrant in the
streets, you will most likely be arrested.”

They then laid Diélette on a litter, covered her well
with blankets, drew the curtains over her, and two
men were ordered to carry her to the hospital.

ight was unspeakable; she seemed





My agony at this s
dead, and about to be buried, my poor Diélette!
Could she not go to my mother to get some love and
comfort, now that her own mamma was doubly lost?

I longed to snatch her from her bearers, but what
could I do for her? Then I thought how the police-
man had threatened to arrest me if I should be found
288 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

in the streets. Nevertheless, I must follow, to sce
where they carried Diélette.

T ran and caught hold of the men, begging per-
To this they



mi



n to go with them to the hosp
agreed.

We had a long walk, during which we crossed the
Seine; finally they stopped in a large square, where

on one side I saw a y



ry beautiful church and on the
other a huge stone building full of doors and win-

dows. The porter permitted me to enter with the



other



A gentleman dressed in black then opened

the curtains of the litter. I pressed forward to see if



sed beating in



lette were dead; my heart nearly
my agony of suspense, but she was living; her face

was as red as a rose.



‘The stranger spoke to her very gently. I stepped
forward and replied for her, as she continued in-
sensible,

‘Thus for the third time I had this history of our



ten days’ wanderings to relate,
“Very well,”

was. “Cold, wet, fatigue, starvation, have done it;





id the house-surgeon, for such he

she has the pneumonia; no wonder, God help the
child!”

He wrote some words on a slip of paper, and gave
an order to the bearers. We then began another
journey. The snow was slippery, and the bearers
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 289

often stumbled, and sometimes stopped to rest.. When
they did

sometimes she replied in a choked, feeble voice, some-



, I went to the litter and spoke to Diélette;

times she seemed not to hear.

We went a long way this time; I was so tired I
thought the distance doubly great. ‘Then we came to
a quiet street, where there were fewer pa:





smaller house with less doors
place looked gloomy enough. It w:
children’s hospital. Some men in white aprons met

us, took us into the hall, called for a nurse and



an order, The policemen at once left with the litter.

Diélette lay on a lounge. We saw that the hour of



me, She looked at me, her cheeks and



parting had



eyes bright with fever.

Do not leave me,” she said, beseechingly



T could only think of Diélette and her desolation.



She lay on the lounge entreating me to stay with her.
ort you,” I sobbed.



«T will never d

She could only thank me with a look, but what a
world of feeling was in that look!

They lifted her up to carry her off, I screamed
after her

Then I stood stupidly, half dead, without offering

“TJ will stay in Paris! I will visit you !”



to leave or knowing where to go.
‘The porter came to me and told me that I must ge
out.
290 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“ When shall I be able to see her?” I asked.
“Why, on Sundays and Wednesdays, they allow
the friends to visit the children.”
ssion on this



He was in no mood to prolong di
cold night; he thrust me out, and the door was locked.
The lights were lit in the streets and houses ; every one
had ahome but me. Last night I had Diélette; now I
had no one.

The first question with me was where I should
sleep ; as to how I should live in Paris while I waited
for Diélette to get well, I could consider that on the
morrow. Of course I must so live and wait, and I
must earn a little store of money, that I could get her
food and conveyance for our journey to Port-Dieu.
I no longer felt that I must have a well-arranged



plan, all precautions taken against disaster. I had
tried it, and everything had gone wrong. I had got
in the habit of misery, if one may so speak, and this
habit renders one careless of the future.

Although now occupied with but one idea—the
question of shelter—I found no solution for it. I
knew no one in that great and splendid city. ‘There
were thousands there, as wretched as myself, who at
that very hour knew neither where they should sup
nor sleep. Brought up in the country, I had in mind
only a country boy’s resorts-a farm-house, a stable, a

hay-rick—and none of these could be found in the
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 291

quarter where I was wandering, I saw nothing but
walls and houses, houses and walls.

T had turned to the right in leaving the hospital ;
and looking for the name of the street, I read on a
corner house “ Savres str
ently on a broad avenue planted with large trees.

Whither would this lead me? But it mattered very
little; I had no more object in going one way than
another. I strolled on very slowly; I was too worn

et,” and found myself’ pres-





out to move quickly, and I had no spur to action,
‘My shocless feet, which had been in snow since morn-
ing, were as insensible as if they were dead.

On the other side of the avenue were some children
sliding, and I mechanically stopped to look at them.

Among those who passed before me I saw, to my
amazement, a familiar face.

Tt was that of a lad called Biboche. I had seen him
at Falaise, where he had belonged to the troop of a
showman named Vignali. Their caravan had been
pitched beside Lapolade’s for some weeks, and Biboche
and I had sometimes played and chatted together.

‘As I was the only spectator of this sledding game,
the boy looked at me and recognized me. He ran up
pleasantly :

“Halloo! What are you doing in P:



, Romain?
Is your menagerie come in? If it has, I shall go see

Diélette and her lion.”
2
292 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

I told him that I had ran away from Lapolade,
that I had only been in the city since morning, and
that Twas much troubled to find food and a lodging.
I said not a word about Diélette, and ended by asking
in would



him if he thought that the troupe he w:
engage me for a time, for I was desperate.

“Oh yes, surely they will be glad to get you, if
you are a good zigger ; are you a good zigger ?”

Now, what a zigger was I could not tell—it was an
entirely new word to me; but being in a great strait,
T vaguely responded that no doubt in a little time I
could be as good a zigger as anybody.

This reply seemed to please Biboche mightily.

“Then toddle along,” he said, gayly.

“ And the manager?”

“Ts the innocent putting on airs?’ said Biboche.
“Tt is I who engage you; you are now of our troupe,
and I will teach you ‘zigging’ ”

Now, this was speaking to me in an unknown
tongue. A plain fisher-boy, carefully brought up, I
could not understand why my frank questions were
laughable, or what the trade of “zigging” might be.
I concluded the strange phrases were usual to Paris,



and I did not wish to appear too ignorant of city
ways. I was greatly astonished to sce Biboche, who
was only twelve years old and about as big as a fer

ret, acting as the leader of a troupe.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 293,

“Are you cold?” said Biboche, seeing how I shook.
Never mind, boy. ll soon warm you up.”

He took me to a little shop, where he made me



drink a cup of hot cider mulled with butter and
spice.

“Now, young man, you are enough waked up to
travel on to your supper,” he cried, airily.

In place of going toward the heart of the city,
which lay at our right, we turned to the left, and
walked a great distance in unfrequented strects where

the houses had not only a poverty-struck but a vil-



lainous appearance.



Biboche saw my surprise.

“Did you think T was going to offer you my
hospitality in the Tuileries?” he exclaimed, mock-
ingly.

Indeed, it was far from a palace where he conducted
me; he led me into a broad field, Night had fallen,
but not blackly; a gray light showed that we were
Tt was a



iS.



among embankments and rui range
place truly. At the mouth of an excavation Bi-
boche stopped.

“Here we are,” he said, in a lower tone. “Give
me your hand, and take care that you don’t fall.”

We went into a sort of cavern; we made some
turns in a way cut out among rocks, and entered a

subterranean gallery. Biboche took from his pocket
294 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

an end of a candle and lit it. I was yet more aston-
ished.

“A minute more, and we'll be there,” he said.



Almost immediately I perecived a red light whi
shone from the end of the cavern. It was a brazier
of charcoal, and near it sat a boy about my compan-
ion’s age.

“Anybody round?” asked Biboche.

“No.”

“That's good. Here is a friend of mine. Look
him up a pair of shoes; he’s badly off”

‘The boy jumped up and disappeared. Presently he
returned with an armful of shoes. It looked as if I
were in a shoemaker’s shop.

“Choose,” said Biboche, in a lordly way. “Help
yourself to boots, my hearty; don’t be afraid to take
your pick—you're weleome; nobody will charge you
acent for them.”

‘The boy had also a handful of warm woollen socks,
and it would be hard to tell what a strange Inxury it
feet
covered by the soft warm hose and encased in a pair

was to have my sore, bleeding, almost lifeless



of strong and easy-fitting boots.

Thad just dressed my feet thus when two more
lads came in; then a third; then a fourth; then
others—nine in all. Biboche introduced me loftily to
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 295

all: “Tt is a friend of mine. I knew him in our




show. He’ll make a good



figger. TM go bail for
Romain. Now, all of you fellows, what have you
been doing to-day 2”

Each of them emptied his pockets on the floor
before the brazier.

Some of their pockets seemed immensely large;
one had a quantity of ham, another a couple of bot-
tles. One boy put down a litéle flask with a silver
stopper.



There was through the group a general outery at

this; some laughed, some jested.



“Tt is nice enough,” said Biboche; “let him have



it to drink out of”
They then all sat down beside the brazier, not upon
chairs, but simply on the floor of beaten earth.
Biboche seemed to do the honors of their supper,
and with elaborate hospitality served me first. It had



been a great while since I had sat down to so abun-

dant a meal



not indeed since I left my good and
ever-regretted home in the house of my dear M. de
Bihorel had I shared in such a festivity. After the
fried ham they brought out a cold turkey, and after

the turkey a big butter-cake. Twas so famished that



I ate enormously, to the intense admiration of the
eleven boys.

“Lucky dog!” cried Biboche, expressing the satis
2
296 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

faction of all the rest; “we like to get boys who will
lay into things like that!”

The hearty cating and the warmth of the cavern,
added to my extreme weariness, made me exceedingly
drow



“You are sleepy,”



said Biboche, seeing my eyes
constantly closing in spite of myself. “Don’t stay
awake any longer. I’m sorry I haven't a flowing bowl
and a hot night-cap to taper off with, but I dare say
you'll sleep well all the same.”

I did not think a flowing bowl or a hot night-
ed
they were customs of the city unknown to a provin-

cap would make my rest any sweeter. I suppos



cial.

“A glass of grog, and good-night!” cried Biboche.
T refused the grog, which astonished all my comrades,
but I said good-night promptly, and asked where I
should sleep.

“Pm going to show you,” said Biboche



He lit a candle at the brazier, and passing before
me, entered a side gallery running from the hall where
we had supped.
He showed me a pile of straw covered with several
woollen blankets, and looking to me very inviting,
“Sleep well,” he said ; “to-morrow we will do our
talking.”

Then he left me, carrying the candle.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 297

I did not feel quite comfortable in the silence and
darkness of that unknown cave, which echoed to
Biboche’s departing steps; besides, I was anxious to
understand the pursuits of my new comrades. Tnno-
cent as I was, those fall pockets, the ham, the drink-
s. But I was
overwhelmed by fatigue, and in spite of uneasiness, in

ing-flask, looked to me very sus



spite of absolute fear, I was scarcely wrapped in my
warm blankets when I fell asleep.

“We will do our talking to-morrow,” Biboche had
said; and to-morrow would, therefore, explain all my
doubts.

Thad a good shelter; I had eaten well ; my travels
had been long and hard ; so I slumbered well, for all
the noise of the band of lads, who yet ate and drank,
and sung and laughed, a few feet from me.

Biboche awoke me the next morning. If he had
not done so, I would doubtless have slept twenty-four
hours,

“Up now!” he cried. “Here’s your toggery ; put
it on, old fellow!”

Thad rejoiced to undress myself and fling by my
dirty rags when I went to bed the night before. I
now put on the clothes which Biboche flung on my
straw bed. ‘They consisted of a strong woollen jacket
and pantaloons and a good soft woollen shirt.

A pale light struggled from the top of the cave,
298 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

where there was an aperture; day had hard work to
illuminate that den.

“My good friend,” said the easy Biboche as I pro-
ceeded with my dressing, “I have thought of you,
and behold I have found you. You are a mere
novice in our trade, ain’t you?”

“Most likely.”

“Tam sure of it. Now, if you expect without
serving an apprenticeship to work as we fellows do,
you'll come to grief double-quick. ‘Therefore I mean
to put you with a gay boy who will teach you how
properly to handle the ropes. Do you twig me, Ro-
main?”

Despite my desire to uphold my credit, and not to
show too great an ignorance of Parisian life and
phraseology, I really was forced to confess that I did
not know what he meant by “twigging” him, I
must understand that at the outset.

“Oh, &
staring curiously at me.

“Yes.”

“My Goodness! But come, we will get our grub,
and I’ll take you to a friend’s house after that.”

I followed him. The brazier was burnt out, and
there was no trace of last night’s festivitie





me, now, are you in earnest?” asked Biboche,



The day
shone brighter, as we were nearer the opening of the

cave, and I saw that the roof was supported by two
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 299

pillars of earth and rock, and a great pile of stone lay
between them.

From a cupboard cut in the side wall Biboche took
out a bottle, a loaf and a ham-bone.

“Eat a crust,” he said, “and drink the health of
your new patron; you shall be a ratter.”

The decisive moment had come. I took my cour-
age in my hands. “Do not mock me or deceive me, I
beg you,” I said. “You know I am not a Paris boy,
and I do not know what you mean by being a rater.”

This question and my manner so delighted Master
Biboche that he laughed until he had nearly strangled

himself. When he got a little over his gayety he de-



manded: “But are they really such innocents in the
country as not to know what a ratter is? Why, my
daisy, a ratter is a jackal—that’s what a ratter is;
otherwise, he is a lad like you and I, small, quick
and cunning. You know, most likely, that many
merchants shut their shop doors and leaye the store
empty when they go into the room behind it to eat
their dinners?”

Now, I really could not understand what connection
there was between these two ideas, so I replied that
Idid not know anything about the merchants shutting
up their shops.

“They shut them with a little low bar,” said Bi-
boche, passing me the wine-bottle, which he had half
300 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

emptied; “that bar is fast to a spring which rings a
bell. If any one enters the door, the bell sounds, and
the shopkeeper, who is tranquilly eating his dinner,
comes to see who is there. Now do you see what a
ratter is for?”

“Not at all, unless he takes the place of the bell.”

Biboche got so much more merry over this that he
leaped in the air, slapped his legs, turned somer-
led a long while. When he had fin-



saults and chucl



ished this exhibition, he caught me and cuffed my cars.

“If you keep on, my hearty,” he cried, “you will
surely be the death of me. Instead of taking the
place of the bell, the ratter is to keep it quiet.
The bar is on a half door. This, of course, cus-
tomers enter, but the ratter leaps over it gently.
He thus makes no noise. The merchant suspects
nothing ; the ratter to save trouble helps himself, and
hands what he gets out to his patron outside. ‘Then
the outside fellow gives the ratter his hand, he jumps
the door again, and they are both off. ‘The shopman
never knows where his things are. ‘The patron keeps
his eye out for police; and if customers come in they
think the ratter has rung the bell and is waiting to
be served. ‘The merchant meantime hears the cus-
tomer ring, and he thinks two buyers come in togeth-
er, and the ratter asks the price of something, and
goes off.”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 301

T was struck with terror:

“Why, that is stealing !”

“What of that?”

“ But are you, you then, a thief?”

“Well, why not? What are you, you fool?”

I stood silent. I now knew Biboche’s way of
life, and I saw that I had in my fear of seeming
ignorant led him to think that I understood and
would share it. No wonder that he now called me a
fool. I had been one, indeed. It was needful to
speak clearly :

“Hark you: if you have counted on me for such
work, you have deceived yourself.”

Now he did not laugh, but fell into a furious rage.
Thad deceived him on purpose, and I was going out
to denounce him to the police. ‘This was his ery.

“No, no!” he shouted, “you shall not denounce me.
You shall never leave here for that.”

“T am going away at once,” I cried.

Before I could say more he flew on me like a tiger.
But though he was the more swift and supple, I was
larger and far stronger. ‘The struggle was not a long
one, for after the first moment of surprise, when he
was able to throw me down, I had recovered myself,
and presently had him on the floor and knelt upon
him.

“ Are you going to let me go out?” I asked.
302 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“You will betray me.”

“No, not a word.”

“ Swear it.”

«T solemnly swear it. I won't betray you, for you
have been kind to me, and I came among you on a
misunderstanding.”

T rose and let him get up.

“You know that you are a fool—a true fool,” he
stormed, in a passion. “ You will see if you can live
by your honesty. Steal and thrive, be honest and
starve; that’s it. If you had not met me last night,
to-day you would have been dead. ‘You have here
eaten stolen ham; you have drunk stolen wine; you
warmed yourself at a stolen fire; you slept in a
stolen bed; you are warm, and your feet are not
mortified and ready for amputation, all because I gave
you stolen clothes and shoes. If you don’t die of
cold when you leave here, it will be because you wear
stolen goods.”

Ah, these good warm, delightful woollen clothes! I
could wear them no longer.

“Will you let me take a candle?” I asked.

“ What for?”

“To go and put on my own clothes.”

“Humbug!” he cried. “I don’t reproach you with
those clothes. I don’t charge you for them. I give
them to you. Keep them.”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 303

“Yes, I know you mean to give them, but, all the
same, I cannot keep them.”

He followed me into the gallery where I had passed
the night. I laid off the suit he had given me, and
took my damp rags. ‘They did not feel very agree-
ably, I ean tell you; and when I tried to tie on my old
shoes, I found that one of them was entirely without
a sole.

Biboche looked at me silently. I made haste with
my movements, for in all my misery God helped me
to be quite honest. ‘Then Biboche spoke gently :

“If ever there was a fool, my lad, you are one; but
that which you do proves you in earnest, and you see
it touches me here.” He struck himself upon the
bre

“Try it yourself, and see,” I retorted.

“Tt is too late. I can’t go back to that,” he said.

“Tf you are arrested and condemned, what will
your mother say?” I asked.

“My mother? Ah, if I had one! Don’t talk to
me of that.”

I was about to interrupt him, but he went on:



“Say, is it worth while to be honest?”





“Don’t preach; let me alone. I’m content, only I don’t
want you to go away like that. It hurts my feelings
to see you. As you will not wear clothes which you
call stolen, will you have those which I wore at Fa-

laise? I paid well for them, I can tell you, and by
26
304 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

good luck they were too big for me. ‘Take them and
welcome, to please me.”
I replied that I would be glad to have them.
“Very good,” he replied, much consoled ; “let us

go out together. I will give them to you.”



We returned to the



sity as we had le
vious night; he led me to a little hous

it the pre-
‘ituated near





the barrie



, and conducting me to an upper room, took

from a closet a vest and a pair of trowsers which T



had often scen him wear at Fala He also gave me

a pair of good shoes,



“Now, good-bye,” he said, when I was dressed ;

“if you meet any of the fellows you saw last night,



keep out of their way, and don’t recognize them.”

nd I had all day
r the night.

It was now about ten o’clocl





wherein to find a sleeping-place fi

‘The day was clear; I was warmly clad and well



shod; moreover, I had eaten heartily. I had but one
trouble, and that was not a small one—where to find a

sleeping-place in Pari



I was not able to go to see Diélette, for this was not
a visiting-d
I be

aid me in some



lay at the hospital.



1 to walk straight on; perhaps chance would
ay
But after two hour







Thad found nothing, imagined
nothing, and had gone through many queer localities.
Then I bethought me that it w



s better to try and


war To bo WITH 3
PMPLOY Mk

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 307

help myself than to go on at this haphazard rate.
M. de Biho-



“God helps those who help themselves,

rel had told me.



My

Then I took my course toward the Sein y
> the



intention was to go to the Halle; perhaps the

brave woman who had given me twenty cents would



find me some work, or at least could tell me where to
look for it.

However, this woman did not remember me in the
stout clothes of Biboche; and when I had recalled to
her who I was, she asked me what I had done with
my sister. I then told her all that had happened to
us on the previous afternoon, and I saw that she was
much moved, I told her that I would not leave Dié-
lette; that I meant to wait in the city until she was
well, but that it was needful for me to work, and I
did not know what to go at; that I had thought—I



had hoped:

«You thought you’d come to Granny Berceau,” she
said, interrupting me, “and you did yery well, my
lad. That flatters me; you thought me kind; [am
glad of it. I knew you read in my looks that I was
not a woman to let two poor children die in the
streets. Tam not rich, sure enough, but I ean use my
head and my hands.”

She called two or three of her neighbors, and they

took counsel what to do with me and how to employ
ne
308 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

me; and this w:



s a troublesome question, for in that.
market-place it is not the custom to employ children,
Finally, after a long discussion, wherein they subjected

me to some ten cross-examinations, and had found out



that I could read and write, they unanimously decided
that I should be employed as clerk for the market-



crier, if he could find me a place.
All that I know about getting the position is that

next morning I was installed behind a desk belonging



to the fish-crier, and T was set to copying little bills



and notices. Nothing could have been easier ; I wrote

legibly and rapidly, When Madame Berceau came to



see if the crier were satisfied with my work, he told



her I did very well indeed, and that I could have
thi

but as good Madame Berceau let me sleep on the floor

cents each work-day. That was not a fortune,





of her own little room, it more than supplied my



had been taken into the hospital on



wants. Diélet
Monday, so on this Wednesday I waited with great
impatience for my duty at the crier’s to be over, that I
might hasten to Sevres street.

They gave me at the market a full load of oranges
for her, and I went with my pockets full. Anxieties
possessed me, and I trembled as I waited the opening
of the gates. Was

They pointed me to the third ward, and in. my im-



e living? Alas! was she dead ?



patience T began to run, but a nurse stopped me, say-
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 309

ing that if I made the least noise I should be sent
out at once. I then walked on tiptoe.

Diéle
shall I forget the expression of her eyes when she



was living, and already better. Never

saw me.

“I knew well that you would come,” she said, “if
you had not died of cold.”

She made me tell her all that had happened to me
since our separation. When I told her about Bi-
boche, she said,

“That is right; you are a good boy, my brother.”

She had never called me her brother before,

“You may kiss me for that,” she said, turning her
face gently on the pillow.

When she found that I was staying with Madame
Bereeau, she said, “Oh the good, brave woman !”

Then I began to question her.



She had been very sick, delirious and unconscious
with fever, but they thought she was now getting
better, and there was a nurse who was very kind to

her,



“ But, all the same, I want to get away,” she said
in a low voice. “Tam afraid. Last night there was
a little girl died here in the next bed to me; and when
they put her in the coffin, I fainted.”

Diélette, however, deceived herself in her hope of
soon leaving the hospital. She had been so exhausted
310 ROMAIN KALBRIS.



by privation, and was so ill, that her convalescence
was very slow. She was two months at the hospital.
However, that was for us rather a happy time.

She learned to love better those who took care of her,



and both nurses and physicians were charmed by her

winning ways and her lovely face.



They all knew

our history, and the interest she inspired was bestowed




also in some measure on me, When I went Sunde




and Wednesday reeeived me
like a friend,

Finally she was pronounced cured, and her bill of

to the hospital, they



dismission was signed. ‘The doctor and nurses told

us that they had made ar



ngements which would



save us from returning on foot to Port-Dieu, ‘They



’s wa



had found a nur 1 going from the city,



and the driver would take us to Vire; at Vire he
would pay for our places in the stage to Port-Dieu.
They had taken up a little collection in the hospital,
and had got five dollars and a half, which was more
than enough for travelling expenses.

For myself, during these two months, in view of

our journey, which T had not expected to find made



fully sayed up every penny I could
squeeze out of my earnings, and T had on hand five
dollars and a quarter.

What a difference, then, between our beggarly en-
trance to Paris two months before and our departure !
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 311

Surely we had found that God does not leave his
children to lack his care. The good Mme. Bereeau
insis



ed on going with us to the wagon, and she
loaded us with all manner of catables.
‘The wagon for nurses is not a very luxurious con-

veyance, It is a long ean



as-covered van, with two



seats running down the sides like an ambulanee, and
plenty of hay lying in the bottom; but we thought it
splendid,

Tt was now the end of January. The weather was



not very cold, and tra



ling was agreeable. We were
both of us well and hardy, and we had plenty of good
food along with the wet-nurses who were taking their
When the

eamed too loud or were being dressed,



babies ba



to the country from Paris
children



Diélette and I left the wagon and cheerily trudged on
foot for a while.

At Vire the carrier paid our passage in the stage-
coach, and that sct us down about three miles from
Port-Dieu. Three miles from my mother! It
Monday, and j
[ had left home,

We walked on some st¢



on



even months from the day when





without sp:



king, for we
were both much cmbarrassed. Diélette broke the



ence first,



ing,
“Walk more slowly, Romain; I wish to talk with

you.”
312 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

The ice was broken,

“J also have something to say to you,” I replied.
“Look ; here
mamma, Take it, Diélette.”

“And why a letter?
you not coming with me yourself’? Why do you not



a letter for you to give my poor



sa



id she, softly; “why are

take me to your mother’s



2? How do you know she
will want me? If she sends me away, what will
become of me?”

“Do not talk like that, You do not know my
mother. She send you away? never!”

“Yes, I do know her; neverthel:



, you do not
know that she will forgive me for letting you ran
away again when you are so nearly home? Will she
think that I begged and prayed you to remain at
home? What! can you come with me so far, and
not go in to give your mother one kiss? Do you call
that goodness, or natural affection, or duty, such con-
duct? Oh,

“Tt is just that which I explain to my mother in

shame!”



this letter. I say to her that T know very well that
if I stop to sce her I will not be able to get away to
Havre to take ship; but if I stay at home, I must be
arrested as a runaway apprentice and taken back to
my uncle; and I had far rather die. ‘To go to my
mother will only get her into trouble, and make her

pay a fine which will eat up her little home, or it will
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 313,

send me to be the slave of that bad old man. ‘There
was a written contract made by a lawyer, and my
uncle is not the man to give up his rights.”

“But your mother might find some way of saving
you,” urged Diélette, weeping.

“Tf my mother saves me from my uncle, it will only
be by the payment of all her little property. I would
not be so mean as to rob her in that way. Butif I run
off, and she can make oath that she has neither seen
nor helped me, she will be free of trouble on my ac-
count. ‘Then, when I am grown up and come home,
Uncle Simon cannot lay a finger on me, and I will
have pockets full of money for my mother and you,
and you shall live like ladies. Until then you will
love her, obey her, wait on her, work with her—for us
both, Diélette.”

“But why cannot your uncle get hold of you when
you get back ?”

“ Because I shall enter the marine service, like my





dear father, and a mariner inseribed in that way be-
longs to government, and government is stronger than
my uncle, I have thought it all out, Diélette. Do
as I tell you; promise me that.”

“Well! as for myself, I don’t know anything about
governments or Uncle Simons, or all that. I only
know that for a boy to run away without his mother’s

blessing is very wrong. I feel it to be wrong.”
314 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

T was not sufficiently easy in my own conscience
to have any one say to me the very thing which I
had said to myself a hundred times. I cried in a
rage,

“Tt is wrong?”

“Yes, it is wrong,” she replied, firmly. “ And if.
your mother accuses you of not loving and honoring
her, I cannot defend you, for I agree with her.”

I walked beside the little maid for some minutes
without speaking. I was distressed, ashamed, half
ready to yield. I said,

“Have I ever acted wrongly to you, Diélette 2”

“No, no, never!” she replied, eagerly.

“Do you think I can be wicked to other people?”

She looked at me earnestly.

“Tell me.”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

“Do you think really that I do not love my moth-
er? do you believe I mean to make her suffer ?”

She had hoped that she had convinced me, but she
saw that I was defending myself against her charges.
She did not answer, so I continued :

“ Ah, well, if you have a little gratitude to me for
faithfulness to you, if you think that IT am not a
wicked boy, do not speak to me as you have done.
Perhaps you might persuade me to remain, and I

know that that would be the worst for us all.”
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 315

She did not add a single word, and we went on in
silence; we were greatly disturbed.

T had chosen a by-path where we met no one. We
went on until we reached a ditch which served as a
limit to our walk in that direction. I could now from
the high point of land where we stood see Port-Dieu,
and I said to Diélette, pointing out the well-remem-
bered cot on the side of the cliff,

There, under those rocks, in the middle of that
little garden, is the home where I have lived so hap-
pily, and which I do love so much.”

She knew my earnestness, for my voice was broken
by tears.



“Romain!” she cried.

I did not pretend to misunderstand all the entreaty
her tones put in that one word,

You will go down there,” I said, firmly. “You

will enter the house; she is there, for I see a window



open. You will say, “Here, madame, is a letter from
Romain, your son’ ‘Then you will find when she
has read it that she will welcome you warmly for my
sake. Then say to her, ‘In six months, your son, being
entered as a marine under government, will be able to

come home



fely to see you. He will also write you
from Havre in a few weeks, Good-bye, Diélette.”
I was about to leave her, but she grasped my

arm:
27
316 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“Don’t leave me! don’t! See how you make me
ery, Romain!”

She wrung her hands,

Treturned: “Do you want to ruin me? Diélette,
let me go. Come, I will send by you a kiss to my
mother, ‘Take courage and carry it to her.”

I put my arms around her neck and kissed her
cheek, which was wet with tears.

I knew that every instant was dangerous; I might
be recognized and arrested. If I would save myself
from four years of slavery at Uncle Simon’s, I must
hurry from Port-Dieu. I therefore unclasped Dié-
lette’s hands from my arm and began to run.

Diélette, thus deserted, went forward as I had
directed. As soon as she was out of sight I returned,
took a side path, climbed the rocks, and, hidden by
bushes and crags, gained a spot where I could see her
enter my mother’s door. I beheld her go in, She



remained a long time. I saw nothing of either of
them, and I began to imagine trouble. My anxiety
increased greatly. Suppose strangers were there? sup-
pose, like Diélette’s mother, mine were gone—lost,
dead ?

At the instant when this agonizing thought entered
my mind, and I was on the point of rushing down the
cliff’ and wildly demanding news of my mother, Dié-
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 317

Jette appeared on the door-sill, and was followed by
my mother,

She was then living. Diélette stood near her; they
clasped each other’s hands; they stood talking, and
wiping their eyes as if they both wept. ‘Then my
mother kissed Diélette, and they went into the house
together.

‘Three hours later I clambered into a back seat of
the coach going to Caen, and in two days, by way of
Honfleur, I reached Havre.

Thad yet about fourteen shillings in my purse.




CHAPTER XIII.

HAD believed that I had only to present my-



self on board of a ship to be at once engaged.
Searcely had I arrived at Havre when T

“© hastened to the quay to make my choice.

In the King’s Harbor I saw only four or five big

steamers, which were not to my purpose; in the Hlar-

bor Barre I found many great American vessels which

were unloading bales of cotton and piling them like

mountains on the quay. ‘These were not what I



wanted; T must get a French ship.
Walking about the Harbor of Commerce, I was

perfectly amazed, I saw ships from every part of the
318
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 319

world—ships of all kinds, big and little; there was a



of masts, garlanded with flags, cordage,



perfect for
furled sails and floating streamers. It seemed to me
far more beautiful than Paris.

There were some ships which exhaled an odor of
sugar and fruits which made my mouth water ; others
smelled of pepper and cinnamon. Everywhere men
i



at work discharging cargoes ; some coolies were
carrying huge bags of coffee, and seemed to listen
with a melancholy air to the rollicking songs of the
sailors,

Among the ships which in all their equipments par-
ticularly attracted me was one painted white, with a
broad blue band above her water-mark, She was a
cleanly-built three-master, and on a board hung in
the shrouds was painted the information, “Loading
for Bahia and Pernambuco. The Morning Star, Cap-
tain Frigard, leaves immediately.”

Oh, who would not desire to make such a beautiful



voyage in a splendid white-and-azure ship? Bahia

and Pernambuco! All the geography did not hold



two names more seductive to me.





I went on board; officers and men appeared despe-

rately busy. I went into the hold, a great opening



where they were packing bales and barrels which

wel



swung down by chains. Nobody paid any at-

tention to me; but as I remained there, not daring to
aTe
320 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

venture too near a gentleman who was making lists
of the loading as it arrived, and whom I supposed to
to be the captain, I endeavored to attract his attention
inoffensively.

«Get out of the way, you there!” he eried to me.

“Sir, I want to speak to you,” I said, approaching
him. So I made my request to be received as a
cabin-boy on the Morning Star.

He did not deign a reply, shook his busy head, and
coolly pointed to the gangway.

“But, sir—” T began.

He motioned more decisively with his hand, and I,
not daring to insist, went out humbly, and, truth to
say, somewhat disquicted by his refusal.

Suppose nobody should want me? I was not in a
situation to give up easily. I went a little farther.
Without doubt the Morning Sta
ship for poor me; so I chose a black brig of a rusty



was too beautiful a

appearance fitting out for Tampico, and called the
Congress. They simply said they did not want any
one. The third time, in place of speaking to the
captain, I addressed the first sailor I found. He

shrugged his shoulders, and all the word I could



get from him was tl
ster. Finally,

can coast, the captain of which was of a rough, un-

I wa



a droll little young
upon a schooner starting for the Afri-





pleasing appearance, T found a vacaney. He said he
ROMAIN KALBRIS. B21

would take me; but when he found that I had no
father to sign my contract, that I was not enrolled as
a mariner, that [ had not even a bundle for my outfit,
T was ordered to “get off his ship a sight quicker
than Thad got on it, if I didn’t want to be kicked
off.”

My affairs looked dismal enough, and I began to
get discouraged. Suppose, after all, I should have to
return to Port-Dieu? If I could have gone there to
be with my mother and Diélette, it would haye been

joy truly. But ever before me loomed the threat





ening v
tr:
fulfil it. ‘Therefore I continued my search.

sion of my uncle Simon, I recalled the con-





et which bound me to his service; I could not



In wandering around the circuit of the harbor I
had come to the entrance. ‘The tide began to rise,
and already some fishing-vessels were spreading out
els,

to sea. I went on the jetty to see this of vi



Tt was a long time since I had witr
ull

tide, the white sails, the fishers outward bound. The



ed such a spec-



tacle. It re



1 old times and home, the swelling



magnificent horizon held my delighted gx



ve, and ships





from Caen, Rouen and Honfleur went and ce
saw the preparations of great ships for long voy
heard friends saying farewell, saw handkerchiefs

waved, listened to the shouts of the sailors: the creak-





ing of ropes and pulleys, the min


322 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

spreading and furling of clouds of canvas far and
near,—all these made me forget my own wants and
intentions.

T sat for some two hours on the edge of the pier,
when suddenly some one came up and pulled my
sing
one of the musicians of Lapolade’s show, Hermann.
“What! is Lapolade in Havr

ed this qu



hair. Surprised, I turned and found myself

e2” 1 sercamed. = I





ion with such terror that Hermann



did not at first reply, but stopped to laugh heartily.



At length he sat down beside me and told me never
to fear—that he also had left Lapolade, who was a
great raseal. He (Hermann) was now on his way to
join a brother who lived in the republic of Ecuador
in South Ameri

ing to be feared from him; he had fallen heir to a





a. As to Lapolade, there was noth-



piece of family property, had sold the menagerie, and

was living at his eas



‘The menagerie was not much to sell, for fifteen days
after our flight the old lion Mouton had died of grief
and hunger. From the departure of Diélette the

beast became cross and miserable; he refused his food,



and showed an appetite only for Lapolade, toward



whom he flew roaring whenever he saw him.



As Lapolade was not inclined to save the life of the
old lion by becoming a meal for him, the poor brute

died of starvation in a fortnight.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 323

Hermann asked me if I had got a ship. I told
him what trouble I had to find any one to tal



me.
This man had been so long connected with a show
that his mind was fertile in tricks and expedients.
“Tf you like,” he
board as my brother.”
« But my outfit?”
That \
than myself. His passage had been paid in advance
by his brother in Guayaquil, and we were not able with



id, “I will engage you on



s an impossibility ; Hermann was no richer

our united resources to pay my passage or get me a
sailor’s outfit.

It was necessary to give up that idea, To comfort
me he asked me to dinner with him, and after dinner
we went to the theatre, where one of his country-
men, 2 musician in the orchestra, gave us two seats.
They played a little comedy called “Open War,” in
which they carried off one of the actors locked up in
a trunk.

“That’s your ticket!” cried Hermann to me between
the acts. “Let me explain to you a splendid idea
which I have got.”

His idea was to buy a big second-hand trunk, put
me into it, carry it on board ship well corded, and
then, when we should be well out at: sea, he would let
me out, and the captain, seeing the impossibility of
putting me ashore, would, rather than fling me over-
324 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

board, permit me to work my passage. ‘Then by tak-
ing hold well I should make friends, and by the end

of the voyage could ship as a regular hand.



Tt was a foolhardy, wrong, senseless plot, but it
attracted my adventurous disposition, and I agreed
to it.

The next day we visited all the second-hand shops,
and finally found for ten shillings a big trunk bound
with iron and large enough to hold me.

Hermann took it home, where he had offered me
his hospitality, and cut in it many small holes that I
might have plenty of air. I got in it,and found that
T could breathe freely, had room to turn on my side
or shoulder, and could draw up my limbs without
cramping them,

‘The ship in which Hermann had taken passage,
left next day at full tide, which would be at two
o’clock in the afternoon.

T occupied my spare time in visiting it, It was
called the Oronoco, and I wrote a long letter to my
mother, telling her that I was finally about to sail,
that I begged her pardon for going without her con-
sent, but that I hoped it would prove for the advan-
tage of usall. In this letter I enclosed one for Dié-
Jette, telling her all that I had learned of Hermann,
and begging her to be very loving and obedient to my

mother and make up to her for my loss,


“WHAT IN CREATION IS THAT YOU ARE CARRY!
THE CAPTAIN.

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 327

About noon, therefore, Hermann put me in the
chest, and gave me a large slice of bread.

“You will be hungry enough to eat, to-morrow,”
he said, laughing.

Twas to remain some twenty hours in the trunk,
because if I came out while we were near Havre, the
captain could put me on a tug or vessel running in,
and have me taken back. When well out at sea there
would be far less to be feared.

For many days the wind had blown strongly from
the south, and there was every prospect that in twenty
hours we should be far from land, below Cherbourg
and fally out at sea.

We had put in the box a little pillow, and had fast-
ened two loops of leather to the inside of the lid, into
which I thrust my arms to balance myself while being
carried. Hermann was to keep my head uppermost.
He fitted a key to the two locks, buckled the straps
tight and took me on his shoulders. He laughed so
heartily that I jolted as if on a horse,



When we reached the Oronoco and went on board,
our gayety was suddenly cut short.

“What in creation is that you are carrying?”
bawled the captain, meeting Hermann, “Is it a
house?”



“Tt is my luggage

“Luggage! Tt is ten times more than you are en-
28
328 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

titled to. A small box is all you can take. Where
would our lading be if people brought aboard boxes
like that ark? The baggage-room is full.”

Tt was this to which we had trusted. If I should
be locked in with the other luggage, Hermann could
not get to me, and I would be lost. Boxes would be
piled on me, I should be set on my head, and then
what chance of reaching Guayaquil? Since the bag-
gage-room was full, this box must be set on deck or in
Hermann’s cabin, and then I would be all right.

But matters did not so easily arrange themselves.
For a long while the captain refused to receive the
trunk, and I felt sure that I must be carried back
ashore. Finally, he permitted my trunk to be set on
the lower deck with some chests which had come at
the last minute,

“ We will heave anchor and be off,” I heard a sailor
say to Hermann. ‘That was good news to me; the
sooner we got out to sea, the sooner I should be able
to leave my box.

Soon I heard the mooring cables fall into the sea;
at the same time they seized hold of the capstan, and
T heard above my head the measured footfalls of the
sailors, timed to their song, as they got the vessel out
of the dock. By the sound of their manoeuvres I was
able to follow them as clearly in my chest as if I
had been on deck watching all that. was done,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 329

By the sound of carriages and drays I knew when
we were near the pier. ‘The ship lay motionless for a
few moments, and was then gently drawn forward. I
knew that she was now in charge of the tug which
would take her out of port. ‘Then a gentle undula-
tory motion told me that we were near the mouth of
the harbor. The motion became more decided ; we
were outside of the quays. ‘The pulleys creaked—they
were unfurling the sails; the ship lurched to one side—
the tug had dropped her; the rudder groaned; we
were fairly out at sea.

The deed was then done; the thought and object of
these months, my sea-life, had commenced. The mo-
ment so greatly desired, which I had purchased at the
price of so many fatigues, and which I had expected
to give me so great joy, found me sad, doubtful, regret~
ting.

But it is true that my situation, locked up in a box,
was not conducive to excess of gayety.

Perhaps, once out at sea, oecupied by the motions
of the sailors, seeing before me the boundless ocean
and looking my farewells at the land, I would have
been happy and relieved, and should have looked to
the future clate and unfearing ; shut up between the
four boards of an old trunk, T was only able to expe-
rience a growing terror.

I was roused amid my doleful reflections by three or
330 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

four brisk knocks on the side of my chest ; but as no
one spoke, I dared not reply, fearing that instead of
Hermann’s signal it, was only the accidental tap of a
passing sailor.

But the blow being repeated, accompanied by a
familiar whistle, I understood them, and responded
with my knife-handle.

‘This wordless communication calmed my fears.
‘After all, I was not abandoned. All my trouble
would now be in passing a few more hours in a box,
and then I could come out and have a broad sea and
the world before me.

‘The wind was fresh; the ship, which presented the
ribly. Accustomed



broadside to the waves, rolled ter
from infancy to going out in
playing in boats that rocked at anchor, I had never
, and believed myself above that weak-

shing-boats and to



been sea-s
ness, What was my distress to find myself growing
ill and faint! I thought the
the confined air in my chest, for in spite of the nume-



ickness was caused by

rous holes we had bored, the box was close and respira~
tion was difficult. ‘The air came in slowly, and had
much more trouble in getting out. £ was uncomfort-
ably warm, and my misery increased. The nausea I
felt. when the ship reeled and plunged left me no
doubt as to what was the matter, and I became greatly

uneasy, for I had heard people in the paroxysms of
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 331

that disorder sighing, groaning and quite delirious;
and suppose such became my state and some passing
sailor heard me in the chest? What would be done?
1 had often heard that sleep was the best remedy for
sea-sickness, and it was now the only cure at my dis-
posal; I took my aching head between my hands, and
with all my energy tried to compose myself to slum-
ber. For along time my efforts were fruitless ; my
bed was not soft enough to woo repose. Oh, if I had
only thought to put in a little straw or a mat! My
thoughts followed the movements of the ship, rising
and falling with her in the heavy seas, but at last
drowsiness overcame me.

How long I had slept I cannot tell; I could mea-
sure nothing, for no light penetrated to my box; I
was in an absolute darkness, wherein I could not
divide night from day.

Still, so great was the silence which reigned through
the ship that I concluded it was night, and I heard
nothing but the wind in the rigging and the tread of
the officer of the watch on the deck. The waves
seemed to have increased; now and then they thun-
dered against the vessel, and the sail



snapped in

the wind, which screamed like a demon among the

shrouds. I thought there must be a storm coming.
ither the windiness of the night made the air in

my box better, or I had grown accustomed to the roll-
23%
332, ROMAIN KALBRIS.

ing of the vessel, for I was no longer sea-sick, and
speedily fell asleep again, lulled by that dear and
solemn music of wind and wave which had soothed
my ears so often in my mother’s home under the cliff,

Lwas aroused at length by a fearful uproar, a erash
which shook all the ship, followed by a beating and
thrashing on the sea as if all the rigging had gone
overboard and dragged in the water. ‘The ropes beat
against the timbers with a prodigious sound, and there
was a cracking of wood all around me.

“Stop!” cried a voice in English,

“All hands on deck !” yelled a voice in French.

In the midst of the confusion of feet and voices I
heard a sharp blowing, hissing sound which I knew
was the escape of steam, We must have been ran
into by an English steamer, which now Jay beside us,
and our ship was on her side, for I felt my box tum-
ble over with a huge pile of other baggage. Before
T could realize my situation, or be thankful that I was
not flung head downward, the sound of steam ceased.



There was a new crashing; an increased clamor aboard,

Had



and almost immediately our ship righted h
the English steamer sunk or had it made off ?

I began to utter the wildest and most desperate
shrieks that somebody should come and deliver me.
Then I listened. ‘There was a murmur of voices on
deck, and a sound of hasty steps coming and going
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 333,

on all sides, The waves broke furiously against the
side, and high overhead howled the tempest.

Were we sinking? Was Hermann going to leave
me to go to the bottom locked in that chest?

I can never tell what a wild agony filled my heart.
My blood grew cold; my hands were as wet with
chilly sweat as if they had been dipped in water. In-
stinctively I strove to raise myself, but my head struck
the cover of my trunk. I drew up my knees, and
with them and my hands strove with all my might
to burst the chest open. Vain efforts. What could I
do? The two locks were strong; the lid was joined
with cross-pieces of oak. Nothing yielded a hair-
breadth. I fell back dying of fear; I fainted.

Coming to myself, I yelled for Hermann, but a
great tumult on deck drowned my voiee even to my
own ears. They were cutting down the wreck of the
masts with axes.

And why did not Hermann come and release me?
Far greater danger than discovery threatened me.
Where was he? Was I forgotten?

While some of the erew labored to free the wreck,
others worked at the pumps, and I heard the regular
tic, tac, tic, tac, of the handles.

We were sinking. I pressed desperately against
the lid of the chest; I fell back exhausted, helpless,
devoured by grief, rage and fright.
334 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

“ Hermann, Hermann!” I shrieked.

Still no answer, but the same ominous sounds above
my head on the deck, and no movement or word on
the side where my chest lay. My voice was smoth-
ered in that box; and if any cries of mine did get
outside, they were lost in the tumult of the sea and
storm.

Oh, had Hermann fallen overboard? ‘Then no one
knew of me, and I was lost. He might have been
swept off by a wave or crushed by a falling mast.
What then? All my thoughts were for my own safety 5
perhaps he was living and also thinking only of him-
self, and leaving me to die locked up in a trunk.

Ah! all help was hopeless.

‘To await death with courage, to look it in the face
deliberately and fearlessly, is not the part of a child.
When one is free, or at least is able to defend one’s self,



the very struggle has something sustaining in it; but
shut up as I was between four boards, scarcely able
to turn or to breathe, this seemed to me a most mon-
strous and shocking manner of death.

I now pushed myself with fury against the ends of
my prison, but they held firmly. I wished to scream
again longer and louder, but my dry throat could
utter no sound.

I don’t know how a man might have endured such
a situation; I was a child, and again I fainted.
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 335,

When I came to myself, after how long I do not
know, I had a strange sensation, I thought I was
dead and at the bottom of the sea, coffined in my
chest.

But the sounds on deck recalled me to conscious-
ness of the reality. ‘The erew pumped continually, and
Istill heard the soughing of the wind and the breaking
of the waves. The ship rolled so that I was flung
from side to side like a pendulum. I recommenced
my shouts, stopping to listen from time to time, hear
ing nothing but the increasing fury of the storm,

I felt strangled; I tore off my clothes. As I
grasped my waistcoat one of my hands touched my
knife. Hitherto I had forgotten it. It was a solid
country knife, in a horn handle, The blade was
sharp, large and strong.

So, now, no one came to my aid, and I might as
well get about helping myself.

I opened my knife and fiercely attacked one of the
locks. I did not touch the lock itself, lest I should
break my knife, but I cut in the wood around it.
‘That wood was hard beech, seasoned by twenty or
thirty years of use; it was about as hard as the metal



in my knife, and I cut it with immense difficulty.

I put so much zeal into my labor, that the sweat
poured over me, the knife slipped in my fingers, and
I was constantly obliged to stop and wipe my hands,
336 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

T made slow progress, for the rolling of the ship
made my movements variable, and just when I would

seek to cut with all my strength I would be whirled



over on my side.

Finally, one lock was loosened, and I joyfully
undertook the second. My knife was so heated that
when I put the point in my mouth it burned my
tongue.

‘The pumping had ceased, but there was still a
noise overhead, and the steps were more rapid than
ever. They were evidently working with great activ-
ity. At what? I could not guess. There were



rolling sounds, as if they dragged something very
heavy. Was it a big chest? Were they nearing a
port? I had no time to listen or guess; all T must do
was to work like a hero.

My knife was growing dull, and my toil increased.
T used all my strength and skill, and did not rest a
moment until my muscles became so cramped from
the painful position I was forced to hold that I lost
control of them for some little time.

During this rest I heard the uproar of the wind,
the shock of waves and the groaning of the broken
and doomed vessel.

My work occupied me another half hour; that was
very long for me—longer than can be told. At last
the second lock was loosened. I got on my hands
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 337

and knees and strained my back with all my force
against the lid to lift it. The two locks were off,
but the cover would not move. It was. solidly
fastened down by a rope over each end, which until
that moment I had forgotten. I must therefore cut
the rope. I thought at first that would be an easy
task, I deceived myself, for though the lid was thin,
it was covered with leather with the hair on—horse’s
skin perhaps—and I had to cut through that before I
could reach the rope.

Not allowing myself’ to be disheartened, I went
again to work, and luckily I was now cutting with the
grain of the wood.

Before long I got at the rope and divided it. I
thought I was free!

Now the cover lifted a little, but not far, and then
it fell shut. What was it that forced it down?
Should I not be able to get out, after all?

‘The agony of this fear was so dreadful that I fell
helplessly back in the bottom of the chest.

But I had made too hard a struggle to yield now.
‘The trunk opened far enough for me to put my hand
out, I therefore reached my arm through the aper-
ture and felt all around, for it was night and I could
see nothing but a pale-gray gleam, Seeking and feel-
ing still, I found what was the obstacle to. my escape.
‘An enormous box had fallen partly upon my trunk
338 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and held the lid down. It lay so as to hinder the
cover from rising more than three inches, I found T
could not shake it; it was too heavy, and besides, in
my constrained position, I had very little strength to
exert.

To get out at the top of my box was evidently
hopeless. I asked myself, What now? I trembled
with agony and impatience, and my blood seemed
fairly boiling in my head.

Now that the trunk did not: stifle my voice, there
was some hope in screaming, and I redoubled my
despairing cries. ‘Then I heard something heavy fall
into the water—a great rush and noise overhead. If
I could hear other people, why could they not hear
me? Leried out again. Then I heard another roll-
ing sound, more voices, another crash into the sea, and
now, oddly enough, the voices seemed to come out of
the sea beneath me. And these cries and calls along
the sea seemed moving about to the side where my
chest was, and then slipping farther and farther away.

Ah! they would never hear me. If I would be
saved I must save myself. I felt that there was noth-
ing to encumber one end of my chest, and if I could
cut that end out I should be at liberty.

To this labor I set myself with haste, ‘The seams
proved less solid than the locks; I was able to split
beside the edge of the board that formed the end of
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 339

the trunk, and going with the grain I got on fincly.
I thus cut down the two edges, and then I braced

myself and pressed my feet with all my strength



against the wood. ‘The bottom seam gave way where
T had partly cut it, and in another instant I had my
prison opened, and crawled out, free!

With what joy I flung up my arms and leaped into
the air! Death was not half so bitter in freedom
as shut up in a coffin like that. I gave a shout of
triumph.

My box was down between decks. Guided by a





thread of light, I directed my steps
and climbing up I hit my head against the hatch.

to the stairway,

Luckily, it was not fastened. I raised it, and seram-
bled forth on the deck.

Tt was scarcely daylight, but my eyes had grown



acenstomed to darkness during my imprisonment in

the chest, and I was able to discern obje



s on ship and
sea, A dead silence of voices reigned everywhere; the
stillness, except for the dash of waters, was complete.
No man stood at the helm, no one trod the deck, no
one handled the ropes; the crew had deserted the
off,
and perecived in the pale light of morning a black

ship. T leaped on the euddy-roof, and looked





spot upon the sea; it was
I shouted as loud as I could, but the vessel was too

sloop.

far off, and the waves were too rough for my feeble
29
340 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

voice to be heard. The winds flung it back in my



Twas alone in a ship abandoned in the open sea,
dismasted, filling with water; and yet so great had
been my agony in that chest that these new woes and
dangers seemed as nothing, and my heart was light
and hopeful.

Looking about me, I saw that the steamer had



struck the Oronoco amidships, and it was a wonder
that she had not been cut in two. This would have
happened only that the steamer had struck obliquely.
In the shock she had broken the rigging of the
mainmast and carried away the mizzen shrouds,
and these two masts, left unsupported, exposed to
the fury of the wind, had broken off like twigs.
The foremast and the bowsprit alone remained, and
of the sails
torn into ribbons.



all were gone but the jib and the topsail,

Day dawned. In the east the clouds brightened to



yellow, and then flying along the horizon they d:
ened in the blackness of the middle sky. ‘The ocean
was white with foam as far as one could see, and had
a most threatening appearance, lying in that balefial
yellowish-gray light. ‘The wind was less violent than
it had been in the night, but it whistled dolefully
around the dismantled vessel.

Since the crew had abandoned the ship, it was be
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 341

cause th




nse hopeless; and hopeless it



most certainly looked. Deliv




of



red to the capr
sh
ssly in the troughs of the sea, and every wave

wind and wave, without sails or rudder,

helpl

rolled





threatened to submerge her. I was forced to hold on



with all my might to save myself’ from being washed
overboard, and was already wet to the skin.

T wished to see what amount of damage had been
done by the collision, and when I managed to looic
over the ship’s side, 1 found that it was terribly torn.
‘The question was, whether, thus broken, the Oronoco
could keep afloat. How could I ascertain this? Kyi-
dently, her crew and captain thought that she could
not, else they would have remained by her. How
much water was there in the hold? 1 could not work
the heavy pumps sufliciently to tell.

All my future lay in the question how long the
ship could float in this miserable condition. She cer-
tainly would sink lower, but would she founder? If
any part of her kept above water, I could cling to it,
and some passing ship might take me off.

Thad not yet lost all hope, and recalling my despe-
rate situation and struggles in that trunk, and my

amazing escape from it, I



esolved to hope and striv



and to be courageous to the last. “Take heart, Ro-



main?’ I said to myself; “you shall ye



x see your

mother and Diélette.”
342 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

I knew enough of navigation to understand that if
the ship drifted ungoverned as she was now doing, she
would most likely go to pieces, or capsize under the
stroke of some great wave. JT ought then to take the
helm, without distressing myself particularly about

the direetion, and to try and use the staysuil to aid the



ship against the sea.

J had never stecred anything but small v



unconscious of the power with which I had to con-

tend, as I seized the tiller-rope a great wa



gave 80
violent a motion to the rudder that I was knocked
over and thrown to a distance of several feet.
Happily, the long duration of the storm had given
the crew time to make all fast and prepare for trouble.
‘The whipstaff of the rudder had been furnished with
the proper tackle to guide it without danger, and



; renewed my efforts, able now to

profit by experien



T had no idea which way to
steer, and did not know where I was, I made it my

sole aim to have the wind at the stern,



So I braced the

ion, and climbed to the poop-

My great hope was to meet a shi



helm in the right posi



deck to sean the horizon at all points.

It seemed to me that the wind lulled constantly,
and as day advanced the clouds broke away, showing
patches of clear sky; the sea also calmed, though
almost imperceptibly. My hope increased; I could


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 345

not be very far from land, and in this highway of the
nations some ship must certainly come near me. For
at least three hours I thus watched and hoped, divid-
ing my attention between the rudder and the sky.
The wind w:






now fallen to a gentle br



e, and the





sel much less, giving her time
to rise and meet them, and greatly decreasing the
danger of foundering. All at once I perceived a
white point against the dark clouds which trailed



along the horizon. ‘The point grew; it was a ship;
it was before the wind, moving in the same direction
as my unhappy Oronoco.

J sprang to the helm to point my course toward the
strange vessel, but she had all her canvas set, and

flew like a bird over the water, while I had only one



little miserable staysail, which offered about the size
of a handkerchief’ to the wind.

For half an hour I saw the ship grow larger and
3 but, al:

ing away. Tran





larger until I could count her sails is! then



she began to diminish ; she was pas



to the ship's bell and rang it furiously, then mounted

on the stump of the mainmast. I watched my fading

and less and



hope, that white-sailed ship, grow |



I had been unseen and



less, and sink into th
unheard, and was forsaken on that watery waste,
It was a cruel disappointment. For more than an

hour I watched the ship disappear, and then sobbed


346 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

bitterly, finding myself alone in that dread immensity
of sky and s



a.
Tt was



not enough that ships



should pass; it was
needful that they should see the Oronoco, and be will-
ing to approach her,

It was not enough for me to hope and wait for aid.
No, I must toil for it, prepare for it, win it for myself.
I looked into the ship’s color-chest, and chose the
largest flag that I could find; then I fastened this to
the top of the bell-beam, as that was the highest place
which I could reach, To get to that was trouble



enough, with my vessel rolling like a



log in the water,
and lurching every minute as if she meant to capsize.
But I had been a climber from my babyhood, and up
Then I slid

down, and proudly regarded the great streamer which

I went and fixed my signal of distres



floated out upon the wind. Ah! that would tell that

r in sore dis-



here was a ship and a lone little marin
tress.

Now that the storm was abating, my great anxiety



about the increase of water in the hold. Nothing
indicated that it augmented; the ship seemed to lie no
lower than when I first got on deck.

However, to neglect no means of escape, lest. the
Oronoco should sink, I prepared a raft of what planks

and boxes I could find, and fitted a paddle, to be
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 347

able to get myself out of the maélstrom which would



be formed by my foundering bai

Having prepared thus for an emergency, I waited
and watched.

It was now about noon, and for twenty-four hours
of trouble and toil I had eaten nothing. It seemed
years since Hermann carried me out of his lodgings,
had.
by the sea, and I concluded to go

shaking with laughter. The steward’s cabo



been swept aw:



below to look for food.



But only after long hesitation did I take that step.
Suppose the ship should go over while I was away

from my raft? At last hunger overeame fear.



IT went down the stairs. I had only taken two steps
when I heard a growling. My hand had been on a
door-latch, and my start opened it. T fell back trem-
bling. A large animal leaped out, and sprang upon
me with a violence that nearly overthrew me.

In a moment T understood all. This was the eap-



tain’s cab



, and here was his dog, which he had for



gotten. But, wonderful to say, this dog was my old

ally Patawl! How he had changed hands, whether
his master had been a passenger in this luckless Oro-
Ter

with short, joyous barks, licking my face and hands,



noco, who could s he was leaping on me



whining his curiosity—lovely, old white Patand with



the red nose!
348 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

Poor fellow! he had had his experience of storm and
of being shut up in a box. He rushed by me and
reached the deck. ‘Then he took a long, defiant look,
as if I had destroyed crew and captain; then his sus-
picions departed, and again he rubbed his head on
me and licked my hand.

We were now, as before, sworn friends, He followed



me closely; he seemed to understand our position, and

even my raft. We went below together, for he, like



myself, was



tarving. I found all that we needed—
bread, cheese and cold meat, I was in too much of a
hurry to be very particular. I grasped all I could
carry of the first that came to hand, and hastened
back on deck.

Only a step from death as I was, I ate ravenously.
As for the dog seated beside me, he devoured all that
I gave him,

T fed him as once he had fed me. When our meal
was over he lay down at my feet, and looked at me
with such loving eyes that I stooped down and hugged
him.

In the captain’s cabin I had seen a pair of pistols
lying on a table. I thought I would get them and
fire them if I saw a ship passing; they might attract
attention to me.

The day passed on and not a sail appeared. ‘The

sea was almost calm, and the wind hardly moved my
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 349

flag. ‘The Oronoco behaved very well, but with great
terror I beheld the approach of night. But then I
remembered that I might have been moving landward
all day, and that night would, perhaps, show me a
lighthouse toward which I could steer. With the
flow of the tide I might be carried ashore, and I had
only to keep Pataud near me, be close by my raft and
stay awake. My fears of the Oronoco’s sinking had
in a great measure departed.

Night darkened swiftly. My hope was not realized.



The stars one by one blazed out in heaven, but no
lighthouse beckoned me to the shore.

When I went below for the pistols I had helped
myself to a blanket and a berth-mattress. On these
I established myself, fully resolved not to close my
cyes once all night, but continue watching the horizon
for sails or light.

I rested thus a long time, my eyes fixed on obscur-
ity. Pataud lay close by me—he slept soundly ; wind
and wave fell asleep; and the ship had only a gentle
rocking motion, which soothed me as a cradle does a
babe. About ten or eleven o’clock the moon rose, and
showed me the peaceful water mirroring the happy
skies ; all was calm and lovely, and insensibly calm
took possession of my anxious heart, and I grew
quieted and restful. ‘The sleepy breathing of the dog

near my arm somchow comforted me, and in spite of
350 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

my efforts and resolves to keep awake, I fell into a
profound slumber. It was a gift from Heaven, though
I knew it not.

But that: intense quiet of the sea proved only the
precursor of bad weather. Toward morning I was
awakened by the freshness of the wind, and saw that
the skies were clouded and the water was covered

with white caps. I went to the helm and lashed



that my ship should still run before the wind, and T set
my little canvas as well as I could ; for without know-
ing where T was, I still thought the breeze was in a
good direction to take me to the coast of Normandy
or Brittany.

In less than an hour the waves became so high that
they broke over the half-submerged Oronoco, lying
heavily in the water, She rose very badly to meet
the surges, or rather she did not rise at all, but just
fell into them helplessly, and was washed from one
end to the other.

Under the force of the wind the foremast, already
cracked, creaked ominously ; the shrouds and cordage
were loose, and at each gust I feared that the mast
would go overboard, and then I knew that the Oro-
noco, unable to endure the least strain, would eap-



T could not take my eyes from the mast; and thus
gazing, I began to perceive a low, steady brown line


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 351

against the horizon beyond the bows. Despite my
danger, I leaped upon the broken mainmast, looked
long and intently, and assured of what I saw, screamed

“Zand! land !” in an ees



T flew to the helm and pointed my ship straight for
shore, My knees



shook under me, and by a singular
effect of joy I sobbed and wept, shouting all the while,
“Safe! safe! safe!”

The coast-line grew rapidly clearer. Would the



ship reach it? Would the foremast hold good ?

I passed a terrible hour in violent alternations of
joy and despair, hope and fear, for the wind con-
tinually increased, and the mast continually threatened
a downfall; every crack of that timber was a death-
knell to my trembling heart.

Pataud, seated before me, never took his eyes from
my face, and seemed to share all the variations of my
feelings. He appeared to read the history of our pro-
gress in my looks.

The shore toward which the ship ran was low. A.





short distance from the coast-line the surface swelled
gently into hills, but I saw neither harbors nor villages.

Of course my hope was not to run the halfswamped
Oronoco into a port, even if one had lain right before
me, for that would have been a task beyond my feeble
powers, and even, I think, out of the power of grown

sailor their ship had been in such wretched condi-


B52 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

tion, All I hoped was to run the Oronoco aground
somewhere, and then to save myself by swimming.
Thus I sat watching uneasily my landward progress,
and wondering if there were rocks on which the
ship would go to pieces unexpectedly, or if the waves
would get so high that I could not live when finally I
‘ible state of doubt, I





cast myself into them, In a tel



made ready for the last effort.



my pantaloons, and laid near me some bits of spars
and board, that I might grasp them in a moment of
extreme danger.

‘The shore was now clearly visible in all its details.
I saw that the waves broke in a long line of foam
along the shore. The tide was low.

Yet fifteen minutes; yet ten; yet five. Ah! my
ship would now be aground; no time now to hesi-
tate. Come, Pataud, in with us. Oh, mother! oh,
Diélette!

As I prepared to leap, the ship settled forward



heavily, I heard a loud crash, the bell rang un-
touched, the rudder-rope snapped like tow, the fore-

mast wavered and fell overboard, and T was flung



e on the d



upon my ‘Phe Oronoco had struck.

T scrambled up, but a second shock cast me down
again; the ship broke from end to end with a great
sound, and one half rolled over on the side.

Thad no time to catch hold of anything; a great


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 353

wave swept over the wreck, and I was washed over-
board by a flood of water.



When I struggled to the surface, I was already some
feet from the ship toward the shore, and near me swam

Pataud, who looked at me as if despairing. I shouted



to him.
ot from land, Ordi-
narily, I would not have minded a swim of that

We were some two hundred fe



distance, but it was a terrible matter now in such
mountains of water.
Without losing

my strength and taking my course to the shore, but in



rage, T swam slowly, reserving

Whirlpools of water and foam it was almost impossi-
ble to keep breath or to see my way; and besides, I

wi



constantly swept back just as I made a Tittle
advance, I could hardly eatch breath before the curl
ing, foamy waves would break over me.

T saw no one on shore, and evidently I had no aid
to look for. I would have perished had the wind
been against me.

Presently, in the inflow of a wave, T touched bot-
tom with my feet, I dug my toes into the sand, and



threw myself forward. It was a decisive instant; the
wave swept me on like a tangle of seaweed, and
would in the same manner have dragged me back,
but T clung to the sand with fect, knees and hands. I

lost some ground in spite of my efforts, but the next
354 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

wave carried me farther upon the beach, only, alas!
I saw that I should be
drowned if I continued this struggle, so I rose to the

to carry me back in its reflux.



surface and swam with my head out of water. A.

means of



fety of which my father had told me
came tomy mind. I got my knife from my pocket,
opened it, held it prepared, blade downward, and
swam slowly with the advancing wave toward land.
When once more I touched the beach, I plunged my
knife into the sand with all my weight, and held on
by it. Aided by this simple means, I was able to
resist the undertow of the returning wave; and gaining
my feet, I ran up the beach. ‘The succeeding wave

only reach



.d above my knees. I staggered some steps
farther, and fell exhausted on the weed-strewn sand.



Twas safe, safe from drowning, but cold and fatigue
had nearly destroyed me, and I lay insensible, for how
long I cannot tell.

Thad forgotten my poor Pataud in my fierce strag-
gle. He had fought his own way through, and now

found me in my distress. He recalled me to life by





licking my hands and fi



T heard him howling over me; I looked up into his
big kind eyes, and his snuff of delight scemed to say
to me, “Take courage; the worst is over. We are
ashore now.”

Tsat up upon the sand and began to rub my drip:


CALLED ME ‘TO LIFE RY LICKING MY MANDS AND FA

ROMAIN KALBRIS. 357

ping head and strive to squeeze the water from my
clothes.

‘The howls of Pataud had attracted some men, who
ran toward us; they were a market-crier and some
country folks on their way to town.




CHAPTER XIV.

T was to the east of Cape Levi and about fifteen
miles from Cherbourg that the Oronoco had



SEF come ashore.
othe countrymen who ran to my aid carried
me in the cart to Fermanyille, the nearest village,
and took me to the house of the pastor of a little
chureh,

This good man, who was the father of his people,
and whom they all looked up to as the highest
authority in their reach, received me with wonderful

goodness and charity. ‘The kind pastor was also the


ROMAIN KALBRIS. 359

physician of his poor congregation, and he kept in
his house many simple remedies, knowing well how
to use them. He was not, therefore, at a loss to
know what to do for a half-drowned, dripping, ex-
hausted and starving boy. I was speedily wrapped
in hot blankets, had a mug of hot coffee poured down
my throat, and was then put into a great soft bed. I
mumbled some half-intelligible words about my dog,
and fell asleep.

Pataud was rubbed and fed and given a mat by the
kitchen fire. I don’t know what use he made of his
opportunities, but I had been so weakened by my
succession of terrible adventures that I never opened
my eyes for twenty hours. Indeed, I believe that I
should have slept a hundred years, like the “Sleeping
Beauty in the Wood,” had not the

marine and the insurance agent come to drag me from



my blessed rest.

‘The news of the wreck of the Oronoco, her drifting
ashore off Cape Levi, and of the boy and dog who
had clung to her until she grounded, had spread.
There was an office of the company which had in-

sured her at Cherbourg, and I was sent for to tell the



story of the disaster.
A clerk came ina light chaise to take me to Cher-
bourg. ‘The good pastor fitted me out in a suit of

clothes. Pataud was permitted to ride at our feet ;
360 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

and being rested, clad, fed and generally comforted,
L rolled along a smooth highway in great content.

Entering the office of the insurance company, I was
brought before a number of imposing, busy-looking
gentlemen much occupied with pens and paper, and
was ordered to give an exact statement of all that had
happened from the time the ship left Havre until the
hour when the Oronoco divided in half off the rocks
of Cape Levi.

I paused and considered. If I told the truth, I
must begin by explaining how I had gone aboard in
a trunk—and then? How



x, I never liked lying.
I must tell the whole story now, come what would.
I therefore made my statement. Not being able to
get a berth on any ship in an ordinary way, determined
to go to sea and at the end of my finances, a friend
smuggled me on board as his baggage, and I detailed
my experiences in the box, what I had felt, heard
and done until I got out, and then what had occurred
when I was the sole



crew of a sinking ship.

The gentlemen, hearing this narrative, agreed to
send me to Havre to the owners of the Oronoco. I
was therefore embarked three days after as a passen-
ger on the Colibri, and arrived at Havre in some

twelve hours,





My history was already known. ‘The newspapers

had been full of my adventures; and knowing this
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 361

would be so, and having the fear of my uncle Simon
before my eyes, I had withheld my real name and
taken that of poor Hermann.

L was of course a subject of much curiosity, and
when Pataud and I appeared in the cabin of the Col-



ibri everybody began to say, “There he is, there he
is!” and the gentlemen shook hands with me.

I learned at Havre that the crew of the Oronoco
had not perished; they had been picked up by an
English ship, and had been returned home by way of
Southampton.

As to poor Hermann, he had been washed over-
board, and not being able to swim, had drowned be-
h had
ion, ‘This ox-



fore aid could be extended to him. His de:



happencd in the storm before the colli
plained why he had not come to relieve me from the
trunk,

My narrative was, it appeared, a very grave testi-
mony against the gruff’ captain of the Oronoco. ‘The
insurers said that he should not haye abandoned the
ship; that he might have saved her by proper efforts ;



that if a boy such as T could, unaided, guide her to
land, a erew could have run her into a port, ‘This
occasioned such a discussion on all sides that for the
time being it was the principal topic at Hayre, and T
was questioned on all hands.

They were then playing at the Hayre theatre a
362 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

piece called “The Wreck of the Medusa,” and the
manager took it into his head that if he could get me
into the play it would be vastly for his benefit, and he
offered me all the profits of the first representation if
I would go on the stage with Pataud.

Lagreed. We were well advertised, and everybody
crowded to the theatre. The house was crowded, and
hundreds went away, unable to get seats. Thad very
little to say in my part; my business was to walk
about as a cabin-boy. When I came on the stage,
with Pataud at my heels



1s usual, the actors were
forced to wait for the applause to ccase before they

could proceed with their parts. All vpera-glasses



were turned toward us. I began to believe that I
was a very wonderful person, and Patand seemed to
feel quite as fine on his own account. The expecta-
tions of the manager were realized; his play was a



success. My benefit-night brought me seventy-five
dollars, and I played eight nights for him. He then
gave me ten dollars more. With my eighty-five dol-
lars—more money than I had ever before seen—I felt
quite rich.

At Havre I found Lucien Hardel; I offered him
the eighty cents which I had unwittingly carried off,
but he laughed, and would not take it. His friend
was away from the city, and he was about to leave



himself; so he could not help me to a ship, but he took
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 363,

me to a hotel for a grand dinner, where I told him
all that had happened to me since we parted; and he
found me a respectable lodging-place with a widow
woman whom he had known for some time.

T resolved to use part of my wealth to buy me a
sailor’s outfit, and to put the rest in the bank until I
returned from my voyage, and free as an enlisted sea~
man from the power of my uncle, could go to visit
my mother in safety.

One would think that my late miseries would have
cured me of my passion for the sea, but that love was
born in me, and added to the terror of my uncle
Simon, drove me to set out on a voyage.

Abandoned on the Oronoco, tossed by the tempest,
flung half dead ashore, I avow that I had had some
very miserable thoughts; the delights of seafaring
seemed small, and those who lay at home safe in their
beds seemed much more to be envied than poor mari-
ners fighting for their lives with the angry waves.

But once safe ashore, praised, petted and rewarded,
the pains of sea-going looked less, its pleasures more.
When I was once upon my fect, my fears seemed to
flow away from me as the water dripped out of my



clothes; they vanished entirely in the sunshine of my
good fortune at Havre, T loved my profession less
than I had hoped, truly, but I saw no reason to aban-

don it; besides, I did not now need to go begging for
3L
364 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

a place as cabin-boy, but I had plenty of offers from
owners and captains.

The proprietor of the Oronoco had engaged me to sail
on another ship of his called the Amazon. This ves-
sel, like the Oronoco, traded with South America, and
was expected home from a voyage very soon. I was
to sail in her when she again left port, and the money
I made in the theatre would serve me very well when.
T bought the necessaries for my voyage. Meanwhile,
T put most of it in the bank, got me some clothes
and waited for the Amazon.

Tt never entered my silly head that as I had written
my mother that I would sail in the Oronoco she
might hear that the ship was lost, and believe me
drowned. Nor did I consider that as my real name
had been kept out of the newspapers she could not
learn of my safety. So short had been the time since
I wrote her that I did not consider it needful to write
again; and besides, I did not like to render her uneasy
by an account of my experiences of the dangers of the
sea. Silly boy that I was, I meant to write when I
could tell of a grand voyage, plenty of wages and a
prospective visit home.

When I applied for lodgings where M. Hardel
had recommended me, the widow said that there was
plenty of room for me, but that she could not provide
my meals on account of ill health. I had replied
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 365

that the meals would make no difference to me, for
could buy all the bread I wanted at thé’ baker’s, and
that was all I cared for. She therefore gave me a lit-
tle back room, tidy and comfortable, and I bought my
own simple provisions.

Her house was in a little back court near the quay
of Casernes. The good woman showed me a mater-
nal kindness, and encouraged me to sit in her room
and talk with her. She took a great interest in all
my plains, and gave me much good advice, so affee-
tionately conveyed that it made a deep impression on
me. I told her that she reminded me of my mothers
while she said that I recalled to her her only child, a

son a little older than myself, who was cabin-boy on



the Amazon, the very vessel for which I was waiting.
This dear, kind woman was indeed very sick. She
was only able to leave her bed part of the day; her
glazed eyes and the hectic color on her cheeks, as well
as the fearful eough which tormented her day and night,
showed that she was far gone in consumption, She
was not an elderly woman—indeed, in age and appear-
ance she was very like my own mother; and as I
s of her dis
. For the fi
possible that my mamma might not live to be old




s, it filled me




with a vague un time I saw it

and until I could support her, but that I might return
from some voyage to find her gone and myself home-


366 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

less, These thoughts often kept me awake at night,
and then the hollow cough of my dying hostess in-
creased my alarm.

What rendered the analogy of position more singu-
Jar was, that like my mother, this widow hated the
sea, as her husband, a sailor, had been lost in a storm.
She had not wished her son to bea mariner; and, alas!
he had left her secretly, and the uneasiness she felt
about him had done much to aggravate her disease.
Ah, what sceds of misery might not my long absence
and silence have sown for my dear mother and for me!
» My friend seemed to have but one hope—namely,
that her son might return to receive her dying bless-
ing and be ready to settle on shore, removed from the
dangers and temptations of the ocean.

With what impatience she waited for him! Each
time that I returned from the pier, where I went
many times a day,



e cagerly asked if the Amazon
were in sight. ‘The ship was unaccountably delayed ;
and meanwhile her mind so preyed on her feeble
body that she grew rapidly worse, and could not lift
her head from her pillow.

With her failing voice she would ask questions of

the weather, of the look of the sea, if any news had



been brought by passing vessels. ‘The voyage from
South America is long, uncertain and capricious, and
the Amazon might come in to-day, to-morrow, in a
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 367

week—no one could tell; it might even be a month
behindhand.

> about a,



Thad been in this unhappy woman’s hous
fortnight when her disease took a very alarming turn,
Her sister came in from the next door to nurse her,
and I heard her ask the opinion of the doctor; he re-
plied that she could live but a few days, and might
die at any moment. TI stole to her room every few
moments, longing to do something for her, and look-
ing in terror on her white, wasted face and sunken

Her voice was now merely a whisper, and that.



whisper ever of the Amazon and her absent son.
She would hold her trembling hand toward me, gasp-
ing, “What kind of weather is it? Look for the
ship. Will he come to-day? I fear he will never
see me again.”

I became possessed with a sort of fancy that this
woman was my mother, that I was the absent son,
and that T myself was some stranger looking on the

pitiful scene, I could not separate the woes of this



dying woman from my mother’s experiences.

After the stormy weather in which the Oronoco



had been cast away, we had a long season of calm,
The beautiful weather continued in an unusual man-
ner.

This calm would delay the Amazon; our hope

was in a breeze from the south-west. Therefore,


368 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

when a dozen times in a day I returned from the pier

and replied to her agonized look, “It is still calm,



there



only a little breeze from the east,” large te:
would steal over her pallid cheeks, and she would
whisper, “O God, be merciful to me, and let me see
him before I die!”

Her sister and friends who waited on her endeavored.

to re



ure her—encouraged her to hope for better

health; “she might live many months,” they told





her. She only shook her head,



ing,
“Tam dying. I only want to live to give my poor

lad my blessing.”



At these scenes I could not refrain from weeping.



Tt seemed to me as if my mother must meet just t
fate, and I, her ungrateful son, would be her mur-
derer. And you can see how hard was my heart and
how great my terror of Uncle Simon that I still held
fast my intentions,



All the sick woman’s friends in their hearts de-
spaired of her surviving until the Amaon made port.
The invalid could neither eat nor speak, but still she
Tooked her questions, and still I spent all my time

going betw



n the pier and her bedside.

One Friday morning I had been to see the ship-



ping-lists, and came in at breakfast-time. A neigh-

bor was . She beckoned to



standing in the door



me, whispering,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 369

“The doctor is here.”
“Ah! well?”
“Te

I could not bear to enter her room and tell her,



s she cannot live through the day.”

“No news of the Amazon.” I thought I would pull
off my shoes and steal quietly to my chamber; but

her eager ear heard my lightest tread, and she mo-



tioned for me, ‘They called me in. She looked her
agonized question. My voice faltered,



“Oh, ma’am, it is still calm.”
“No wind 2” she gasped.

I shook my head.

“What ships?”

“Some fishing-vessels, boats from the §



ne and a
Lisbon steamer.”
Just then her brother-in-law came in hastily, say-



ing, “The Lisbon steamer is come.”

“Yes,” I said, “I told her that.”

‘The woman looked at him indifferently at first, then
“What?



more eagerly as she saw excitement in his air.
what d.

“Well, there i
Amazon off the isle of S

2” she sa



some ne The steamer saw the





ne; all well aboard; no
losses.”
The mother was lying on her bed, apparently at the

point of death, but with sudden strength she lifted h





self on her arm. Her eyes brightened, the color came
370 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

to her cheeks; she found herself able to speak.
« TTow long, how long will it take them, from the isle
of Sein

‘This was a hard question, ‘Two days with moder-



ate weather; six or eight days with an adverse wind.





Twenty-four hours had been once the time with a
actly the
r-in-law for the doctor. While



strong breeze from ¢3 rter,



right qu



She sent her broth





he was gone she li



as if in passionate prayer. When



the physician came in, she said, “Sir, T must live until
the Amazon gets in. ‘The good Lord does not wish
me to die until Ihave blessed and counselled my only
son.”

Her strength, her mind, her energy, had so wonder-
fally returned that the doctor looked on it almost as a

miracle, and in every way endeavored to aid the reac-



tion of nature. She took wine, food and medicine,
and lay propped up on her pillow with her eager eyes
turned to the door. She bade me keep by the dock,

and fly to her with the first news. Here seemed to



me a battle between death and the sea.

Would the son return or the mother die first?
And still the strange impression that this was the
experience of myself and my own mother hung
over me.

Meanwhile, the poor. woman demanded that her

little room should be set in perfect order, Every-
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 371

thing must be made as neat and fine as possible
for the exile’s return. She ordered the windows
open.

“he air will be too much for you,” said her sister.

“Nothing can help or hurt me,” she said; “I do
not want my boy’s last thought of me mingled with
confusion and pain, Get some flowers to sct on the
shelf, and polish the windows.”

I kept my watch, seeing no encouraging
Tay!
ing the coming ships. At the port of H.




the great ports lik
ti

e they have a set of signals





adv



they
make signals which ar
of the v
to this hourly, and swung like a pendulum between

repeated at Havre, and the



name: els are printed on a bulletin, Tran



the court off quay Casernes and the office of the
marine assurance company.

Evening came. ‘There was no encouragement, no
breeze to help the ship; but still the dying mother
kept up her heart. She made us roll her bed near
that



the window, that she might see the same s
shone on her truant boy. While we were sleeping she
would watch to know if the wind changed. In any
less extremity T would have laughed at the idea of a
strong wind springing up from the right quarter for
the Amazon on such a clear, still, moonlight night, but
there seemed some superhuman power in this mother’s

dying wish.
372 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

The s



ister sent me to bed, and watched by the invalid

ence tormented



T could not sleep; my conse’
me. My sympathy, my remorse and my fears for my

distant mother kept me waking. At last I dozed, but



wi asound which I had never before heard



s aroused by



in that lodging—the rattling of my window-blind, I



looked out into the clear moonlight night; the vane

on the steeple had turned; there was a strong breeze,



and it was from the right qus ied on my




clothes and ran to the quay ; alrea
fled into waves which washed in long sur

the piers.



T questioned several sailors who were standing by



the docks, and then flew home with my good new:
Such a wind as this would bring in the Amazon before
the evening tide.

“Seo!”

knew God would hear my pr:



id the dying woman; “I was right, I
cr, and change the wind.



I shall y



see my bo



Her sister told me that she had not slept all night,

but had lain with her eyes fixed on th We now



raised her and gave her a portion of wine and beef-

t ‘turned



, and urged her to try and sleep, while I



to my watch on the harbor,
I left her murmuring: “Poor John; poor John!”
John was her son.

When I returned to her early in the morning, tell-
ROMAIN KALBRIS, 373



ling her that the wind still favorable, she sent



me out to buy bread, cakes and other provision for a

nice supper.



” said her



You cannot eat such things

“They are for my poor John,” she replied.



She gave me a dollar, saying, “Get what is nice:
boy da”

The doctor, when he called, said he had never seen



fare hardly on shipboa

so sharp a struggle against death—that the woman
lived on love and hope, but that he had no idea that
she would hold out beyond the ebb of the evening
tide.

When the offices were open, I ran to see if there
were any news of the Amazon; there was none. Be-
tween eight o’elock in the morning and three in the
afternoon I went twenty times to inquire, and at three

the Amazon was reported in sight.



T rushed to carry home that joyous news. I found



my friend much wor
deferred hope. When I told her the

sight, she again revived in an astonishing manner,

She seemed perishing of her



hip was in

ated a mother’s love.



Never before had [ appre
“When will the tide be full?” she asked.
« At six,” I replied.
“Ah! I must liv
wine.” She swallowed it painfully.
Again I sped to the harbor and took my position



until then. Give me a little
374 ROMAIN KALBRIS,

to watch. At four the ships in the offing began to
ive. ‘The Amazon threw out her cable and made





I flew to the house; the brother-
in-law hurried on board the ship.
«Ts the ship in?” faltered the mother.
“She
“Lift me up,” she whispered. “Smooth my hair



on”?

»



and my cap. Open the door to the stairs.

In less than ten minutes some one rushed along the



court and tore up the stairway in headlong haste. It



was the truant son. ‘Tears poured over his boyish
face. ‘Che dying mother lifted herself up and folded
him to her bosom.

The sobs of the son, the wee]



ing of the sister and
myself mingled with the thankful prayers of that

mother whose last wish God had granted.



She died at eleven o’clock, her hand holding fast
to her boy and her eyes fixed on his face. She had



found strength to comfort and advise him to the very
last, and then died—suddenly as a lamp is blown out
—at the falling of the tide.

That death, that mother’s love for her son, that



struggle with the last agony, that hear



despair, that boy’s self-reproaches, accomplished in me
what neither the entreaties and arguments of Diélette
nor my misfortunes on the Oronoco had been able to

effect. My mother might die heartbroken while I


FOLDED UIM "TO



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 377

was gone. For the first time T realized that possi



bility.

I did not sleep that night. That thought, that
fear and repentance, kept me in torment. In fifteen
days



the Amazon would sail. A ship started for
Honfleur at five the next morning. The love of ad-
yenture and the fear of my uncle impelled me to keep
my situation on the Amazon; the thought of my

moth



drew me as by chains to Port-Dicu.



After all, my uncle could not kill me. 1



now
big and strong, and could hold my own. My mother



ld send me things if I went back to him, and T
had cighty dolla

If my mother did not want me to be a





s to keep me in food and clothes





ailor, it



my duty to respect her wish. God had given her a





right to dictate, and her love enforeed that right dou-

bly. No blessing could follow a truant son, Dare



I run away, believing, as I did, that her loss would



be my punishment? No, a thousand times no. I
fell on my knees and begged God to spare her life,
and I would return and obey her.

At four o’clock I made up my bundle, wrote a note
to the owner of the Amazon asking him to secure an

other boy in my place, and to send my eighty dollars



to me at Port-Dieu. I had a little money



in my purse



to pay my travelling expenses, At five o’elock T left
Havre for Honfleur, and thirty-six hours after—that
378 ROMAIN KALBBIS.

is, about six the next day evening—I got in sight of
Port-Dieu. I took the same path which I had fol-
lowed with Diélette, but the season had advanced, and
it seemed no longer the same. The grass was green
and soft, flowers bloomed on every side, the trees were
covered with young green leaves, violets scented the
air, and the apple blossoms gave out their fragrance
after a warm sunny day.

My heart grew light. I feared nothing. How ex-
hilarating is a clear conscience! I was now on the
right track. Oh, I would soon see my mother !

Arrived near our hedge, I hid behind a big rock.
Soon Diélette ran out for some handkerchiefs which
were drying on a line.

“ Diélette!” I shouted.

She turned to the side where she heard my voice,
but I was hidden by the hedge. I perceived then
that she was dressed in deep mourning. A great
agony filled my heart. Why in black? IT shricked
“Mother!’ in wild alarm; but that moment my
mother appeared on the doorstep. But, wonderful to
relate, behind the startled Diélette and my mother was
some one with a long white beard. M. de Bihorel!
He by my mother! Surely I saw two ghosts.

“Why, Diélette, what is the matter?” cried M. de
Bihorel. He spoke—he was living; so was my

mother. I conquered my trembling, broke through
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 379

the hedge and flew toward them. What words can
write the joy of that hour?

When our excitement was a little calmed, it was
needful for me to relate my adventures since leaving
Diélette. I sat in our cottage with my arm about my
mother and holding Diélette’s hand. M. de Bihorel
took his chair before us and beamed upon us with his
long white beard.

My eagerness to know how the long-lost M. de
Bihorel came to be there safe and sound winged my
tongue; and getting through with my own history, I
asked for his tale. It was very simple.

Returning from the Isle of Cranes his boat had
upset. He climbed upon the bottom, and thus drifted
out to sea on the ebb of tide. He was picked up by
a three-mast ship going from Havre to San Francisco.
The captain who saved him would not delay at any
port to disembark him, and M. de Bihorel found
himself, greatly against his will, making a voyage of
five or six months to California, unless a passing ship
could take him homeward sooner. Such a happy
chance did not occur. At Cape Horn he despatched a
letter by the box which shipmasters have established on
Terra del Fuego, but that letter never reached France.
Having arrived at San Franciseo, he crossed the con-
tinent to New York, and had been at home about two

months at the time of my return. Saturday was once
32%
380. ROMAIN KALBRIS,

more with his master, the black cow was on the



island again, and at the good man’s castle the old mode

of life was resumed.

T was no longer a sailor.



My uncle Plohy was dead; it was for him that my
nd Diélette had that very da

ing, for news had come of his decease, and that he



mother:



put on mourn-

had left a large fortune which would enrich all of his
heirs.

M. de Bihorel superintended my education. Dié-
lette w



sent to a good school, and my mother lived

at case in a fine house.



These adventures happened some y



ns Ago.

How Diélette profited by all her advantages you



will see if you step into our house, where she is a very

beautifial woman, and the very good mother of two




nda girl,
M. de Bihorel

grandfather, and each day go with

¢ children lo



atly; they





call him
anite Glove.
ul with th
for of the thirty fishing-vessels which sail from Port-

their mother to visit him at the (





Though Tam not a sailor, Is





Dieu to Newfoundland six belong to me. Of course
my mother lives in our house—we could not do with-
out her; but she loves so well the little home where
she lived with my father that we keep it in perfect

repair, and she goes and spends the day in it as often




DD MOTHER OF



ver



ROMAIN KALBRIS. 383,

as she likes. We have in our house some beautiful

paintings, the work of Lucien Hardel. He is a great





friend of ours, and spends two months with us every
summer, In spite of all his efforts, he has never been
able to find a second guard to arrest him,

M. de Bihorel is well and happy. He is to-day



cighty-two years old. Age has not weakened h
health nor his mind ; his tall form is somewhat bent,
but his heart is as fresh and young and generous as

ever. The trees which he planted cover the Granite



Glove lik



a forest, and over the salt grass on the





side browse the si rt of little black cows



west me





and sheep and frolicsome g
Old Saturday seems just as vigorous as when he
first distressed himself about what he should give me
to eat, and avowed an intention to sugar my milk.
Sometimes, when we are in Granite Glove garden
and the bi

ries, he will s



is come whirling over our heads with their



, “ What are they talking about? coni,



coni, conae,



conac, Why, Romain, have you not
learned the language of birds?”

‘Then at this wonderful joke he will laugh until he
holds his sides ; but if he sees M. de Bihorel, who has
grown a little hard of hearing, looking sharply at us,
he puts on a sober face, settles his woollen cap and
remarks severely,

“Romain, though you are now a rich man, never
384 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

for;



+t what love and respect you owe the master, who
befriended you when you were a poor helpless boy.”
He is right; may I never forget it. True, the for-
tune of my uncle Flohy would have reached me all
the same; but would I have been able to use it
rightly if I had not had this good old gentleman’s

lessons, his e:



ample, his care over my education,

his advice



No} without them I might to-day have

wretched old



been a rich, gluttonous boor, or a vi



miser like my uncle Simon. ‘The main thing with
riches is to know how to use them. ‘They are a great
temptation and a snare to many.

Tt may be well to add a last word about my miser-

able uncle. The fortune left by his brother added to



his possessions and his eaves,



He entered into limitless speculations; his thirst for



increased wealth became a wild fever.
But he speculated with men as sharp and relentless
as himself, and he became so completely ruined that

when every item of his possessions went under the



hammer there was not enough to pay his debts.
Thus God avenged the poor with whom he had dealt
so cruelly.

At the time of this failure T had just come of age
and received my property; and taking counsel with
my mother and M.de Bihorel, I tried to relieve the

old man,
ROMAIN KALBRIS. 385

But he could not believe that our cares were dis-
interested. We brought him to our house, and he
made a terrible outcry, declaring that we were thieves
and had robbed him,

We then took him lodgings and gave him a pen-
pa

gambled it away in a fierce effort to recover his



sion, but cach time that it was paid he rushed off and
wealth,

He spent every copper in play, and went half naked
and nearly starved. We then hired a family to take
care of hin, to feed and clothe him comfortably, and
But he sold

the clothes from his back, and following his old ava-



did not allow him means of gambling

rice, begrudged himself food, and hid the provisions
that were supplied him until they became mouldy and
putrid.

In the old age of Uncle Simon and of M. de Biho-

rel what a contrast! The man who made moncy his



god is the most unhappy of mortals, while the benevo-
lent old gentleman who lived to do good, and who

always carried out his harmless oddities for the benefit



of some poor neighbor, whose generosity extended to
man and beast, passes to his grave loved and honored

and peaceful, his life growing ever brighter and bet-



nees to the heavenly



ter as he



Each year repeats to me the lesson taught me in so



many hours of distress—that man’s extremity
386 ROMAIN KALBRIS.

God’s opportunity ; that we are never so badly off that



he cannot rescue us; that he does not leave his chil-

dren without his care, but that his bl



ing and favor
come to us in the path of well-doin,



and that wrong-
doing ever brings us a harvest of pain and disaster.


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STANDARD NOY: ‘Translated from the Swedish by Selma Borg and
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cand interesting, the
:ANY










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ROB ROY. ST. RONAN'S WELL.
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HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN, BETROTHED ; and Talisman,
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and Legend of Montrose, FAIR MAID OF PERTH.
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HISTORY OF THE CIVIL WAR IN AMERICA. Translated, with

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terest.” The Cuuxcimas, N.Y

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Hugh Blair.

LECTURES ON RHETORIC AND BELLES-LETTRES. With a
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CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. Embracing Person-
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AT S100
ROBINSON CRUSOE. | CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY.
ARABIAN NIGHTS. DON QUIXOTE.
SWISS F.\MILY ROBINSON, | GULLIVER’S TRAVELS.
SCOTTISH CHIEFS. VICAR OF WAKEFIELD; AND
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. In
GIL BLAS. One volume.
AT SL25
MODERN CLASSICS. DAVID CROCKETT,
TRAVELER IN AFRICA. KIT CARSON.
IN THE ARCTIC SEAS. GRIMM'S HOUSEHOLD
PILGRIM’'S PROGRESS. TALES
BUNYAN'S HOLY WAR. GRIMM’S POPULAR TALES,
EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. | DUCHESS OF ORLEANS.
CELEBRATED FEMALE SOV- |‘GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.
EREIGNS, | LADY GREEN SATIN.
PION! WOMEN OF THE | ROMAIN KALERIS.
‘WEST. EVENING AMUSEMENTS.

BATTLES OF THE REPUB- | SOUTH MEADOWS.

ee REMARKABLE EVENTS IN
CAMP FIRES OF NAPOLEON. | THE WORLD'S HISTORY.
LIFE OF NAPOLEON. TRAVELS AND ADVENT-
LIFE OF WASHINGTON. URES OF BARON MUN-
DANIEL BOONE. CHAUSEN.

ROMANCE OF THE REVOLUTION.






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EVENT '2011-11-17T19:49:13-05:00' OUTCOME 'success'
PROCEDURE describe
'2011-11-17T19:26:36-05:00'
redup
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfile1' 'sip-files00408.txt'
bc949ea893a9384070c31f083ccefd26
cbb8391cb65c20e2c05a2f29211e55c49939c3db
'2011-11-17T19:45:10-05:00'
describe
'2011-11-17T19:26:42-05:00'
redup
'73245' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNR' 'sip-files00001.jp2'
8115c2fd5f8d5b20f6baae57fe53fc8b
ce73ae809eb2fef81ad43117ef6ee9c8465e7136
'2011-11-17T19:28:02-05:00'
describe
'393677' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNS' 'sip-files00001.jpg'
2a97f40c7cea433407dfac9c418e24a5
4ffd0ef29e2933dffe60a05873764faec67b2f38
'2011-11-17T19:39:40-05:00'
describe
'215' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNT' 'sip-files00001.pro'
c5a49f627a87a407f181f2b705f8d245
9edf16113437712963ccc6a6609f51604a42f861
'2011-11-17T19:28:49-05:00'
describe
'118206' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNU' 'sip-files00001.QC.jpg'
9846635b2ac8db6fc405c6da3ee3514f
7957273bd13a5aad7c8c42fcedba5cb605226249
'2011-11-17T19:28:23-05:00'
describe
'1768256' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNV' 'sip-files00001.tif'
9537c70ff4b2fc532c608372002a3f7b
89481eb80fcbf88ce86d0f54e0d967946c8c1216
'2011-11-17T19:28:34-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNW' 'sip-files00001.txt'
bc949ea893a9384070c31f083ccefd26
cbb8391cb65c20e2c05a2f29211e55c49939c3db
'2011-11-17T19:46:13-05:00'
describe
'32838' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNX' 'sip-files00001thm.jpg'
d2e74da5bfc4849d3e8c14a8f7181d08
9e6ccbb347ac04cda8189813c29a7e60f8fe8a3a
'2011-11-17T19:28:54-05:00'
describe
'76284' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNY' 'sip-files00002.jp2'
08353bf694cde43cfe459f23537fb90a
0bb59b544046bfbc41a63e161e9385feb6272b20
'2011-11-17T19:30:43-05:00'
describe
'241866' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJNZ' 'sip-files00002.jpg'
16581ab5239dd97d1abff5b5027809e5
268f9b87b12ee8347aaa43ae088628cb46cdf6ac
'2011-11-17T19:27:57-05:00'
describe
'85026' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOA' 'sip-files00002.QC.jpg'
4b2217ed632a3e8d895f13e6c5359f14
6dc96b781275407852617ad8654a83340efc3c9c
'2011-11-17T19:29:36-05:00'
describe
'1839588' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOB' 'sip-files00002.tif'
142d4b34a92b28b08f3cda6176071302
8b1bb69d3f7e573c382c1138d056ebea8c694e30
'2011-11-17T19:29:47-05:00'
describe
'76909' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOC' 'sip-files00005.jp2'
162744cd36756f3cf0d8dd9297e564ec
c1db6975dd813cdca3ae70061d3f43a4c9928a26
'2011-11-17T19:50:43-05:00'
describe
'248229' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOD' 'sip-files00005.jpg'
2050250e56f45fabe6a384378050cdb5
092dbfd7bdfb8ce0f892fed1dc11ef3ff747fc93
'2011-11-17T19:30:30-05:00'
describe
'3176' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOE' 'sip-files00005.pro'
84b3f6e26506efe17f8d51afaee3fdb6
5c1bb1ffea69aa3e8af25463dc4a537166a549c9
'2011-11-17T19:49:52-05:00'
describe
'88220' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOF' 'sip-files00005.QC.jpg'
5dc8355c03f157681f6b93e1958feffb
a0c5359a5e9d7014598077d67059a3fecc5565b4
'2011-11-17T19:27:30-05:00'
describe
'628248' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOG' 'sip-files00005.tif'
370434a153bcdd6570d03baaefa1cca3
f68ff756c28ed11ad358004e4b9faef747889551
'2011-11-17T19:31:41-05:00'
describe
'159' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOH' 'sip-files00005.txt'
6f99d8a76cfa46232957f2b9111dab3f
1b555e62c14ba979ddf11fc271c550585ea91d69
'2011-11-17T19:49:53-05:00'
describe
'76683' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOI' 'sip-files00006.jp2'
d7e05dc7bd74e984cb43160064cec837
2825c2be286864b396124e8941cb3fe2450f650e
'2011-11-17T19:49:04-05:00'
describe
'139422' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOJ' 'sip-files00006.jpg'
16ac62c5b9d1c63f6126e89008de82f1
19ad01b83823540e8a6a7bd41f37cf4dc7a3e82a
'2011-11-17T19:30:13-05:00'
describe
'1747' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOK' 'sip-files00006.pro'
6a7a92522f45ee481e8332e066807a9f
22dc7ad3f2d485eac384243c0c1cd5b953979f61
'2011-11-17T19:29:43-05:00'
describe
'57060' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOL' 'sip-files00006.QC.jpg'
39ff3a8d2e9389aeac14b197bf770253
20e49b4b243ac14a102c2a2b1338cec12e1738e1
'2011-11-17T19:45:38-05:00'
describe
'623416' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOM' 'sip-files00006.tif'
22a94c05e37c93d5dc342ec358a815b7
b981eb7b8cf8928833353840d525af88087af3e0
'2011-11-17T19:27:17-05:00'
describe
'140' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJON' 'sip-files00006.txt'
8c25eeaea88d0eac44469cf0a587cb64
275cd422a9d667776c1d6ced5ebe4bdbb4b860c1
'2011-11-17T19:28:11-05:00'
describe
WARNING CODE 'Daitss::Anomaly' Invalid character
'76191' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOO' 'sip-files00007.jp2'
594b194c60857738f94d9c298749764c
783d7508ac59e2c39d5bd7188235bb7d23c97a4c
describe
'235604' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOP' 'sip-files00007.jpg'
55faea10b1266abf27baca7336937436
2c14212e4bfc5d2eb6f1b000673bf6fd1797fc59
'2011-11-17T19:32:01-05:00'
describe
'9593' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOQ' 'sip-files00007.pro'
5d1b4980614c21d8a0421869d13ea510
47b568935f67d26f5e51f00a0ed20c011ff387fb
'2011-11-17T19:28:15-05:00'
describe
'85679' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOR' 'sip-files00007.QC.jpg'
dd7c756d0659ab2a598dc0ee6ba9c950
201382554d3cb526bf7eae595b7e95251b69e11f
'2011-11-17T19:51:07-05:00'
describe
'620968' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOS' 'sip-files00007.tif'
2f1f6d6c72d969b24241b8f93f017598
58a5d21a69b7e3f88d4b934eec5ea06156728bf1
'2011-11-17T19:50:41-05:00'
describe
'534' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOT' 'sip-files00007.txt'
74475cce0fad7ebc8f8e52a189a617fb
9bb9e5e3157550fd81db280433b515c233494f8b
'2011-11-17T19:26:53-05:00'
describe
'74193' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOU' 'sip-files00008.jp2'
23f53425b04538c027eef3385c597adc
364ab3798c594bb7b7ade9d4a81e77338ca5339d
'2011-11-17T19:31:32-05:00'
describe
'241347' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOV' 'sip-files00008.jpg'
e3b95bfafa81a4c8d29852cdd7b4852d
bb52804232799d815ac2ab06f7dda05cbc76a8bc
'2011-11-17T19:27:43-05:00'
describe
'7757' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOW' 'sip-files00008.pro'
e41687f25da9ca3399da81222b85a07d
d40456986822dc5a5f310d2b71938e350ea13485
'2011-11-17T19:50:17-05:00'
describe
'89097' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOX' 'sip-files00008.QC.jpg'
c98cf7f9e78d319747be60f6c13afca2
90a4ffa60b628ec59cb57c5c705cbb62e4df0021
'2011-11-17T19:30:40-05:00'
describe
'604700' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOY' 'sip-files00008.tif'
dedcc11f31c38ce6c1653fbc194013d2
893990ec77427ec8d77cb4b438351ca691724dab
'2011-11-17T19:49:19-05:00'
describe
'420' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJOZ' 'sip-files00008.txt'
398c948d007ecc99477d1fbaa28d22be
747ecc8f06c22fdcdabd5b4d4a1531896387ccba
'2011-11-17T19:32:24-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76599' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPA' 'sip-files00009.jp2'
0b38410fd6298b3ff565bd2d44e1af76
c530220fe3093e0e2b32e40431f5a6ab964d97b4
'2011-11-17T19:39:49-05:00'
describe
'260089' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPB' 'sip-files00009.jpg'
93f8bc18d948155439156a85c2eb4adf
938f553f35dacb185e1eb2a95e312af6afbf566f
'2011-11-17T19:45:04-05:00'
describe
'4662' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPC' 'sip-files00009.pro'
0a72e0844df11c75505d980cc7bad17c
7cfc0e4bf9b57f132bbbbc06e7fb125c50a5ecbf
'2011-11-17T19:39:45-05:00'
describe
'91287' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPD' 'sip-files00009.QC.jpg'
83db9c0699326eff4dd4112537385b91
d61ac6ee829b190fe300154d0d1fe4787905ebca
'2011-11-17T19:31:20-05:00'
describe
'624200' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPE' 'sip-files00009.tif'
d8e52be3f35b9df14b89205d46d6f4ad
4c295b002c8aeb18978906470d89593043144b26
'2011-11-17T19:30:59-05:00'
describe
'261' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPF' 'sip-files00009.txt'
1af060ee7864305739bc41c204b7b7aa
5197ca74f824d58bfc769941128cd955029138bb
'2011-11-17T19:49:42-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75229' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPG' 'sip-files00010.jp2'
9a1aacd7ec2a85f8874a393feeb83840
eb96696743a1c1c833979337a5b94afd67531804
'2011-11-17T19:28:24-05:00'
describe
'109135' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPH' 'sip-files00010.jpg'
d26f7990642abd15d594ff9441a7de75
a9e40338a7f6f0c62050094104b7be23f1d3baae
'2011-11-17T19:50:01-05:00'
describe
'44615' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPI' 'sip-files00010.QC.jpg'
108b4b27e6f6c481b8f03c3ed384c617
259794d78ed24c92127c8b04b1f521c70d56d4fe
describe
'610812' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPJ' 'sip-files00010.tif'
c0bb2d59066611b39840c1dae36da5e5
5d4f8e9930d6d6283d104d85785d0b514be86c14
'2011-11-17T19:31:06-05:00'
describe
'75711' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPK' 'sip-files00011.jp2'
3e088400db2e41b66bca88c2537e81df
d22d35b5c36539d433ebb6e69b341eb06d03623b
'2011-11-17T19:27:42-05:00'
describe
'236782' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPL' 'sip-files00011.jpg'
8696f2996f5509dde0dc4cc7defadf63
f8c7f38eff85633db7818385c706bf74f08dfaab
'2011-11-17T19:50:55-05:00'
describe
'18681' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPM' 'sip-files00011.pro'
a60845a6be78917e3397214919431eb3
8f5ca901bac1981247a83d8daab041763b744335
'2011-11-17T19:30:20-05:00'
describe
'91364' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPN' 'sip-files00011.QC.jpg'
47605133e4cea5cd8d6dec3efb5eab1e
74c761f510c88c2379306b85032d3dc5d4d295c2
'2011-11-17T19:45:35-05:00'
describe
'618324' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPO' 'sip-files00011.tif'
51e24a34e0cba9126f9f46d9b4f53193
f54f43425c8fc97feb9e9bf52f068ee3df9fac47
'2011-11-17T19:29:00-05:00'
describe
'925' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPP' 'sip-files00011.txt'
483587c804f6039f894f568c0fff1763
442831752931f7d834c7b39630ecf66013a43237
'2011-11-17T19:45:40-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75382' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPQ' 'sip-files00012.jp2'
72e984f539388c16a82ccbcc7a51e203
d999518663728435e34221b6b5465eba365ddd9d
'2011-11-17T19:27:08-05:00'
describe
'250896' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPR' 'sip-files00012.jpg'
23d459290b1b75deb47c60b1ef7b1ed1
244ead9fd3ce08eb2859de3c8ab5e26ba8e6767e
'2011-11-17T19:51:12-05:00'
describe
'2474' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPS' 'sip-files00012.pro'
9f4404f80942c5b88bbce01200e84cb1
73eb0a212a3474e09b47f605024ec7eac74cd2f4
'2011-11-17T19:31:35-05:00'
describe
'95932' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPT' 'sip-files00012.QC.jpg'
5ce27bbbf6554a8aae41f522cc273e06
299b02fdd22b062d3d8fced7f357e835192ae164
'2011-11-17T19:29:56-05:00'
describe
'614364' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPU' 'sip-files00012.tif'
de2baebcc70ae698c370dcddfc4af063
3962eed5d9eff0dec0ab23ad7c6a93b488f5178c
'2011-11-17T19:46:10-05:00'
describe
'209' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPV' 'sip-files00012.txt'
f7a62bac2a4d2c29df3ecaef0facb455
6b6e107c673d94db23f0399b495ea49c8191a56d
'2011-11-17T19:51:00-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75695' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPW' 'sip-files00013.jp2'
e8970928672fe5bb824526f756164bb1
a741290df9be3e04daf214fcc072ccfb309d3e29
'2011-11-17T19:39:34-05:00'
describe
'273740' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPX' 'sip-files00013.jpg'
b20b62febe68d934f602f1200d4d1237
5bdde97acf6ee07d4808f1a6a789d196e9966507
'2011-11-17T19:43:28-05:00'
describe
'5748' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPY' 'sip-files00013.pro'
13e6dffa29b220255ebf8e8ee0dd5543
d2d6b6e27fc0f4c44174817f1bf7b7f5decdb31e
'2011-11-17T19:51:22-05:00'
describe
'95671' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJPZ' 'sip-files00013.QC.jpg'
094443fd32e99c24f5833163580501b9
55ca8df0769ae7f7f5e1e0a8ce9a5d7aefefa5e2
describe
'618452' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQA' 'sip-files00013.tif'
ac36610269651cfd09b2c3e6f88ce18d
170778495ab3e10309fda203498b07ef36e0434b
'2011-11-17T19:43:48-05:00'
describe
'320' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQB' 'sip-files00013.txt'
470291a79a08a443cdca8a5596c3df70
3334ac046d2919f4fb1f1910e3f0408741f22d6f
'2011-11-17T19:32:12-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74549' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQC' 'sip-files00014.jp2'
83bb31dbeaff09f8c6bbd6061b219772
24c66655186c2615aeb81f53b0c38cd590c4b7e0
describe
'267232' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQD' 'sip-files00014.jpg'
df88b37c4f705d9f15ef5a0bc2cdfe6c
855a74f21e0914b550c6d9d644c09d94f939f3a7
'2011-11-17T19:44:24-05:00'
describe
'32283' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQE' 'sip-files00014.pro'
496194ab6fe6cd94a5577e76a1af7292
ee15958ed973a23e0249df6405c92a838bb481b9
'2011-11-17T19:45:55-05:00'
describe
'102625' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQF' 'sip-files00014.QC.jpg'
f7040a6b38639f74d3548e6357d4501c
5c589a37d88ad9e53942182c35716d08dad24cca
'2011-11-17T19:30:29-05:00'
describe
'609436' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQG' 'sip-files00014.tif'
76f0369e0736ba9e701cb59122ff736e
5962f7ee055a705bf856035c15a9d5a5ec096052
'2011-11-17T19:46:08-05:00'
describe
'1413' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQH' 'sip-files00014.txt'
45d2d20ddaaa808af47d516b7045a4da
8f94db6401a0e0f7fda87b33de3209867df5d83d
'2011-11-17T19:27:37-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76255' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQI' 'sip-files00015.jp2'
f03d11fa947eb8adeb171d90da32480a
03b3487cd92640e86a57160663ee1908a05eb2bc
'2011-11-17T19:30:37-05:00'
describe
'281520' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQJ' 'sip-files00015.jpg'
c73184d0ae68448186ae47fb51b93eb9
cdc140881a0483db3c3a629e7b67582597bb1bed
'2011-11-17T19:46:21-05:00'
describe
'32659' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQK' 'sip-files00015.pro'
c27852f485c06913c5f7faa3770ed750
ab064a81e472ff01fa40d427b438a08082bffb3c
'2011-11-17T19:27:45-05:00'
describe
'106943' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQL' 'sip-files00015.QC.jpg'
524acac55bb1f40b050214449b899782
fe910627b61f2ada8d8580ebfca8a7fe3e2fca6b
'2011-11-17T19:31:23-05:00'
describe
'622864' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQM' 'sip-files00015.tif'
8946d11d735b586becf58a4abdcb5b71
f9c8bb26ff6abde3106ffb2e0912bbd09de6d635
'2011-11-17T19:28:59-05:00'
describe
'1408' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQN' 'sip-files00015.txt'
5a158c80a57bb2473689c763671d6802
4cb2375ae96d14c111482aa315bafcb7bf60856b
describe
Invalid character
'77553' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQO' 'sip-files00016.jp2'
f749fa0467586e014b7982d72c751128
16349f59971dd732bd34444af2f72428dd65ba17
'2011-11-17T19:48:57-05:00'
describe
'279252' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQP' 'sip-files00016.jpg'
38b5ced7551b3caef5745de50459ca2d
69d6711cebc9ddd3835eb44bea41f483cd9e2d8b
'2011-11-17T19:30:06-05:00'
describe
'31730' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQQ' 'sip-files00016.pro'
42c4fd7d43a0a37ba7c322eaf52fa499
d43972b7dbce163459720545868f8fa3561932e2
'2011-11-17T19:45:21-05:00'
describe
'107149' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQR' 'sip-files00016.QC.jpg'
60e8dc49469c353184778970b347708f
1cbc4c262086cfd9d627feb8a27e0f063ca3dc26
'2011-11-17T19:31:10-05:00'
describe
'632616' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQS' 'sip-files00016.tif'
3110294d0d27e3babf8f60c02c446b71
8b2475de029f61e2b646707689b0eb31a2af0283
'2011-11-17T19:46:27-05:00'
describe
'1370' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQT' 'sip-files00016.txt'
c1f772da25f2aaffc1d25e46b7eff4ed
251a0a55ae97def0ed5432a96a49675d5333f66f
'2011-11-17T19:27:20-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'78316' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQU' 'sip-files00017.jp2'
a1cf6676a61e79aef2b8fa1670e7ad18
cd9a6c7984c0171ac690479abad87bed5739dd23
'2011-11-17T19:50:15-05:00'
describe
'290748' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQV' 'sip-files00017.jpg'
1224df05c6110d3c79537794a4e856fd
fdc1ec11e5c29e7b3a97d94efd617c00933f88b0
'2011-11-17T19:47:20-05:00'
describe
'30534' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQW' 'sip-files00017.pro'
c28221136d507c6f003b4678b4f217e4
31a1845cdd4691b6a60b708b09a4417bee2faa5d
'2011-11-17T19:28:20-05:00'
describe
'110085' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQX' 'sip-files00017.QC.jpg'
eedc2c8d4faf271f2cbbc05037cb9740
1a841275ee1e9a3611d1ca8d781953d7503a2aa8
describe
'638896' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQY' 'sip-files00017.tif'
3dc3a9d6d73eb6d716e893e96a15e4ce
5d545c5bf00d746e83bfe41326511c5d22c3ee82
'2011-11-17T19:27:23-05:00'
describe
'1340' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJQZ' 'sip-files00017.txt'
c04ed92c18477657b55beea35d232c0a
66f4209a4b0badeae6d6361b39f6e76ba9669efa
'2011-11-17T19:44:55-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'77121' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRA' 'sip-files00018.jp2'
07ffe4b35fb2d9825970fa7d36d1be70
2d744486abafd6e6f7596f828c929fa6dff32092
'2011-11-17T19:44:15-05:00'
describe
'279983' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRB' 'sip-files00018.jpg'
0d1872f647e180396ea4713a7e998eaa
30c65f7075bdab5dff6d3d05a93c9da4395d9fe2
'2011-11-17T19:49:34-05:00'
describe
'27050' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRC' 'sip-files00018.pro'
99f29c4edff228560342e99e41dfe993
d6af141479345b6c7629114d99a235769b6a5bc4
'2011-11-17T19:50:25-05:00'
describe
'106058' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRD' 'sip-files00018.QC.jpg'
64671e7f743d3c0f6cf1a4d1769221a5
855efa05fe8e5adb09dcffb9387e5d189cff6d08
'2011-11-17T19:46:40-05:00'
describe
'628668' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRE' 'sip-files00018.tif'
fa83cb1052c1a17cbd6e1d705416c9a4
bb2fba1aca9ab73b030abdb07e53af05a86a64b0
'2011-11-17T19:32:18-05:00'
describe
'1191' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRF' 'sip-files00018.txt'
f0c6399acbc4397d0e708b402b9bed08
900aa48a108345e25783c6570a07e62aef5c980d
'2011-11-17T19:29:10-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76470' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRG' 'sip-files00019.jp2'
e3924fc1b6b7405bee763cf2f34f0428
0a3d3614f014a3c567efce6f58e8c470de3d8c15
describe
'276082' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRH' 'sip-files00019.jpg'
10469e2e450dc137e6ccb3a6affd64fd
6eccf7be02736ed3b8c5ef70d690222ea3a99807
'2011-11-17T19:50:11-05:00'
describe
'12873' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRI' 'sip-files00019.pro'
ea88882ce53713e0a0a71048ee13c823
8ace2f67c4438550c88a3022d0eeaeba1247b4ba
describe
'104044' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRJ' 'sip-files00019.QC.jpg'
1e145de533edb20f83248f875e3aa336
7d521e233989760dc3baac4a1e5a48023e7df76c
'2011-11-17T19:51:26-05:00'
describe
'624304' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRK' 'sip-files00019.tif'
508f2fcb476a46598da206da26ff0791
aa704be02b21f18980f5a978a4467abd53934c82
'2011-11-17T19:31:14-05:00'
describe
'637' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRL' 'sip-files00019.txt'
e422e4147394c00c334928451f6e552a
a6e40dbac955963feb904fe3238c8ee2abb795de
'2011-11-17T19:35:00-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'77711' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRM' 'sip-files00020.jp2'
669e1b5e8d7533aea3346b6d361f83a2
759b0a4cdbe878a44d4e03d9c4795e15ead54ca6
'2011-11-17T19:30:54-05:00'
describe
'263992' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRN' 'sip-files00020.jpg'
cbffd7b4fefc716a227b0383ed461b01
f4028faf41e35fde7cb15a23969e054df77c809c
'2011-11-17T19:28:48-05:00'
describe
'16488' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRO' 'sip-files00020.pro'
ad036f3e18cd95950862d2fecb98ac93
1ff738cbe621720ccde669e502d51a69b929ec28
'2011-11-17T19:50:48-05:00'
describe
'97157' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRP' 'sip-files00020.QC.jpg'
364acdbad236ffee76c75c443673719b
5f8f42c67e60f899980cf7532d8a9e2273bdf917
'2011-11-17T19:49:55-05:00'
describe
'633260' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRQ' 'sip-files00020.tif'
0482e9942a8e1c230ac2b4d4120e52df
851b40da22d4586dff83571245640e10fae23087
'2011-11-17T19:27:59-05:00'
describe
'761' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRR' 'sip-files00020.txt'
eaf8ef8ae38fee4fd2b80c99f57b44dd
c3a2f8750239c4ffd6549fe8003062280ee8a122
'2011-11-17T19:28:07-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76315' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRS' 'sip-files00021.jp2'
5cfbc1c07b5fd416984cb2e42582d60f
643d7e1ea48a127a3dd1e232f33fe2cdff67fd56
'2011-11-17T19:27:10-05:00'
describe
'262505' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRT' 'sip-files00021.jpg'
4b5ba11ad2033401fbfa3420ab081582
3f123a36e15c3e19f9253117b78d548f77882cae
'2011-11-17T19:50:19-05:00'
describe
'1489' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRU' 'sip-files00021.pro'
66592c4ffff8fa2edb00ade431732b96
a14044c42a80bdab90e77c75b18563718d45f327
'2011-11-17T19:27:25-05:00'
describe
'93300' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRV' 'sip-files00021.QC.jpg'
b5f733d88095f42e0222efec090a5199
65e9654dbf767c75227388bf2514377c30647900
'2011-11-17T19:27:58-05:00'
describe
'622080' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRW' 'sip-files00021.tif'
ae9cdfb2260405b2386f1420ebed6b9f
d0c1402f8d0487ed1a029f553bbd8d5c42286942
'2011-11-17T19:32:23-05:00'
describe
'115' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRX' 'sip-files00021.txt'
3552022ea52a14db8f28c97cbece44a5
78b760c4372f20317bb470f6d7774bd5e0c7b920
'2011-11-17T19:27:53-05:00'
describe
'75310' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRY' 'sip-files00022.jp2'
ed30c810b6d1605a1f4486df9c5401b1
5b8b9303ea85beae325a89bf165c5a1413c00305
'2011-11-17T19:43:46-05:00'
describe
'259321' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJRZ' 'sip-files00022.jpg'
785db197716fe095963b270caa73b8df
a13c6e3b4f73a7867d356fbfedb368fe146321ee
'2011-11-17T19:44:18-05:00'
describe
'22647' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSA' 'sip-files00022.pro'
2fe832649e4cf1841bda686244ac838c
02c7df7e709e3db1431b1c40d6740893b5da20c8
'2011-11-17T19:47:21-05:00'
describe
'100463' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSB' 'sip-files00022.QC.jpg'
c85627677f70ebb993cb3286fc2a67f8
d17aa97dbd63dc748edb87d9498ae50f271c37c7
'2011-11-17T19:27:12-05:00'
describe
'614356' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSC' 'sip-files00022.tif'
0ea711893fbe0b380b8d0681dcd2b855
3bc0be162ded30eaeff8c8398e91623aa0cab35b
'2011-11-17T19:29:20-05:00'
describe
'992' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSD' 'sip-files00022.txt'
cd3f6127c710b4935f1a2672a047da84
eac1dfb066ce3b3b0853653ef54d809f009eeaf5
'2011-11-17T19:30:36-05:00'
describe
'75366' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSE' 'sip-files00023.jp2'
7a13245d3a271c7c16c8cd54ed074524
b3136e651d963590e61c2219dcfa972a36571b3b
'2011-11-17T19:31:34-05:00'
describe
'261759' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSF' 'sip-files00023.jpg'
df7ac13eb98c3d3d264718e4d1a27459
5eb7b8a6cbf402640be1df380718e0bba45d8855
'2011-11-17T19:31:47-05:00'
describe
'31453' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSG' 'sip-files00023.pro'
fc9c0fce2b482475130e2660e100f995
5dd07e9b222a63c22e031bdaa2082cb1b990bb70
'2011-11-17T19:29:37-05:00'
describe
'100993' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSH' 'sip-files00023.QC.jpg'
3010bba49cccce455647a5c2c6c017f4
0781546fa5a9f30a8f0c69e8937b49e7649477fe
'2011-11-17T19:29:11-05:00'
describe
'615556' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSI' 'sip-files00023.tif'
4111a9a0be60bb8a09321beb07686ce6
37a24ed9292869d432dfe165a95abdb509bb51f5
'2011-11-17T19:29:30-05:00'
describe
'1329' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSJ' 'sip-files00023.txt'
d635b30a5df8bfa43deb6f31708ba8a0
e5e654365615e2b6f1bda97285baf28971bbd7cd
'2011-11-17T19:26:51-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75545' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSK' 'sip-files00024.jp2'
6fa63cdcf8a78da388688ba9df000ae8
79a964b98e2b0657a85b2620f14dcb84ca0d77a2
'2011-11-17T19:46:29-05:00'
describe
'254565' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSL' 'sip-files00024.jpg'
39d2fa4e4b9cd2108f20d5b4f9974bab
b0cfb21ee19fe6b1680f312edcf4fb37c938da5c
'2011-11-17T19:39:37-05:00'
describe
'17441' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSM' 'sip-files00024.pro'
39d2bba757e856e6b173f2a33e37e4eb
808914647d80894a6e3f2491a8c0ac32c492835c
'2011-11-17T19:49:39-05:00'
describe
'98067' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSN' 'sip-files00024.QC.jpg'
b6355c3a9cf21aeea440e02efcb2e328
bf379dd65c070a29ad7cfe68c7b53f5c81cc3eef
describe
'616588' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSO' 'sip-files00024.tif'
aab6a822c083b496e9f1ab80531500ee
03bf7341bf8e3c081ca783a4ca0dad16c167984c
'2011-11-17T19:49:43-05:00'
describe
'824' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSP' 'sip-files00024.txt'
44709e73f47afa983f8557f37627f313
31f60526e4746a7d6a5c56961238e3d7026b2cea
'2011-11-17T19:31:54-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75795' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSQ' 'sip-files00025.jp2'
99a10dd70f9be9bec846d79596185d4e
9c23fcbf37f86f045c34266c1811b25810938a3e
describe
'184137' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSR' 'sip-files00025.jpg'
a07426a6f4a85746e2e57d460f502fed
65971ae95a784317cb172c22ce702c84388815ee
'2011-11-17T19:30:49-05:00'
describe
'2878' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSS' 'sip-files00025.pro'
f34cd0d91b2393931b7af34aa802d99a
ac3111d97512555f175234178c5e82c5de4b98d5
'2011-11-17T19:49:28-05:00'
describe
'68500' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJST' 'sip-files00025.QC.jpg'
09ca5548b12237831c66df5fd1a08b3d
82a32a5f58974a7f30e5279455849b08e4655624
describe
'616500' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSU' 'sip-files00025.tif'
0bc1bc5f9d009c075d30bbf0c35aa26d
918b5626f0e25ae083f01841c3fdd692607cba88
'2011-11-17T19:32:14-05:00'
describe
'157' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSV' 'sip-files00025.txt'
990688401ab3e87c7c543690be1f8dcb
4b431e2e13ea50ca9239fe454a9513c8cdb632ea
'2011-11-17T19:47:55-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'77261' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSW' 'sip-files00026.jp2'
718beab82b3ff137cb6555fcb57cb909
3fc07c18650896bd2dac9d34e3dc46cc3041a06b
'2011-11-17T19:47:34-05:00'
describe
'333562' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSX' 'sip-files00026.jpg'
c930b051984b4ed0892c5a795ab07c1b
9ad29ecf95acc1519e76fc8f01057fcdb0a78bb4
'2011-11-17T19:44:25-05:00'
describe
'4668' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSY' 'sip-files00026.pro'
378078cc050c731a58c749ade0e546f8
6eaa6700984cd79cf2c6a3dbadeb2845d9620fb8
'2011-11-17T19:27:16-05:00'
describe
'111403' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJSZ' 'sip-files00026.QC.jpg'
03d61b329d2b279cfb0225ef7d2bc590
2e6eb0a532aa8716e0a6f8c97017611db01cb8d6
'2011-11-17T19:28:32-05:00'
describe
'631348' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTA' 'sip-files00026.tif'
0c04005bc61a5a79c0b24ea2cab73437
7102ec85b56939497f3604964a8b9c1e7f103c8d
'2011-11-17T19:28:10-05:00'
describe
'290' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTB' 'sip-files00026.txt'
cdee89939359d7647af6345aa7bdd095
8b4bfe59f2d544920aa4c884013721023cf7ba1f
'2011-11-17T19:49:47-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75679' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTC' 'sip-files00027.jp2'
161a5fbd9de51ae2deff3a3eb8eacc7b
bf267e9cd4c0dd529ebb0858b806ebb66da3829b
'2011-11-17T19:48:51-05:00'
describe
'264641' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTD' 'sip-files00027.jpg'
c0baffb37c6f28c2ad8feeee91047598
955f6ec4d6aac53970813fde1fa8084fdab5127a
describe
'20109' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTE' 'sip-files00027.pro'
8e2fa4c53733def564af15631d1ce31b
0e36de2c65a0465b8ab3ea11c3e74af76be4d960
describe
'100208' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTF' 'sip-files00027.QC.jpg'
97812739607911a844481bacd0479997
986ae23bf2ba4476a659ff0da88300a3a53aea1a
'2011-11-17T19:31:26-05:00'
describe
'617416' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTG' 'sip-files00027.tif'
226204c4c62f01ebb09a240fefc21f8d
82c2abdf4f8bb3a33cb36c563e29bbec49b1869b
'2011-11-17T19:28:44-05:00'
describe
'944' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTH' 'sip-files00027.txt'
7c5a38b2a260e199415b2a58853aff13
d49a6de90d4cf33ff39b7de64a75fd9653d1a3e4
'2011-11-17T19:45:23-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'77591' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTI' 'sip-files00028.jp2'
e10c2540904065bb136067ab37332a0c
621009e04896b0042a2f42340c215ecfb841df3c
'2011-11-17T19:27:27-05:00'
describe
'271488' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTJ' 'sip-files00028.jpg'
febc3fd893a001f6f6d69cbe47604ee4
1c965e4593339d00349e4d84f3b8b05bd0ea96aa
'2011-11-17T19:45:13-05:00'
describe
'28996' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTK' 'sip-files00028.pro'
c0a2a8161b180272ae03b9dd89713410
44fef090afd41ab520651e06ea2c7f7625718666
describe
'103746' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTL' 'sip-files00028.QC.jpg'
b2fa3a6145d011d0ae3bb54c47c5450d
ab43e5dc8303ba0b5e880459505f1c3cd10614fe
'2011-11-17T19:31:07-05:00'
describe
'632496' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTM' 'sip-files00028.tif'
8fb211fa6d44b04f14030f49e564504d
09f46720c9bbd5a4cbc2a650cc166a81f8ee202e
'2011-11-17T19:31:09-05:00'
describe
'1255' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTN' 'sip-files00028.txt'
c4196b429ededd588d7c74afb5feea89
df454918c4cbbc27515fd6894d86b36f34742e08
'2011-11-17T19:45:50-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75604' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTO' 'sip-files00029.jp2'
85deeb8599f848cab893291c710f82d2
6caf8e624639b39aff16fe097601fba006984659
describe
'252196' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTP' 'sip-files00029.jpg'
6ffad2f9117974e59da5fda56b517ae9
e98c8ebf15775d0081ec40ea4a81df1eda18dec5
'2011-11-17T19:28:27-05:00'
describe
'28785' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTQ' 'sip-files00029.pro'
59af8022edc09b20a3882f0eacb7f4fe
7c8b5868a8c69363997e1e9b0e04dfda7dd5bd2d
'2011-11-17T19:39:47-05:00'
describe
'95176' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTR' 'sip-files00029.QC.jpg'
892902e84af3e97b6bf34d066c5aeefe
5ee61828ef91a0abc288d737cd6a3b369b742fdc
'2011-11-17T19:49:12-05:00'
describe
'616664' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTS' 'sip-files00029.tif'
a7ac5396927d8f4b2e7aadb226543965
0d3bf204f4bd0bcd3ca6d566f05f0df436a450ba
describe
'1235' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTT' 'sip-files00029.txt'
c2d6d9b545122c6e07557f4a62406a2a
908f96884f602837ff844389b8edf168baf5337a
'2011-11-17T19:28:09-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'78433' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTU' 'sip-files00030.jp2'
a58a0f25e57271587c1d1bb491da07ca
ed8faf23e15823c7ad4bb1bfcc33204336f80fa3
'2011-11-17T19:49:26-05:00'
describe
'261996' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTV' 'sip-files00030.jpg'
c0201ca0e3f8851e4a01688f0db88934
d5ba6f394a0e676e46a860790cde8687d03a219f
'2011-11-17T19:30:26-05:00'
describe
'28411' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTW' 'sip-files00030.pro'
3e458cb247948e0cbe897f7192c75085
2dffe2af91ccb2fdcc8e34b8800b17761e679fd0
describe
'101234' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTX' 'sip-files00030.QC.jpg'
89f94a8f675db2facf33f5a08878cde0
9fc28fa94aae9bb369a2c78349ea4c05d9f2d50f
'2011-11-17T19:45:34-05:00'
describe
'639344' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTY' 'sip-files00030.tif'
a8b5130926e6fcf147c31f856b81b01a
ad7c91c1d0f22d5908eb9959dcc1956b92398c28
'2011-11-17T19:27:19-05:00'
describe
'1224' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJTZ' 'sip-files00030.txt'
d0552452b953c4ca20036107d4f731ac
726336e80e0c27b70360ba7b059d218a4fbdba8d
'2011-11-17T19:28:47-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74766' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUA' 'sip-files00031.jp2'
a9e2fe3da0f630a8194b9d633ba05756
6d7ccef6a4e8acb115d7e512d29a1aa77b37f959
'2011-11-17T19:27:26-05:00'
describe
'244350' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUB' 'sip-files00031.jpg'
0fabe085370669ede60bc7f474d41630
64d6ff4e0894ab28836f90afced9acebdd482a6e
'2011-11-17T19:28:46-05:00'
describe
'24975' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUC' 'sip-files00031.pro'
dc7b24f93fc4b43c1a0fd6ddf721cba9
de8ed5fe032b049e721a1d6c0445c6b58e6e145d
'2011-11-17T19:46:01-05:00'
describe
'94119' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUD' 'sip-files00031.QC.jpg'
7b6a0e7062b82b358fd131aadcb72856
c22443dd4140accbf6fd75a8e1a1219769625d89
'2011-11-17T19:48:30-05:00'
describe
'609832' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUE' 'sip-files00031.tif'
f9fafa2b7da355d331a6fcb5101ccee7
08d45caf529216f7848d12263cbfc739f036a127
'2011-11-17T19:48:48-05:00'
describe
'1102' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUF' 'sip-files00031.txt'
f1d5bcf37f3ecf93723fe8364f55e441
d8708072515d16f2ecfefd7f50121b906c39e70d
'2011-11-17T19:29:38-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76688' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUG' 'sip-files00032.jp2'
8aa6ef7bd441477c9b21e77f69c2e146
884d180f05e3e552bc4e77b6872499244cd38954
'2011-11-17T19:47:42-05:00'
describe
'275181' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUH' 'sip-files00032.jpg'
39bf9d95956f9c02dcaf99568650e634
7bb56fe9785636127a9529743b289d35fdb85b2f
'2011-11-17T19:46:02-05:00'
describe
'28618' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUI' 'sip-files00032.pro'
561aeb4765630453d2900806ce43487b
8d47e3ced2d326e8ec2f22ca987022cf49443c18
'2011-11-17T19:31:55-05:00'
describe
'104625' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUJ' 'sip-files00032.QC.jpg'
0265d9c6903f8ab4fedb0a5d6728c031
cd2867dbf72678fa8412cf859b795a9b4155f5a7
describe
'625632' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUK' 'sip-files00032.tif'
561e2729b0970174c6842d3ba0b68d86
1548e0495b03a0d384f3f3c07cab057c16073314
'2011-11-17T19:30:18-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUL' 'sip-files00032.txt'
c143185d774126bd2bf0ef8affd2a2a5
f11777cb90d4e3672ceb05074170e907255c2566
'2011-11-17T19:45:42-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75389' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUM' 'sip-files00033.jp2'
92501e35fcd80ee7f2a6903da714e143
0194a437ff369e33807f22bba84b369bc4b24295
'2011-11-17T19:50:39-05:00'
describe
'334293' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUN' 'sip-files00033.jpg'
f6448bc568cb117f99313006a4520f49
bb7906a8c5d02924e1e3d56a4291f2b8cf973aa3
describe
'1330' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUO' 'sip-files00033.pro'
9151a9f658c4781d2d5226b07f5a8203
214dff48a8ca73c5a811ca3689daa43d2c18f573
'2011-11-17T19:46:05-05:00'
describe
'99974' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUP' 'sip-files00033.QC.jpg'
44d0b282484ad63e295bf676ae07f505
aae392ad0a59115b246447e3033c5dbc146f6178
'2011-11-17T19:31:03-05:00'
describe
'616084' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUQ' 'sip-files00033.tif'
7d2cca5244bcb044a4b7c5a5ec9818fb
aad759f02ec2047211dca47276b41fcf735e2d3c
'2011-11-17T19:31:02-05:00'
describe
'164' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUR' 'sip-files00033.txt'
7bfbf42ac13eb6ee4a0a07e6d0801ae7
83ff20d12c244ff79e40ebbe8e2019d5c9697260
'2011-11-17T19:29:18-05:00'
describe
'78604' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUS' 'sip-files00034.jp2'
5b066c395c565035519add8b8347b9e7
7945184e9e1a0f06193b94d5eb55f9cbdaaadf76
describe
'143254' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUT' 'sip-files00034.jpg'
7e5413eb95d1abec891bee5ba0c42fab
23f7779ca431ab2c210cf8e6e55e443c92a45629
describe
'45999' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUU' 'sip-files00034.QC.jpg'
c9df400364d704912d42c1a1c6c725f2
c9d25fa3ca47e275b64d8abc3a08a71b8637be47
'2011-11-17T19:45:58-05:00'
describe
'637620' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUV' 'sip-files00034.tif'
9160b02ed55ab384548b1a85aac47066
47a80fcd68c403dea891d7cca41a017c30fd3410
'2011-11-17T19:30:08-05:00'
describe
'75461' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUW' 'sip-files00035.jp2'
c1e99d02def9820f123df495997877cd
4ce4f5ee9a83b953b41aab0a515f48baec61b767
'2011-11-17T19:28:43-05:00'
describe
'268643' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUX' 'sip-files00035.jpg'
e93501d92f0d95feed712d3973b166b3
0274cedef582eace568835e74bf42260d2847849
describe
'32232' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUY' 'sip-files00035.pro'
efe4804cf0f6c1df9c1ef0e701a7ae0e
6977cc1c890d040d1251b7635243129fcd9b44b0
'2011-11-17T19:31:08-05:00'
describe
'100605' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJUZ' 'sip-files00035.QC.jpg'
ad436ec85e19ce0eeb128143c1f4afa7
6fba315b10bfc556d18f24554741b61ad5fce5d4
'2011-11-17T19:50:40-05:00'
describe
'615840' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVA' 'sip-files00035.tif'
4f1ae823dccf7027d2698ee2bbd5fe2d
cacea84284778e637f1b6e1758d6d19409d51d46
describe
'1373' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVB' 'sip-files00035.txt'
7c4c796d28e18db54600cb0508faefb5
0cf51b0c472602506d244f4e2d8ca8582163cd77
'2011-11-17T19:32:35-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75428' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVC' 'sip-files00036.jp2'
cbf753506681c8cc4b9b76323108643a
07ff9e02ffdf17b99876a9f334dd0f25781f6bd3
'2011-11-17T19:28:04-05:00'
describe
'284941' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVD' 'sip-files00036.jpg'
02b8b4b1f6bfa6ac06fe071bc2ca7cb9
21124c7d2ae112f78e5c09983e40e74312050c5d
'2011-11-17T19:51:28-05:00'
describe
'35371' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVE' 'sip-files00036.pro'
e3591cd590050953996a45839c07ee30
4fc46ba2aa5e3230db62105f53188192333b61fa
'2011-11-17T19:30:09-05:00'
describe
'105506' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVF' 'sip-files00036.QC.jpg'
2ae321d0145cc50036c04643caf71962
0b68df530ee9cbd4c63aa68dd46ab9650c4e04a6
'2011-11-17T19:48:22-05:00'
describe
'616668' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVG' 'sip-files00036.tif'
e751fc717d22467fba5bd8f1fee43bff
76edb56e144ff42c03a5b0b2b6f8e056b6962340
'2011-11-17T19:28:55-05:00'
describe
'1478' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVH' 'sip-files00036.txt'
90a337525e0962546e7972cfd95ff5bf
8fec7fc42f01604f353545332716131f09836133
'2011-11-17T19:50:58-05:00'
describe
'75089' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVI' 'sip-files00037.jp2'
9134ae0e36456e66e4632e236d01fa98
e8953b3fbef31531c312fc4564bc20a0945fb23d
'2011-11-17T19:28:51-05:00'
describe
'342333' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVJ' 'sip-files00037.jpg'
3af1ea846244e8a912230980e9132c72
ce3fc2e9d38a72f072099a42ef2ac613794f61d0
'2011-11-17T19:30:33-05:00'
describe
'390' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVK' 'sip-files00037.pro'
06e0f754148dc671d58237bd13c73152
21762c90439b57c1834941af5136f33645c50c4b
'2011-11-17T19:31:27-05:00'
describe
'102509' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVL' 'sip-files00037.QC.jpg'
46c0fad5ab4b6e57f28435483e18e8a7
76a58a356238e283a21be74a5078d9ec80c10ac5
'2011-11-17T19:27:21-05:00'
describe
'615640' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVM' 'sip-files00037.tif'
4e041ccec421c5e48c6d6c3198bfbf84
76104e4f268eb9a8ca4788c5b10b7a0507c47eed
'2011-11-17T19:31:45-05:00'
describe
'42' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVN' 'sip-files00037.txt'
040875ebda99eb9c22fd366b929e7fb5
974a82a9762f334ee95aaca1e3add5c0f93f41ec
'2011-11-17T19:47:45-05:00'
describe
'75395' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVO' 'sip-files00038.jp2'
7b514bc930ef28dea425837666a803a0
0f4ad3407533b86a8da1db5a9acc8bf03c12c882
describe
'101684' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVP' 'sip-files00038.jpg'
a2823626060994bf28d38991f1a93a24
8a42b7e07b4f65e52aae2f5d83319a592c496b2a
'2011-11-17T19:45:33-05:00'
describe
'41579' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVQ' 'sip-files00038.QC.jpg'
0b04ef0be6f66e3f459746c438480c29
7ab999e195c5f7a55dfb4321efd1c166baf89c7d
describe
'613412' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVR' 'sip-files00038.tif'
19bacd944dc3f07ddafd66d5713a0d6b
0b63cd6148064a8205e04e9e81235df4cb199a60
'2011-11-17T19:30:07-05:00'
describe
'74601' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVS' 'sip-files00039.jp2'
2ffdebcbfe622f1ead24eeaadd86e153
970e92bd2c988bf973a31707d555f068d619bee2
describe
'261330' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVT' 'sip-files00039.jpg'
5b0577e7182b0ff972688b1cc06e2382
6f9d38915573dace6d2ec621b60d68abfce1b2dc
'2011-11-17T19:49:57-05:00'
describe
'30127' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVU' 'sip-files00039.pro'
61e0a73424a34a6c09ebec4f54a3eacf
cc8a2f9bf2052e046a58d549d1ea027cb46729c9
'2011-11-17T19:49:11-05:00'
describe
'98512' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVV' 'sip-files00039.QC.jpg'
6802c432234134870dc0da239422329a
607c818d1927d21b2942f2528ac13077e97840a3
describe
'608872' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVW' 'sip-files00039.tif'
73409c96a7a787a1cdaf0c822a4e392d
b0a6412a4a156f3a4b42a3acad8b22c03f2efb59
'2011-11-17T19:28:26-05:00'
describe
'1280' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVX' 'sip-files00039.txt'
386cf4d695c73b83e7df63b53b7f116d
15f5b096eafec60a2ae258ff5b914d38e0044b7d
'2011-11-17T19:39:35-05:00'
describe
'76308' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVY' 'sip-files00040.jp2'
c6d271cf9daf87b4f0dede33ef5f575c
d2581051ffd18dd5f8a6819ce8f09ffe968cb0cd
describe
'257639' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJVZ' 'sip-files00040.jpg'
f288ca29dbfbacb914559400e5cb6dfc
7d1dd15d75195f5a53711d1a1f5da420d158fdf2
'2011-11-17T19:30:31-05:00'
describe
'29906' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWA' 'sip-files00040.pro'
f645b02230176c7bdda4ae88eb638fd7
c7f23833b6b2a5eff4e0229e53001bf9235a82a3
describe
'98668' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWB' 'sip-files00040.QC.jpg'
82a748daff61818d2ab9804cd922ab16
b73219b539e389cbf8853db5d5969dd3bc5940be
'2011-11-17T19:29:40-05:00'
describe
'622104' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWC' 'sip-files00040.tif'
1dcc060b1608bd66ba4be32bef6b1ace
e7e84f1e982a06798ad57cf32179ef1dc234f3a8
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWD' 'sip-files00040.txt'
0e7bbadd739fbf6771c5e6f09d294e8e
0a300d870b30236bf955184d73cf1f05feefd830
describe
'75005' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWE' 'sip-files00041.jp2'
80242472f82166e846b2737694ac96ed
23a105b1a1e3bc89230b803f1fb76442369103b7
'2011-11-17T19:29:42-05:00'
describe
'298652' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWF' 'sip-files00041.jpg'
4dc7ff48d2a028b4ad0d0944dc344e45
544a9fd7f77a4bd055fbd67d7a24105cdc8ce5a5
'2011-11-17T19:29:27-05:00'
describe
'13033' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWG' 'sip-files00041.pro'
bbf4fff56967687f6966dca58a603e88
d8d439d2a35f231cec4a35195e82696701b82fa1
'2011-11-17T19:31:39-05:00'
describe
'101195' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWH' 'sip-files00041.QC.jpg'
57701cef785cd47c96eed3a74648213e
ae328e273903f94a55ac0ffe211a599b092e89b6
'2011-11-17T19:29:12-05:00'
describe
'612912' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWI' 'sip-files00041.tif'
a70c527ad7ab9b421eb78643df8878b0
2d248a10474192304b0c473651e328ebba0b2abf
describe
'644' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWJ' 'sip-files00041.txt'
abdaed1a23eb723596e726dc56f08e27
7ffddf4e93217318e998bb637cc5d1f855128102
'2011-11-17T19:45:01-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'77298' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWK' 'sip-files00042.jp2'
c2aae8468567ac47ed0f7fc98051fc10
f593945f4278d71909f37e15752eadccc71c79d9
'2011-11-17T19:26:59-05:00'
describe
'274958' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWL' 'sip-files00042.jpg'
0e4ce0003a549f6c47b2014b76e7e6b7
05e55bf96b303b2ec0a61ee5d1aaac8cc6794f33
'2011-11-17T19:32:19-05:00'
describe
'31052' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWM' 'sip-files00042.pro'
22c67c1e4c06ae5ccf285fb288365bb6
8f7f901a03aa0c16b8ed5efa05304737706d4224
describe
'105262' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWN' 'sip-files00042.QC.jpg'
5a2c35aa4c05033de0a92430de78d40f
fbf0e2f3a0aa58337459d74d90f3d150cf1fc19f
'2011-11-17T19:31:11-05:00'
describe
'631520' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWO' 'sip-files00042.tif'
8cb89dd6b60ad74c9dbc1e5943d2bf93
cf3777ce2419a1dda6f32412c59922acd0c17fae
'2011-11-17T19:45:08-05:00'
describe
'1312' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWP' 'sip-files00042.txt'
27dcf0f2cc5fefb72d0b67eb244a586f
a9e7b28a71799d639c1445c8b04b482b336c4e97
'2011-11-17T19:47:19-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'72996' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWQ' 'sip-files00043.jp2'
3f1beadb855a6a320a7bdfd56601deb8
466471d0a8ed7b0b2188eb9516bec11b8224dbaf
'2011-11-17T19:28:37-05:00'
describe
'258658' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWR' 'sip-files00043.jpg'
9b1437ea4665bb60e87b81a14372613b
3ba1ff749d8da15e48acfca622951cc532978419
'2011-11-17T19:46:04-05:00'
describe
'31908' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWS' 'sip-files00043.pro'
8dd8a3c0a1ef23b4403a7eed9dbb465d
09f6420f68a5e38c9c3191db5959c9dd74648d99
'2011-11-17T19:26:55-05:00'
describe
'98020' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWT' 'sip-files00043.QC.jpg'
2a86e7d00f73b6b47cfceccfa91db9b2
e2fddedefce8f433c371a779d8595c4f7391447a
describe
'597428' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWU' 'sip-files00043.tif'
25121f34b8819de2b81eea26aadcf436
97083a0d9440b56bb1aab8ce44c8f6debdb3f402
'2011-11-17T19:50:57-05:00'
describe
'1374' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWV' 'sip-files00043.txt'
4259ee935a3002ecd92b6aff703ded03
7ef8794fed01c3275f05ff9577392a21fa3f5abf
'2011-11-17T19:45:51-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76055' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWW' 'sip-files00044.jp2'
3744d86304d86bb2b7ac48b75d852c72
9c9e106f7c1ab9050e5183f5898028d518765f88
'2011-11-17T19:51:14-05:00'
describe
'273169' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWX' 'sip-files00044.jpg'
289634f3bda795a99a7a8d07f9a86d0c
fc19a4ca9120ba23e139efa4cbc10a8cf0eaf362
describe
'31448' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWY' 'sip-files00044.pro'
d05d8b03c754b001b9b4568b3f3f90ac
ca09d74f5d3bc680524c710f594e50bf0507a928
describe
'104121' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJWZ' 'sip-files00044.QC.jpg'
3194c0d3892c814ecccbee775e880432
fc477c475f5a2a0070fbdba03080e1c878ab35df
'2011-11-17T19:30:48-05:00'
describe
'620904' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXA' 'sip-files00044.tif'
cc05116191f45ea032c3d49683b379cd
b2a66e845bcdf78b9c9f03924e9b23e1ca8ff535
'2011-11-17T19:45:26-05:00'
describe
'1328' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXB' 'sip-files00044.txt'
7ccf7ba133f37426fef20a5e7b5a71a9
1ca23269502f7f08c1ad43e043f872c7544bbf15
'2011-11-17T19:32:32-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73807' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXC' 'sip-files00045.jp2'
fd3008a596ccbe88eb0623b09e17b5d1
9a0e0c8e81b63bb4f70608ce71d5b6d617258002
'2011-11-17T19:50:20-05:00'
describe
'237678' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXD' 'sip-files00045.jpg'
c01547e7d715109989323fd6346cde4a
075d2c72b8801b150406b7f1cb2367fd4051d18a
'2011-11-17T19:31:46-05:00'
describe
'24822' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXE' 'sip-files00045.pro'
64e83c841b2de8d7a4756c0347534afe
e2f130f332a96b759223e96d6ac9a41b635e076d
'2011-11-17T19:51:17-05:00'
describe
'91811' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXF' 'sip-files00045.QC.jpg'
c3a8e635fabaf4f10c12e115ac568fa6
d93d7d82312a529516a7de8056e0fe5166034e03
'2011-11-17T19:51:46-05:00'
describe
'602232' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXG' 'sip-files00045.tif'
8e322fdc75d025aa6aa49fa63bbc9780
9075134817ac080319fc42adf1a9816bb5c2c689
describe
'1101' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXH' 'sip-files00045.txt'
5f8a618e279de93915d63f8753f1aaa4
9a46a08a18eff489aff84751f3f25bbf0f606274
'2011-11-17T19:51:13-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74292' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXI' 'sip-files00046.jp2'
2d8aadca0f6b39d101acea178576f24a
70362bb5d7ad848671ca29998ad773bb8467d208
'2011-11-17T19:47:41-05:00'
describe
'258214' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXJ' 'sip-files00046.jpg'
e1c17e637b760416fe03c4b77088ec3e
6c45184f0b38253c1ca43d9502633a69a43decc4
describe
'33091' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXK' 'sip-files00046.pro'
df4def14129cdcd8209a94dccd0139ec
4bf1a7a3bb2a5b669d4a868e82d62781819ff21c
'2011-11-17T19:30:23-05:00'
describe
'97529' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXL' 'sip-files00046.QC.jpg'
5e45fd9393c21d9e65d48ccbb0e8e6bd
5c4acaf8a9adc42306b8ca3681aaf8eb4d38f352
'2011-11-17T19:28:18-05:00'
describe
'606708' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXM' 'sip-files00046.tif'
5439777780f167ced0aa4207bb064f87
0c29668467c9dc022449939e9325b3af29f4c705
'2011-11-17T19:50:50-05:00'
describe
'1425' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXN' 'sip-files00046.txt'
24f9eb170d9c8546ef1153d0940ffd45
614fddc61a0d9765bcfade1ba3a9bb3b37050f94
'2011-11-17T19:30:22-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74101' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXO' 'sip-files00047.jp2'
2098d15567605f415b48ba77d83069eb
2897550aa0c5e18127034c924a7685f402407879
'2011-11-17T19:51:06-05:00'
describe
'245853' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXP' 'sip-files00047.jpg'
d090d4826bbd3e968f70663f9ecee406
a7a79ca421053e98139eb3be438fa368a0458cca
'2011-11-17T19:46:19-05:00'
describe
'13066' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXQ' 'sip-files00047.pro'
3c1b45caa97b9037f1ec4b7a08d0ecec
bbdbc09d41a6e840bc964851d362630ea8410a80
'2011-11-17T19:48:05-05:00'
describe
'91984' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXR' 'sip-files00047.QC.jpg'
ec2c335a76fc24599cf1f21ff3481ca1
1c34503d015f7c5d995e86dec1f23cebc4d9f927
'2011-11-17T19:49:30-05:00'
describe
'604228' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXS' 'sip-files00047.tif'
649250ea38ac4ac92eeb323ea2b6ba87
854288899fa34bc2ba58fe02ef442b875ad7227f
'2011-11-17T19:28:21-05:00'
describe
'671' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXT' 'sip-files00047.txt'
32c06b259f9a353b1657853e774d7edc
f4636fd241243eefee33fb07b4f686e0b71306b7
'2011-11-17T19:28:29-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75467' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXU' 'sip-files00048.jp2'
6331048a90e575d2ed06201bf9d2197a
21a6ffba6787a1f0f798708c08b21133b438dfb4
'2011-11-17T19:28:28-05:00'
describe
'269014' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXV' 'sip-files00048.jpg'
7c22f6719cdce9581d2e149acee94cac
9c8abeb8e006082e7c7ce2d92123b04673672caa
'2011-11-17T19:30:39-05:00'
describe
'31310' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXW' 'sip-files00048.pro'
71206bda7b73c6fabc4727f948867b09
e94b6e4d85c35ede8d106a586be5c76e5a4f2e74
'2011-11-17T19:46:39-05:00'
describe
'101028' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXX' 'sip-files00048.QC.jpg'
eecd14397d4743b1e57eb42272f2649b
90d559e11815dac4c59d74cf38afb7165851243c
'2011-11-17T19:29:24-05:00'
describe
'616248' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXY' 'sip-files00048.tif'
9ca7bc52491768458baa524a43e73709
303547d33e2f57336974a6753c625f73a6260d41
'2011-11-17T19:46:54-05:00'
describe
'1344' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJXZ' 'sip-files00048.txt'
a42d46ca813b8bd8175ef1745d606eee
9bbe2559360fe9842d6a0e8ade1e0e1983655450
'2011-11-17T19:30:04-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73971' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYA' 'sip-files00049.jp2'
3ea3c7920420606b36bba126d5a5f633
fcd1cd321a3c40f34cbbb04e634a985c18f407f6
'2011-11-17T19:26:52-05:00'
describe
'261261' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYB' 'sip-files00049.jpg'
11848b09b4f712723814f7e801d77789
648b86d8e1c8cd2a01f000a478d4c5139be830d6
'2011-11-17T19:29:45-05:00'
describe
'30835' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYC' 'sip-files00049.pro'
8e43864c14ab765ff6afab97bbde0588
0a478947f8101119a174df4828ee99b87fc14183
'2011-11-17T19:51:43-05:00'
describe
'99272' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYD' 'sip-files00049.QC.jpg'
24963f0cb2e3207e45a6a7e4c1e276ca
3151cc52ad970f95511b3c122245a8f846895ba2
'2011-11-17T19:49:17-05:00'
describe
'604076' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYE' 'sip-files00049.tif'
68f026ba8ab67805a01a2abc9d2e914e
27b11760647ac05d24d4cf06ef55662e44700dc4
'2011-11-17T19:50:22-05:00'
describe
'1317' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYF' 'sip-files00049.txt'
9c30ed41550bbe0c4bc08bbf5f77788d
8b800a16708a08777d6b8eb70662bbd6a1d3fce9
'2011-11-17T19:31:18-05:00'
describe
'76639' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYG' 'sip-files00050.jp2'
50ed349f3ff8c763ae3a63f76db52b6c
5331b8c8b25ad50ce02dc1eb7a8f573b32feaf2e
'2011-11-17T19:45:02-05:00'
describe
'270461' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYH' 'sip-files00050.jpg'
41e1253d2113b19762bac7df597870d1
8e2bdfdb79ab59c55aed76741289d3f9f057f50c
describe
'30023' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYI' 'sip-files00050.pro'
2732f947e3a42d666c0c4226b7aac781
ad29130cc055f379f5ee493f17ed278f08d3be66
'2011-11-17T19:30:12-05:00'
describe
'103149' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYJ' 'sip-files00050.QC.jpg'
59aae990368561cd14a77d3bc8a3ebc1
3a9b650920c2986c65c82a448b162197d9de4632
'2011-11-17T19:51:50-05:00'
describe
'625304' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYK' 'sip-files00050.tif'
4e67431de2366a7dfef1f7497507bd64
7a2f8b8f26dd1344cf2d6ac7c92bac68011ae6bb
'2011-11-17T19:50:28-05:00'
describe
'1260' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYL' 'sip-files00050.txt'
5ba3d0348187c958d048d13ac2e0ca35
dab65427ed99570b686eae978a4991ec9ed15786
'2011-11-17T19:30:15-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYM' 'sip-files00051.jp2'
12030c037d2fb4c765f961069ae85944
4fe2b57cb4b28996e9913185c82ab4a5ec923162
'2011-11-17T19:47:18-05:00'
describe
'248064' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYN' 'sip-files00051.jpg'
aa7beb19211b6c2d4eaa4633990768b0
9f11cfe1d10284c30e0c9f8b5424ef7d7af51188
'2011-11-17T19:30:56-05:00'
describe
'26970' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYO' 'sip-files00051.pro'
3e053927efb39a2dd7aa6c184e294a68
232a18f9486ed97d96610aa06f928a1c7e49a37e
'2011-11-17T19:51:01-05:00'
describe
'94995' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYP' 'sip-files00051.QC.jpg'
9cfd79acd6629b217fa1dc3693192f68
3b8efa85e7d08459471bb2fc423ba0ce384806dc
'2011-11-17T19:29:22-05:00'
describe
'605688' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYQ' 'sip-files00051.tif'
4035a0f0a51706f10d563cfd644cb013
77505f0a09752ccb0063b1623b52d6874828dabf
'2011-11-17T19:30:50-05:00'
describe
'1156' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYR' 'sip-files00051.txt'
0a997a696559b4c95ef00284eafa2e94
73538d19020cfcebc63c427e67f16a9e1379733d
'2011-11-17T19:27:38-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74113' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYS' 'sip-files00052.jp2'
0e9ab3f08baf071496d06c976158c53a
233e985419465b8c41adade46166aac4ca2952b4
'2011-11-17T19:45:45-05:00'
describe
'261689' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYT' 'sip-files00052.jpg'
aa02e33ad4442aec2d8c04e7ff55bd1f
da700c6fe9ec717b3c91db9978a44e5d2cef2b88
'2011-11-17T19:31:04-05:00'
describe
'29599' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYU' 'sip-files00052.pro'
4ec1675c6ad73a12f1e9031625282526
0fa7dc89810efc2236b0d97b888180340966914d
'2011-11-17T19:27:09-05:00'
describe
'99531' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYV' 'sip-files00052.QC.jpg'
2f4397f98240922b33bca63a39185365
3d3b8883ee5db4f4d5776f7dc071eaa9c1a1b780
'2011-11-17T19:45:57-05:00'
describe
'605396' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYW' 'sip-files00052.tif'
90d5c5e77a40ffcf0084666cc6c3bf61
3ae740e599f07dd0b383f94530d3b19f554f5da5
describe
'1262' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYX' 'sip-files00052.txt'
6d65d494f42e1daab546344f272da2c5
e483b70f8d9fd29ce6bc765416e36592c3c00bb4
describe
'73572' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYY' 'sip-files00053.jp2'
92159109813d9a5620628ddc994a076a
74f68136acdf808f58c1b9f670c6855a973720a0
'2011-11-17T19:45:11-05:00'
describe
'252936' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJYZ' 'sip-files00053.jpg'
7e2514d79ca71ead608e60e6c1e71a85
85f86a1cc265ba68aa3957ec60f647d6b60f3649
describe
'30424' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZA' 'sip-files00053.pro'
f0fe8c566da448fcd95f9c180b5b603b
18b5db0906cde7ef823290c18692ba1343c9cc57
'2011-11-17T19:27:48-05:00'
describe
'96292' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZB' 'sip-files00053.QC.jpg'
7d376dbe2146a9a939fb94a2f80aeac2
f0e02a9eccc82ea80e972f686e31ac2222d14d73
'2011-11-17T19:44:53-05:00'
describe
'600688' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZC' 'sip-files00053.tif'
40f173f80a56593966b79e1eeb7db795
e86d27a6afc6c9c57456a2220394a5d7f67f646a
'2011-11-17T19:50:10-05:00'
describe
'1292' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZD' 'sip-files00053.txt'
2e0e086f7316899022b51ee9581d35f5
ebdacdad8575684937dc39492fd62c22bda44b5d
'2011-11-17T19:28:05-05:00'
describe
'73881' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZE' 'sip-files00054.jp2'
2d7c626dbbe7fda3decc10bf28c9dfc8
b944437e208f66fc6c5005010e46fb9b4ab5248d
'2011-11-17T19:29:48-05:00'
describe
'231236' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZF' 'sip-files00054.jpg'
dd774d83f3ff2b17449713ba9481aceb
033e6b48f51b10e1c646ad460c804d650e3a26f9
describe
'23782' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZG' 'sip-files00054.pro'
a49f9af285511e19801b36d58e6e5b50
3585fa9326dbd945006fe0703e99e91340f25713
'2011-11-17T19:32:10-05:00'
describe
'91801' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZH' 'sip-files00054.QC.jpg'
89572b42618974f9132c7f78f88ba642
f3c0feb9d726acb057660c11f8c62c07604131ac
'2011-11-17T19:32:16-05:00'
describe
'604044' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZI' 'sip-files00054.tif'
681cf0e7ba1beca02d34e1b1d7e41caf
6cedfcf952a4577e81dacacb005de8f4c455d6b5
describe
'1047' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZJ' 'sip-files00054.txt'
d5652457a3ca178a08aa68c490832ef1
25eb2efc43666f89cc7629ca0a39c21b2d85305e
'2011-11-17T19:51:45-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76791' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZK' 'sip-files00055.jp2'
79451e4d789d3482b139ef039914ebda
21ed7e4bfa28eb28d40b330659e27c154286fea7
describe
'257075' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZL' 'sip-files00055.jpg'
27a2d8d326d66bc6ca06c7d5e26fec84
cc2a35ae2b7363e3a72e2c264376c6d27a201264
'2011-11-17T19:29:26-05:00'
describe
'27791' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZM' 'sip-files00055.pro'
4e601bacd437823ea3bb416553264e79
f37bdebe45063d8ed995f47a46752dbf1fa43487
describe
'98186' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZN' 'sip-files00055.QC.jpg'
4567e75c0c1a06c56288b378e69ea2ef
130555d02189aa426c852337491baf6a5ada52b7
describe
'626220' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZO' 'sip-files00055.tif'
22a316b1ec90941f289da7c09aafb4ea
0c39e7b21c476be2a2bb80d6e87494ba9811d333
'2011-11-17T19:43:50-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZP' 'sip-files00055.txt'
857354b73decc7e20031d2c08754b109
d12083bc598f31962fc41a0f6c788bc67389ec57
'2011-11-17T19:30:34-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74108' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZQ' 'sip-files00056.jp2'
408d4d88d70e837dc51919aebfb87c2e
94ef6de1e37fc911df096adf0392586a249834d8
'2011-11-17T19:45:31-05:00'
describe
'250944' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZR' 'sip-files00056.jpg'
034ec4545c84b4ef24f0006b5f479ede
bb2e37b3ac65605e0e3b8c197fcd3e6defe79da6
describe
'29571' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZS' 'sip-files00056.pro'
c3fe6298ce52902a56e855b058e845df
a8aa351c74ac83cff4f57365b7f370a421756b20
describe
'97036' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZT' 'sip-files00056.QC.jpg'
c2b1fa685ff93a289c29d07f970fda5a
a07388244e739d41783b1b891c018dde7ba0bebd
'2011-11-17T19:42:19-05:00'
describe
'604920' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZU' 'sip-files00056.tif'
9198512788f1115f0d77faee492fbb43
2b8996649d8435936675eeba559c89ce6fe39280
'2011-11-17T19:51:15-05:00'
describe
'1243' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZV' 'sip-files00056.txt'
f692a1e05189e0cae9d98081a3f22013
07d9015b2325cfd02d28bbbeac2f15f8bc75fc8d
'2011-11-17T19:28:14-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76433' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZW' 'sip-files00057.jp2'
5cc581f9131f64770d82cb88bf4950bb
947869f4d3efd9acac05380dcc76bc816afdbbf5
'2011-11-17T19:32:03-05:00'
describe
'226621' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZX' 'sip-files00057.jpg'
14fea37c9c6d8b1965036ac5232ecde8
b77be559785f252ae78e05f8fdca65233ecbdfbb
'2011-11-17T19:49:03-05:00'
describe
'22431' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZY' 'sip-files00057.pro'
24b46d61ac5d98711e786064b700e23a
e0a16282986e688a40e00878c7584add5476cfb4
'2011-11-17T19:48:04-05:00'
describe
'88888' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAJZZ' 'sip-files00057.QC.jpg'
98b6c9fc1ec922fcddbc91ca596fbc98
07992407fa3a1c96748136153600309dd16af047
describe
'623116' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAA' 'sip-files00057.tif'
b186a634c4be15639fa141c05be0f7e3
8c7c2b63f0eec3e7f8ecbeb5fbccbb7571852137
'2011-11-17T19:44:19-05:00'
describe
'1032' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAB' 'sip-files00057.txt'
27cb1448be83e256e6a8f615ea4df114
db8110216ee6632927476ff9725543f0b38ec819
'2011-11-17T19:46:47-05:00'
describe
'73896' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAC' 'sip-files00058.jp2'
b140e26e7b6fb82772484a43ea5e4de2
10aa66c288d49c47536d1a9d761521ec388c9aa1
'2011-11-17T19:50:21-05:00'
describe
'244652' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAD' 'sip-files00058.jpg'
254cbd6251b5cd1308f7e333fe90a4c7
9588f048e5c4abd1558802c082e9e91c17df5ed5
describe
'27056' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAE' 'sip-files00058.pro'
f6ca6974ebfa22631dd201c577c4afcf
4ac88ac8f7504cf18dc47c60cbbd2d6c9f5e1b5c
'2011-11-17T19:30:16-05:00'
describe
'94154' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAF' 'sip-files00058.QC.jpg'
17d9599a3e3a2686b3d47e1dadf63ebe
933d9642662ee571d882f0eee2a45321ba558119
'2011-11-17T19:32:06-05:00'
describe
'603564' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAG' 'sip-files00058.tif'
fea8d4ef1ad6ed7edbf572cff04bf537
21efb3d7e35934abc1dffbe1f0aad70c8a55e352
describe
'1203' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAH' 'sip-files00058.txt'
9f6b9a8c0f9e47c5201e2b9765e64c3f
a073f92081fd466df90a5e406da50c5f5496a14c
describe
Invalid character
'77598' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAI' 'sip-files00059.jp2'
eafadb681b8622802bd8b74527f641d2
216c7c963dfdd485b3b270eb1611dc3f034334ba
'2011-11-17T19:29:46-05:00'
describe
'337601' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAJ' 'sip-files00059.jpg'
29cf907e2d6b2ec0b62d48535470660a
0986c45d913ff6975523e956f8593d8447655821
'2011-11-17T19:43:54-05:00'
describe
'830' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAK' 'sip-files00059.pro'
f6f4ff5aafb38d699a65ca3ae7c3b1da
c2b746223d9953f192a045e37858f7906eecbfac
describe
'98972' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAL' 'sip-files00059.QC.jpg'
47f81b65c98eee00a02b24afeaaff06c
a5965b9f325dc60f592e23c9f48b560897dc56f6
'2011-11-17T19:30:52-05:00'
describe
'632128' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAM' 'sip-files00059.tif'
c8f8a47e2c9cf636608b54d054e04f1c
60ed8f328c59ed2dea1bf5abff99f744b0190c17
describe
'51' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAN' 'sip-files00059.txt'
9c400bae79bb8089d1fa9439be1ddc9c
097e4763f85a948887cba6b9c89fdf7a8e4ade52
describe
Invalid character
'77808' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAO' 'sip-files00060.jp2'
6ea3be25648e55cfdf536e7b148889c7
e6b2023b60bf2868ab7f273fd27dbccaf97e31fa
'2011-11-17T19:43:52-05:00'
describe
'107191' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAP' 'sip-files00060.jpg'
8eadb1f2792812c02178c5734d8d6352
b253295d28f24f2294ad0e721e201eeb3786bddd
'2011-11-17T19:46:11-05:00'
describe
'43573' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAQ' 'sip-files00060.QC.jpg'
ff283568e1a89f3ef983a47c0d1cc1f0
c73772c5fe7f428d618d2b1133274dec96e19f1b
'2011-11-17T19:50:38-05:00'
describe
'631064' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAR' 'sip-files00060.tif'
2a1aab057a84e4ac8619144f1bb6148c
cba314f43595afee7460e1da0079badcd64c9006
'2011-11-17T19:31:15-05:00'
describe
'75085' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAS' 'sip-files00061.jp2'
dbcba0c7ecbacb736867eef8a7d7c697
20c0318b6a779202419da6e7c3e586210873109f
'2011-11-17T19:50:16-05:00'
describe
'264286' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAT' 'sip-files00061.jpg'
63e30d5908c43701fb709647ce936b7c
13b6589315595a8a2f14c249ae7384e234323732
describe
'21296' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAU' 'sip-files00061.pro'
cc14072bdeba2d8f46fba144c6ec0ed3
2efc322bdda2b6d1222e7a695db4444108630243
'2011-11-17T19:32:34-05:00'
describe
'99801' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAV' 'sip-files00061.QC.jpg'
5933018b3ac94f8c889c8afeb36d35fd
f24877756109d399e4832cef7e7a111e6b15d9b2
describe
'612852' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAW' 'sip-files00061.tif'
55b5b02749d764483055244a9488b157
439e9efb1fef5da23f575f1d38ccce40c09a523c
describe
'1005' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAX' 'sip-files00061.txt'
03555afc14d7dda080726ce680bf6bbd
7f1215d3139f7dfbc4059d88123e42e99b1116a8
'2011-11-17T19:30:42-05:00'
describe
'75808' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAY' 'sip-files00062.jp2'
06805978fdcd86c745a1468b623c0b32
a690c69d8385867ea707f7ee3c31f08036e4b790
describe
'258734' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKAZ' 'sip-files00062.jpg'
2909ee6213e2de238d5b431b5c1e035a
21b67a72a1d124cc05c1f06fd698f56a707ff874
describe
'28152' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBA' 'sip-files00062.pro'
bc2b5970416e981ce0cace5e48360e21
31ca5deba2e0b4728f009c87a8a57caca5bd25f3
describe
'99702' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBB' 'sip-files00062.QC.jpg'
50840d958c8335e3945a61a5769a42cd
4445c0ffc8be00dcc2000a8474cd6b5299e7e73d
'2011-11-17T19:51:08-05:00'
describe
'618576' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBC' 'sip-files00062.tif'
2e45567af01e675f6ac42760283cfa06
9a34798892c38a42010055ef6f769e0892978677
describe
'1221' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBD' 'sip-files00062.txt'
eef666d9727280ab99a045a7305bbe37
03199d5514f858c040034d6b8c95613e36a65079
describe
Invalid character
'73243' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBE' 'sip-files00063.jp2'
57fc6f610b172ab6500475c66f8408c4
e6c0c4ad8b28ea0f13366b0eb8b7b0d2028c6846
'2011-11-17T19:27:15-05:00'
describe
'254466' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBF' 'sip-files00063.jpg'
cf14c79405788473f3c20356de5cdec2
3261088e905fbe8ae795c628879343101ca6e273
'2011-11-17T19:49:07-05:00'
describe
'30954' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBG' 'sip-files00063.pro'
2a2a1d539e1d0e7686623be71df0806f
c8285ef4159a1968b7662357324dee02ebb78e8e
describe
'97107' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBH' 'sip-files00063.QC.jpg'
5d0e1e3cb8a25d94330e4cd32f2904d1
3f873123bfebf17c190c396726ddf55c883f2212
describe
'598144' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBI' 'sip-files00063.tif'
bcb10794c6a0eb069790b4e5f36b0aad
c4ae5f0615e3321d0284b0394b484abe4c4bc23e
describe
'1314' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBJ' 'sip-files00063.txt'
b021596447386343560b05ab7dbd1a76
0e0d2759ea8797d1643ac3b096f6aa1e8b8d69b8
'2011-11-17T19:45:16-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75137' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBK' 'sip-files00064.jp2'
c9d4f003aed50ceae9c60cc05236fc91
f76202b6861946c0dc07ae151e0997ed133444c3
describe
'257379' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBL' 'sip-files00064.jpg'
3b493e4cef211b8a520e7ed3e07c2b0a
ea7891e60d206cb3abfbaf6ca8215e5dbe07792f
'2011-11-17T19:50:35-05:00'
describe
'28569' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBM' 'sip-files00064.pro'
a5dc1450453cc90a651055ce3b2acd41
8b1f9d6edf2670a4a05cb6a7f6fedcb5abb9e029
describe
'98809' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBN' 'sip-files00064.QC.jpg'
e319711795bc8024cfb83a7e824d8a11
219eb1304b1c8e9d2553e0136a5f8e6b871e8c0b
describe
'613088' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBO' 'sip-files00064.tif'
01fceb6c02837fa8a27669fa024d5fe1
c63e9db82976265a5dda9e1a5e3a12146e1c3167
'2011-11-17T19:48:55-05:00'
describe
'1219' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBP' 'sip-files00064.txt'
07027d66e47f849c6db5f6d33c3cfaff
4126019e72239554bddd31063ad030212ab3e4d9
describe
Invalid character
'74345' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBQ' 'sip-files00065.jp2'
deebb58ea45ffdf43ee6b14a6193bad7
e167ad33d2d9e3dc6f95300eadf38a77bbb7ff9c
'2011-11-17T19:51:18-05:00'
describe
'256884' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBR' 'sip-files00065.jpg'
c5f1cda823f6258bc6970d9ceca80620
4665c0058547f913391500ce232afeae535b0c8a
'2011-11-17T19:29:02-05:00'
describe
'29743' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBS' 'sip-files00065.pro'
88fd6c1a1735010b9533e25777b27ee7
093773018a7c3710de9ac740b9a4c05fcaa0a887
'2011-11-17T19:46:23-05:00'
describe
'98415' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBT' 'sip-files00065.QC.jpg'
7413d6c442886ae081692ef870de51d4
64dc0e574acb2787a182f2831de5aa3810324af6
'2011-11-17T19:32:22-05:00'
describe
'606792' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBU' 'sip-files00065.tif'
e467a3298c156eeb76b342a709094862
9667e0b1d02f03c0016bbbe5cfb7aaa68328b3de
'2011-11-17T19:47:17-05:00'
describe
'1291' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBV' 'sip-files00065.txt'
4710b4a757c61ecac7a8bf53632b4862
f5e97aa3809790ef416750e1b1713a7433b38d0c
describe
Invalid character
'74964' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBW' 'sip-files00066.jp2'
6cc2d684df0a12983fba1b85f8b73d8c
be00b7a8f720a92ac558b30a5d7eb0f7fb97c3e0
describe
'254694' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBX' 'sip-files00066.jpg'
95bbf17aee41e2910dcbab694265e80d
169c37369de14671e68a52881172718ad3b385f7
describe
'26710' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBY' 'sip-files00066.pro'
ed795d02f0a3c35da6a46f4b4676452a
fe89d164b872ae959beb1a15d6ead75348b3f561
'2011-11-17T19:27:22-05:00'
describe
'97637' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKBZ' 'sip-files00066.QC.jpg'
9c333fb44b57155b83f81f9380238ee2
57c08073e95b4898e2966ec9001862d05848c8e3
describe
'611804' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCA' 'sip-files00066.tif'
86d3335513935d19ad14526776add957
b0d458bb69d3d45e568b779bc3f27507ee380c34
'2011-11-17T19:31:22-05:00'
describe
'1174' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCB' 'sip-files00066.txt'
752480376485c8067271769fa9c1c058
1c1e904d9f9496b4bf9b4db03b19478b2bb9f397
'2011-11-17T19:51:02-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75634' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCC' 'sip-files00067.jp2'
8bc2ca9006b977b3ce5c16aefa2fbff9
137bcc38bcb7560a4612638ae1c78e303a62162c
describe
'257737' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCD' 'sip-files00067.jpg'
9b5803484e501cf87b3b4cacbb5776fe
db9e85e8cb77a67c63f4b2d1feb7ca8ff134def1
describe
'15253' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCE' 'sip-files00067.pro'
ca6083f41eb4a17c48d5564084e89915
383cd7c3903f96b19b98d348634a96504fd53ca8
'2011-11-17T19:51:48-05:00'
describe
'93875' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCF' 'sip-files00067.QC.jpg'
b3d74cd5f9f4e89bf885fba79888903d
75610f64897c4fa472f6d36ca5fc54770dbee991
'2011-11-17T19:50:59-05:00'
describe
'617440' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCG' 'sip-files00067.tif'
b848b4d3aa61fd6d82398466e167c0ef
ed4a98bbf0725f55e0cdb8c656424ec8a1ac9e1e
'2011-11-17T19:32:13-05:00'
describe
'729' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCH' 'sip-files00067.txt'
bee90d11750c8c0c731764306a0df480
e9f65f9cbd9b6d5fb1dd543efbf198cc3fd959ed
describe
'74163' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCI' 'sip-files00068.jp2'
b582a04d132db61176092805812d9462
e26c17f6917df89ef4c8f1e98d146fbd67472ef6
describe
'286458' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCJ' 'sip-files00068.jpg'
fa9dbabc51b360a39197ef5dd912695d
fba6de32cf6e65b10deefd8b19f4999d02f31ade
describe
'10416' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCK' 'sip-files00068.pro'
1a30fa49f5e9121d3b098a71d3d47346
6ed9240084720d0b018426a94d5cd0bf652b2607
describe
'97567' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCL' 'sip-files00068.QC.jpg'
546fd1d46176d47e3f801844efe94ca1
14bcf9d94c496e140ef2c0e1ace77377415bedbd
'2011-11-17T19:27:00-05:00'
describe
'605488' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCM' 'sip-files00068.tif'
6f7ad21b3df054ab29e37556489d9415
55739f3ce1d84e8308d38c30afc3455b5acf294f
'2011-11-17T19:31:21-05:00'
describe
'573' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCN' 'sip-files00068.txt'
e62feaa23702eb6fad9310686896b2de
1cc8fe3f5c926afaf442eeca1da1a13a8dcb6c4a
'2011-11-17T19:29:17-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73963' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCO' 'sip-files00069.jp2'
f697d91ad49bc4a920e76db84353936f
f4b42f644b9b5f9c6332496b65cbe0b4e3aa9ef4
'2011-11-17T19:29:52-05:00'
describe
'246208' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCP' 'sip-files00069.jpg'
ba81ee41570a95bbeea356946bd1a138
c3934d42fb914c7d8c295bff4c05529b2cebb3d2
'2011-11-17T19:29:07-05:00'
describe
'16943' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCQ' 'sip-files00069.pro'
6d73792c18c60f270b0e32f8d6abc264
278ab4f5dea4306714a71c23109ba1a13f5b67f7
'2011-11-17T19:27:41-05:00'
describe
'93536' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCR' 'sip-files00069.QC.jpg'
3b23e39ee761104a89ea63ed7969431a
351a9a5ee98b0704c50067a379f1f2ec9f36a5a2
'2011-11-17T19:29:39-05:00'
describe
'603212' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCS' 'sip-files00069.tif'
0c18d83a06009f4926b34cdb13fbf66e
d45f10bcac6643c4dc7b7d3f0c754b1a516b1c6a
describe
'891' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCT' 'sip-files00069.txt'
adaf6e14fa06a177f660ab66761f51c9
4d4bed5c0317b4e4ee831f46281165ae734fb3ca
describe
Invalid character
'73869' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCU' 'sip-files00070.jp2'
23e0675acd7f2a7a32282459db94ef9a
d1635618f38f568cd20942b2b3dc6197b3826d91
'2011-11-17T19:29:35-05:00'
describe
'242696' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCV' 'sip-files00070.jpg'
c571550d9b96d5226209f5899433f980
83ad43c6a687cd89ae0c6954d087363b40a93a01
'2011-11-17T19:49:22-05:00'
describe
'16433' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCW' 'sip-files00070.pro'
435b396000c4147fd76cd487f4b6c569
632ce0eddd84d29b608b6fc13ebb412d02e0cd2a
'2011-11-17T19:49:08-05:00'
describe
'93505' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCX' 'sip-files00070.QC.jpg'
57bc244e0eaa69f9489d7986134e1665
8729da7c8e7a83713cf17da43bb5fde3a589faa7
'2011-11-17T19:31:31-05:00'
describe
'602924' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCY' 'sip-files00070.tif'
b70ec5d2aefaea02fdd7b1039f441668
dc70c7c7ccb700f519441fb2366662022b6f49db
'2011-11-17T19:44:37-05:00'
describe
'807' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKCZ' 'sip-files00070.txt'
2e776a89379351a61e13a2f2b954e878
90b0d81290914df29a7563e22c369dfacc6cdc8d
'2011-11-17T19:43:31-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74014' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDA' 'sip-files00071.jp2'
f52f211fe7cbdf53e60a28ad32a675bd
110a31ad215dd9ff925377b15bf721a7992c3469
'2011-11-17T19:28:39-05:00'
describe
'253781' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDB' 'sip-files00071.jpg'
37237c743641b4749bc858a19764cada
201775bf7245d52ec83f56e9c56abebf3885b422
describe
'30657' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDC' 'sip-files00071.pro'
a96fcddef2e1c7e97f32543262ce8350
daac154bd4804f65f1a63ee640b915d60abe5521
describe
'96896' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDD' 'sip-files00071.QC.jpg'
470cb1f0e6058c17ee3c318499a64646
3461cf4053fe06e379ab57aab5aa77e32fc91ff6
describe
'604024' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDE' 'sip-files00071.tif'
08a58d18347e4e2195bc5b058abbe70f
80359d787243c601c0b90d6905b1e3707cba850e
'2011-11-17T19:46:43-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDF' 'sip-files00071.txt'
76d1024513739a13532959de327eede1
7da140623bd4ea5c57bca5c0d2354810b91f5f0e
'2011-11-17T19:27:13-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75108' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDG' 'sip-files00072.jp2'
45cccc8ba4c9019b427f014b794cba86
c397a62aa2ebdadfcc71a078b533f53ac4216f25
describe
'269847' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDH' 'sip-files00072.jpg'
2285586a15e64fa6193e09dfd1afef2c
7e1fd2f4db3aa10bdb3dbc6c46bfbc54968ab5a2
'2011-11-17T19:46:58-05:00'
describe
'8992' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDI' 'sip-files00072.pro'
6219a0eb3c423bb0e10baf67bde533b0
a83f15f46294c25e167c2fac9b5455ebebc78df8
'2011-11-17T19:44:40-05:00'
describe
'102468' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDJ' 'sip-files00072.QC.jpg'
f32fcce89da8320aecc99a5215dcd49a
9126a6b19508d86dc9e3e58532de77794ed4ccaa
describe
'613072' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDK' 'sip-files00072.tif'
a09e12e0ec847a36f761ca72c86d3d42
2a45849fb50bf5d33f9740d78b340e8558b90900
'2011-11-17T19:51:38-05:00'
describe
'469' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDL' 'sip-files00072.txt'
e2fcd7c7c3730a68478e937dfbd7872d
357342ba332e2d6455e175d5ca5fbf1a10099b09
'2011-11-17T19:27:28-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74892' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDM' 'sip-files00073.jp2'
e6cab58fac153ba6d6b275162d06ee82
41beb549729b9d9a4ea2aec05dfcfc774fb9c29a
'2011-11-17T19:48:27-05:00'
describe
'262759' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDN' 'sip-files00073.jpg'
f072ad183acfe62e44d9b28e77ab7339
e8e1dad94fb6a382c8f5c6262a0fe135afe40231
'2011-11-17T19:49:10-05:00'
describe
'31146' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDO' 'sip-files00073.pro'
3d9cedb24d28c8cadbbebe1be8236977
f2edbe7ca35297429f2c9e392ca3da3e4da4c565
'2011-11-17T19:39:46-05:00'
describe
'99412' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDP' 'sip-files00073.QC.jpg'
95f8cacbbc934b47488bf3116ab73992
6beccd117b4708afcaaee5f8b10b41b56cad259f
'2011-11-17T19:44:59-05:00'
describe
'611764' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDQ' 'sip-files00073.tif'
59872a33938a02c99c76a232dd9180c0
68f5db8c05764e148f3ccfc0c512ebf4d1839e94
'2011-11-17T19:30:25-05:00'
describe
'1353' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDR' 'sip-files00073.txt'
d7e05a3776bd460b4129a35920a67ced
415430b48c048228b45f10927d7d5e1081db6448
describe
Invalid character
'75375' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDS' 'sip-files00074.jp2'
4d22ca6746efc73f2af6e82b2197a643
9e5213eab88ca2f65fa1bb4a60ed123cefc3f2fc
'2011-11-17T19:47:04-05:00'
describe
'263117' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDT' 'sip-files00074.jpg'
aba93cda08fd8b2db21f9735dc36a6d3
b6ef06c905a4f0f95ea3c65ccb23eff78359b566
'2011-11-17T19:32:02-05:00'
describe
'31552' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDU' 'sip-files00074.pro'
8e8cb7ccd45d508a9e4b51294dbb6c5b
d2450336509f59db4b53346f41f3db69e51f889b
'2011-11-17T19:48:19-05:00'
describe
'100122' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDV' 'sip-files00074.QC.jpg'
796b18215bc758293a589ab5671ac2b7
f87e38602e309a988dc5d4b3566f1c95c8c73573
'2011-11-17T19:31:40-05:00'
describe
'615632' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDW' 'sip-files00074.tif'
7d1ab252341660ec06472c614bd7cc8a
92ba54c1cbd50f5cd82adff5d7a2d70c85920c3c
'2011-11-17T19:48:39-05:00'
describe
'1337' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDX' 'sip-files00074.txt'
b59cbaa103edfcd6d99c68c57caae258
8cde60500a542e150baf3164270f01f3405a3207
describe
Invalid character
'74735' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDY' 'sip-files00075.jp2'
25f3367fbf6eb9f95e9f5e99a19f8c35
06cfea9e6156f9ba43dcb520c62d6661493071a3
'2011-11-17T19:29:44-05:00'
describe
'244685' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKDZ' 'sip-files00075.jpg'
42ae319d2084130e69340f4b80f3be21
1c210ef4b33c282ab1dbf04830254e2e4eb1ce46
'2011-11-17T19:50:42-05:00'
describe
'28330' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEA' 'sip-files00075.pro'
321f131eabf6fe9e76856e64c11fb85d
f47dc84c5d660e0b6352031cd7f3146846667aa5
'2011-11-17T19:30:17-05:00'
describe
'95669' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEB' 'sip-files00075.QC.jpg'
977d5f1550178bae4a6a01a87f0915fe
3daa0e837edb5807c217570fa0d66606c737f2e0
'2011-11-17T19:30:00-05:00'
describe
'609596' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEC' 'sip-files00075.tif'
f7807d2f5ec284c38cf7c02ad8f33e01
320967172abfc7644a749d7bf897b98d7590fc0f
'2011-11-17T19:30:01-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKED' 'sip-files00075.txt'
1069bc925ee79ac411d65bee48992b60
169025426957dab183016779c29a1977fa631688
describe
Invalid character
'74439' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEE' 'sip-files00076.jp2'
985aef89322b1057f48770035cf81cb4
4e0f68a87b425fd0e2eae2b347c591c1f63d9b6a
'2011-11-17T19:51:03-05:00'
describe
'270333' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEF' 'sip-files00076.jpg'
d5c0a565e02cac82f4debf4ede5d7607
de86c40b7fe02ea09871636668aa8d317f72ed06
'2011-11-17T19:30:45-05:00'
describe
'16449' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEG' 'sip-files00076.pro'
ae1386732e626e60bfcd61677a357af6
abe9b5adbaed58efc8da0c3130f0227863a9b16d
describe
'102863' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEH' 'sip-files00076.QC.jpg'
5da4c4901bce1e52aed2d3897342d171
49439dd6be62f1bb6b96bed9dbb7a86e368f86fb
describe
'608160' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEI' 'sip-files00076.tif'
a4ceb98b46a6865df4f889f4332a6440
3d5080507efd5cda2c38d5060b6ca14648787b6a
'2011-11-17T19:43:27-05:00'
describe
'818' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEJ' 'sip-files00076.txt'
a3535e0df97cc29b5e05a01b4eb31166
2684d3df82eab688cb5bd8eb8baa84afd4cf3bdf
'2011-11-17T19:31:57-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73808' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEK' 'sip-files00077.jp2'
2fd2898ae4984deb9996f55c07ee753a
c93bcb0ca52d5957f7b2bc1c3191135835672203
describe
'268667' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEL' 'sip-files00077.jpg'
73b7eb129750d5b0f65b03375c5e07a5
36a51f599f7c31d619d3731f993faa8d003e92ea
'2011-11-17T19:46:51-05:00'
describe
'35270' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEM' 'sip-files00077.pro'
1a8e27e2774b101b9d0479d3f6f46ceb
a46e514c03484c12ddde5a8cb6f3b8381d9a79b8
'2011-11-17T19:47:59-05:00'
describe
'100750' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEN' 'sip-files00077.QC.jpg'
f938e7118badd85a7309dedfc2e08cb9
13b6cf7aa0292e1d86004470188054e8d3f318de
'2011-11-17T19:30:14-05:00'
describe
'602624' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEO' 'sip-files00077.tif'
8ae5e9a35e24009d58e0a9488ecb3348
c56619bde88bb834fb569c2d85dbde9353f2866d
'2011-11-17T19:49:40-05:00'
describe
'1513' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEP' 'sip-files00077.txt'
f98b084949f62cad1f16bbdbda79fc03
6672cfd8258b79f50c13d56467f55d99950087aa
'2011-11-17T19:47:09-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74465' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEQ' 'sip-files00078.jp2'
76d2ab1a697728e5951d341ab2b18f20
b6191d20c5edf09cd211cfcdf34071ede34cb379
'2011-11-17T19:27:24-05:00'
describe
'270273' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKER' 'sip-files00078.jpg'
e022b669c78243922e96931ce39f7daf
427a8281a0f0a8c88a7152283c69804e8e7ce00b
'2011-11-17T19:46:37-05:00'
describe
'15720' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKES' 'sip-files00078.pro'
04457c418f484f3a115129ad8d7277f8
7bcda5633639db78933ae4e25bdb8571a6834c52
describe
'101663' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKET' 'sip-files00078.QC.jpg'
6145cd68d13c67ba7514ee333bb929f4
c3101e93a26c80db67e62de8f3ed0e84f4bbbbdc
'2011-11-17T19:31:42-05:00'
describe
'608016' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEU' 'sip-files00078.tif'
e5cd0f9746bbf90bea2feaec32a63462
9369ab4e2a9ad60e1181eb86b7042647fec07b3d
'2011-11-17T19:45:09-05:00'
describe
'736' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEV' 'sip-files00078.txt'
ac88f4176afa08b6115738f92b5485e1
15bfb6589cdfed7f7e1438002d4fd3e99ebbae81
describe
Invalid character
'75354' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEW' 'sip-files00079.jp2'
cffe35a88e71574ad3223387c0a580c2
29f98e12eb7bfb4eed987110c6faee3a8813c1db
'2011-11-17T19:28:01-05:00'
describe
'257624' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEX' 'sip-files00079.jpg'
2f57d5e86486d56e3794583fc03462d0
74f8d937693e185ce7b52b2136ea562a9f77dfbe
'2011-11-17T19:29:04-05:00'
describe
'12989' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEY' 'sip-files00079.pro'
9efec39f7246c3cf1e2f17bfbad0d6c1
78e7db812d3b712c1c8ae00e56e3a71460f21c76
describe
'98204' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKEZ' 'sip-files00079.QC.jpg'
3016248cabcc4eff1bb78962e50601fb
1d8decaecff68566aa8039f674d910ddef613398
'2011-11-17T19:51:39-05:00'
describe
'614692' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFA' 'sip-files00079.tif'
09704516cae33dfd9364ecc70e2552e4
eb09e008119b3509ee7bdea0ad9fe9aab18b4e74
'2011-11-17T19:45:37-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFB' 'sip-files00079.txt'
a0e039a06557b386dcb308cfd31982a3
1e4745ee2c5e1374dbaa5f0d78c3eaa75af4f8cc
'2011-11-17T19:49:02-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75112' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFC' 'sip-files00080.jp2'
9a3d2ae957466ec25686deb6d86a7046
bfbe5dcc2134224b5195e0737be3cd0232256373
'2011-11-17T19:27:52-05:00'
describe
'257265' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFD' 'sip-files00080.jpg'
7555478c4afe239424aae58c7d681118
c124cd7ea27077ea14033b89d00657f19e8b0b15
'2011-11-17T19:31:12-05:00'
describe
'26440' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFE' 'sip-files00080.pro'
0e674a800855921b8ae693aa7d37f52c
1d816a68f1bcafe7bf7731038970a823e588b4d3
describe
'100020' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFF' 'sip-files00080.QC.jpg'
cff97db08629da51cba84a8d565cb910
429f9bb8d0c2da6cd51cba1614ec22c9dba1b045
'2011-11-17T19:32:11-05:00'
describe
'612936' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFG' 'sip-files00080.tif'
9f91f5b2d36fe94ad8f484555edeb3e4
5ca5637af7db2dd166635627825331acb9d3e0fb
'2011-11-17T19:49:16-05:00'
describe
'1162' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFH' 'sip-files00080.txt'
925c429f4c03f27683f22cabf4435d33
8215a25a82d42d48810f58222ed4a66bc55836ee
'2011-11-17T19:39:48-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'76522' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFI' 'sip-files00081.jp2'
bfd022001355f5b63a9c363445991019
fc7e506beed827f1c4ae89b700295395b0af631f
'2011-11-17T19:48:41-05:00'
describe
'269868' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFJ' 'sip-files00081.jpg'
2f8eebf5a3c0026eaaf0f4718493260a
48466f0b86def665ac6a0b9dc03952a96ea9f511
describe
'35043' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFK' 'sip-files00081.pro'
53e66e4d154757095b40712549844f54
9deb8fbbe2b45be6f7b5f88291ff0f2e14d7dc1d
describe
'103678' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFL' 'sip-files00081.QC.jpg'
8a497db0f88b1141e7c3f9eca89eb9ae
cfc48e78d42debc8bf3d40b2b4038195879dc208
describe
'624356' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFM' 'sip-files00081.tif'
747c4b2e7dba8f3ff52ec0e963238afb
422e72848b9bd63450960431e52aec1a52625832
describe
'1572' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFN' 'sip-files00081.txt'
da06f994d86488bd2f637795dd44e213
aca50eb0257ec820a9c2d3f46b7f5cb7ef5a7e2e
'2011-11-17T19:50:52-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74402' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFO' 'sip-files00082.jp2'
8bd13d727aa6fc68848fdfa048302810
f3b59781ed77d8c999dc94e67e2c0044581123b2
'2011-11-17T19:31:52-05:00'
describe
'260722' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFP' 'sip-files00082.jpg'
22b93c74911636932dcc0923dd2cf06f
858320bffee38d18037bc536b9041ae7b12801a5
'2011-11-17T19:28:08-05:00'
describe
'13174' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFQ' 'sip-files00082.pro'
7b921c49633f250c7e36ba4f66e3cdb6
84dc333fff2f252969d185fc23dabfbaa2396595
'2011-11-17T19:44:42-05:00'
describe
'98285' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFR' 'sip-files00082.QC.jpg'
7e76679b48686da7346f474d9c17c040
3a80c3bea3a7893651368c3a81477bb2a95106db
describe
'607428' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFS' 'sip-files00082.tif'
812d5809ea6d53fda9a3aef613b9530c
532168ba80e1796438ac253876eb604c8f8f3b79
'2011-11-17T19:29:33-05:00'
describe
'631' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFT' 'sip-files00082.txt'
7289d1efbdac4e926190abf26816171d
ff174015b61a9b9ecb98416356e71d0633351972
'2011-11-17T19:31:33-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74506' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFU' 'sip-files00083.jp2'
5631afa0ad8201abc92afb03d1b85203
00b14ced2bac1af2c2388c9d937c68a5910b90f7
'2011-11-17T19:45:53-05:00'
describe
'359231' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFV' 'sip-files00083.jpg'
b82b32989b248716350a7507e196f158
71275a19d3c3900eca0e1e165b92ddbf9d84e257
'2011-11-17T19:44:56-05:00'
describe
'1089' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFW' 'sip-files00083.pro'
d7798b645247ec0fe58becc366e9beef
026980dfe2545748889736be758ccf964019fa6b
'2011-11-17T19:31:48-05:00'
describe
'103697' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFX' 'sip-files00083.QC.jpg'
3d9d6a7af761b1a830d2eb8604247d1e
47e62ec473c3ea02eb15aae5c512c6d192338371
describe
'610164' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFY' 'sip-files00083.tif'
f41c282b73403201841e090b11b131a9
ed169574bb8d10433ad2a9f27f2a3421fb0f473f
'2011-11-17T19:29:50-05:00'
describe
'106' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKFZ' 'sip-files00083.txt'
3d5d956cc77bc1e5f1cf69cc36578b3e
ea13401bd99c4cc67bd8272b006cacb7e8eedb3a
describe
Invalid character
'75254' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGA' 'sip-files00084.jp2'
e12b71d396d2803dd393774519037605
e86355385a98dd2c296a963bc431153979a36ea1
describe
'112460' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGB' 'sip-files00084.jpg'
65231f54daa944b2300030627e598fc9
b25ed01305147a3593a9000602e03c98d1ab4624
'2011-11-17T19:31:56-05:00'
describe
'44781' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGC' 'sip-files00084.QC.jpg'
92238afdfbcc9cd4279d1d6224f20b95
d87474c7804c8f01bff2e86c019258abbf6bb52c
'2011-11-17T19:46:00-05:00'
describe
'610872' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGD' 'sip-files00084.tif'
7e36b7922ae4f30184d97651b1b6e5c4
746c47315cd057c3014abd4d85f6da428fc3c84c
'2011-11-17T19:47:40-05:00'
describe
'74579' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGE' 'sip-files00085.jp2'
48e49afb411336f17d62206d0b88af83
42ca148f53ee51ee3da13d7c3f079fc92b8be888
'2011-11-17T19:28:53-05:00'
describe
'268344' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGF' 'sip-files00085.jpg'
b4adefb4718c8bd10b580d9d90df9e9a
e5c009983b8cb42dae578b125ca80a82cb3eeb54
describe
'25171' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGG' 'sip-files00085.pro'
3c6080837ebad892517a7e1e96f5bade
4a09583c639d0e0ca2dd78a59e49d2d33d9be3e5
describe
'101401' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGH' 'sip-files00085.QC.jpg'
e9ed9a074ba2a4adb059933032a25b9b
d558a9dbc3431c8838876b9a47706cc7791efdf6
'2011-11-17T19:31:38-05:00'
describe
'609144' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGI' 'sip-files00085.tif'
7bcb3bb1016f9cdf5c5a968c65b4a82d
4008c4eb9a558cda131c90cd0c5b456d546bfeef
describe
'1103' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGJ' 'sip-files00085.txt'
a7747322c87ee7df8e6fed7045a16ba8
ef8fcf89ba98a08bda3666b9ac325d5f83912388
describe
Invalid character
'74055' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGK' 'sip-files00086.jp2'
d205ddfba27efe8afd8ba3df53b5e073
19c034b58ef2aac14705544fda088a441f888f03
describe
'257650' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGL' 'sip-files00086.jpg'
eef55d2a55e1e6d2b11e1b4e9c53b711
25fef0abb33271bb41da0efaa1297bf2a9a2d3c5
describe
'32111' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGM' 'sip-files00086.pro'
d95786afe1cafadd7107a5595e59e91c
a1be1a0e612b4f14d276fae92c606439aa8245f5
describe
'98445' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGN' 'sip-files00086.QC.jpg'
0b7000e879eecaab99d4a2cb661d23a5
a371b80a2c594433bd82d70793e9cc0c2494b15b
'2011-11-17T19:49:59-05:00'
describe
'604400' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGO' 'sip-files00086.tif'
25fe0808b63d46ef73201f18832dfb87
e2af128757691bc91128d3d3dcc617dd100ae554
'2011-11-17T19:30:19-05:00'
describe
'1357' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGP' 'sip-files00086.txt'
d9003e5a70d87ef57ad091dd2762bdd6
2d513ea8704a1bf850e17abc9fa47ecda5377ffb
'2011-11-17T19:29:23-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73565' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGQ' 'sip-files00087.jp2'
be1793c897f85d63d8daabf36b4eb9c8
3e5a40b7200fce2d9c5c2ec21070731a2106201d
'2011-11-17T19:31:51-05:00'
describe
'253836' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGR' 'sip-files00087.jpg'
43674bc2c8206f68be4fd278b2fe8a24
0d00f8852e2557b27ffd9d65c2b0fd3b9e8e2445
describe
'29451' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGS' 'sip-files00087.pro'
cd79de911ed0c850765766259d98a749
cf1120b0a9d61476ffed7aeaf93736890305530b
'2011-11-17T19:31:44-05:00'
describe
'96411' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGT' 'sip-files00087.QC.jpg'
6b9503c547dcb7311592fc53f48084c9
5b2b90acdb6d93d97f5debaac60bc12929d00d3c
describe
'600212' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGU' 'sip-files00087.tif'
0932353c12657a88e31068205dd750e7
7a7faba6f8091d8d7dc9cd5a18681a9712f3a94f
'2011-11-17T19:30:46-05:00'
describe
'1289' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGV' 'sip-files00087.txt'
da9ecf7edf3c3168ca2a9f8ac133eab4
e2371e412c975b7bdd644714ff30caf2bf41a9ca
describe
Invalid character
'74764' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGW' 'sip-files00088.jp2'
f24df8f91c0516f53f5db7f3b1a251a4
0a9239528ee6c47d0f3f39737a3a9ae8e6adf6d7
describe
'248924' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGX' 'sip-files00088.jpg'
1d72b802eb662a61d5a3361bf15aa084
08db727f1832ce56dd8a56768689067e57f3e0f6
'2011-11-17T19:29:58-05:00'
describe
'28197' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGY' 'sip-files00088.pro'
4f4ac73e743ea3a9bb30652ee6414435
d8fc7266c2d9d6e039fb88dd64f7daadabde49f4
describe
'95856' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKGZ' 'sip-files00088.QC.jpg'
c98b233d68ae6509ad781348954591b8
c10678b339e3575551b7ab429707c3e4635f3cb7
'2011-11-17T19:30:21-05:00'
describe
'610964' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHA' 'sip-files00088.tif'
9b7b00ea243b9198e06618916ca246e8
aa9995c7ef1fc92e8c197ba6dfacf98ffa76d009
describe
'1256' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHB' 'sip-files00088.txt'
a0f50b7c0b4d265e06b4ecc9bb06247a
e8639105b6c543c5dd0fbe6eafb101f0353e2872
describe
Invalid character
'74618' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHC' 'sip-files00089.jp2'
f00a2f8b99588ef9fa8d5086adc00c4f
0f65e9384b031a85877a6c0a11406149fd63a10c
'2011-11-17T19:46:09-05:00'
describe
'266831' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHD' 'sip-files00089.jpg'
e1ce4e96c26f02f44e83b4a7b9bdb9f5
80ef06360a806400b977038bc03c9a9428e00746
describe
'33291' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHE' 'sip-files00089.pro'
2a4296bf8458e93872f7044f759e5bf0
96ed282f3ad38a4645fdb43083792018eb7decef
'2011-11-17T19:30:35-05:00'
describe
'100072' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHF' 'sip-files00089.QC.jpg'
6c28507ce12c973b09313f51c245b429
9e44715ab3c1c054cd67d5ae3af35da6fc851f42
'2011-11-17T19:50:29-05:00'
describe
'609480' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHG' 'sip-files00089.tif'
e28d7c790e44386b514458c1ec16240b
8dfb948ec42f8b88f607840b63d3f2c7d3c7e8bd
describe
'1431' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHH' 'sip-files00089.txt'
9c63ddb57d60d7388fb7bea571c23126
d0fd976034238c68954622dbe2e2b7bfa874360d
'2011-11-17T19:31:13-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74903' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHI' 'sip-files00090.jp2'
9418d79f7f0c0ab16f08750f5dc970ab
ffa8a1952d9fe0600a3d5a9e6d21fc3202dc733d
'2011-11-17T19:48:33-05:00'
describe
'248878' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHJ' 'sip-files00090.jpg'
a96e8081b743fa50639517d2c3a17915
f0233e368dde516bbfe9c70be87fee3774072c77
describe
'12646' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHK' 'sip-files00090.pro'
6393d114e318c3b8ba69c1926f79800a
5077680b7f54d89dd1caca2741d504a2df886187
'2011-11-17T19:33:29-05:00'
describe
'92335' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHL' 'sip-files00090.QC.jpg'
29fdf7ee9602e8ec7f6abcba0d921b03
fd6bab741a2449561efc677088a515a90c79dfe0
'2011-11-17T19:28:22-05:00'
describe
'610784' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHM' 'sip-files00090.tif'
6f532ed46596241cdaefe9b260d6045c
54ffcdfcc6139ea0e0af189f4025a917baecc9f9
describe
'563' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHN' 'sip-files00090.txt'
94b53baa8facbd020e609ff1208f624c
2330935438ed2b5e817fb3848280affc68b0bd4f
describe
Invalid character
'75434' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHO' 'sip-files00091.jp2'
b4e784f3abf31e008897f1fddcc356ad
f3d7758a3151748cda054978ef8b62164731a652
'2011-11-17T19:29:09-05:00'
describe
'294561' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHP' 'sip-files00091.jpg'
3643529923534f7d9b56e046d96f4f1d
c3e8e5389a156ebf129ea877977282d184980b53
'2011-11-17T19:28:50-05:00'
describe
'6297' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHQ' 'sip-files00091.pro'
1c3b9b400ea89128be5a079994e90e9c
812781874355398d641bc7d9b39578f4bba37f45
describe
'100379' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHR' 'sip-files00091.QC.jpg'
f2ad4111f74c360cda999b2d20472b32
83d1635e1f63aeea2f369a7e0048b6e381781712
describe
'616316' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHS' 'sip-files00091.tif'
ceb5a2066e44c5c55507cf7c218750ad
850459fe40ffc14db558eca8cca302dd8318c431
'2011-11-17T19:45:52-05:00'
describe
'405' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHT' 'sip-files00091.txt'
dbae8ad10f47b2a8be2fa050b245ef19
a6a66b07d334382360daf2c16ff1cc9e30cb2966
'2011-11-17T19:29:49-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74121' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHU' 'sip-files00092.jp2'
521ba18afa0f5e81b50b79e3a9306eaa
f8ec46dae8a817ddc313530f7c134d2fec78fecd
'2011-11-17T19:51:23-05:00'
describe
'259848' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHV' 'sip-files00092.jpg'
311948a72133ee236ab47593ac953f0d
c2dc07e5e35e99fff38499ab0bd534562c957be0
describe
'31689' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHW' 'sip-files00092.pro'
235796522c0d2a4fb661018534a6268e
f63c60c47beab448ef05dc997f88d164bc48e96c
describe
'98678' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHX' 'sip-files00092.QC.jpg'
3c8a4d5a35bfe5044a3741ddec238e7f
41eb2fedb21431999c2ff6667567c724c149cfbf
describe
'605056' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHY' 'sip-files00092.tif'
1cef9d5bc00ac538d0fedc6923a36e7a
61dd8e8592690b71592deb81f16587b9c3a1f9cd
describe
'1356' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKHZ' 'sip-files00092.txt'
85d4b779e1866088cd91cff7e9c37528
3d1e43fc3f56c04d3490f38e2a906947376a7887
'2011-11-17T19:29:06-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74183' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIA' 'sip-files00093.jp2'
9faa3cd782360b520c08937c2d1a8bc5
502d30ad5d76ff8ad5df682173569fc96657f110
describe
'241277' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIB' 'sip-files00093.jpg'
d409a5c260022396fc2f2a662d76f1bf
ec525fa6f556f6a116115cbd135b537999af68e6
'2011-11-17T19:32:00-05:00'
describe
'15409' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIC' 'sip-files00093.pro'
5516325c9302e32f77a1eb7d72b75f6b
8516f85f6287e17432ed0b4beef4f233697deac2
'2011-11-17T19:45:18-05:00'
describe
'92438' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKID' 'sip-files00093.QC.jpg'
7b5d683bbfbd260e3bfa79dfc70942ff
6b5a72d892e3ac20736f6215155b19c90e0f4db0
'2011-11-17T19:32:25-05:00'
describe
'605760' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIE' 'sip-files00093.tif'
7126275921971c103295027d0015f4ad
178dde079fbef0a9c724a7818c97b47001166424
describe
'697' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIF' 'sip-files00093.txt'
9b031fd341e2d34cdd1a83b3524f4b57
68d87bd9910bde36fe483773f75c3f040d3b0e3b
describe
Invalid character
'75422' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIG' 'sip-files00094.jp2'
ea76fa0c3c456fa71e739132196ac3b0
a015c1d9c5c066131c986b7488a599f44e27c00b
describe
'258706' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIH' 'sip-files00094.jpg'
f3c4d942c32c5dcf4cf54ab916d46d26
380ff406a95beb1c07fba1a110d08439d58420f3
describe
'16208' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKII' 'sip-files00094.pro'
77eaa84956b4451a68715e8bfc4ae18b
49c18065273d7030368d7006efee9e76a945da89
describe
'99135' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIJ' 'sip-files00094.QC.jpg'
5e885a495fd7bbef6d59e8ec0fcb31a0
64d852fdda4f0c52ea88ea3e38fd0cc52ee1170d
describe
'615448' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIK' 'sip-files00094.tif'
b8fb830d1b17271d8ab0d180fb50f947
4f970c24d3738bdbe26dbfd3877df22430bb2226
'2011-11-17T19:27:44-05:00'
describe
'792' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIL' 'sip-files00094.txt'
c6d7804896b056a1a454cbecb43d248a
a6232024cbd58b535fb660f75e068befcd809162
'2011-11-17T19:27:51-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75552' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIM' 'sip-files00095.jp2'
690b2cafcb8d71d6e21745831f4a0918
a361cbe65c2b7d0fb23cd75c9f19d5efdb66e756
describe
'266728' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIN' 'sip-files00095.jpg'
0b29bfd31d0445c1357dceb2e9fb4a53
cfe59859b3e8ec59ab6f69083aeec31a196f75d6
'2011-11-17T19:32:26-05:00'
describe
'30118' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIO' 'sip-files00095.pro'
59011842958821c732e9bab62560e698
c373a4357196d39fe2de21f0537dc83da7c22f26
describe
'102382' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIP' 'sip-files00095.QC.jpg'
9830f5adaed087098601d97e0216abb2
82d5c8b5c0ccc3be68020b3c180fa1687f3f0a87
'2011-11-17T19:51:04-05:00'
describe
'616400' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIQ' 'sip-files00095.tif'
9b706e998bbb016b60bb401d3bada68e
650d7ebb55a33f9eb1b4855b828d0892462cbff8
'2011-11-17T19:27:11-05:00'
describe
'1318' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIR' 'sip-files00095.txt'
c68ad404b39e825ffd35837ed8973026
9532e70c08bab06577106da5485255f0084644c4
describe
Invalid character
'74082' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIS' 'sip-files00096.jp2'
53bbd9da2791a85fe46311ed81ecea2e
483d25ecdc18a293720746781e6951505f7d67c2
describe
'251066' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIT' 'sip-files00096.jpg'
b2edfe8885c65d9e7ec67b692065cbb1
561a98963f80bc5e6502a6e6ab2ef646311dfddc
'2011-11-17T19:46:50-05:00'
describe
'11848' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIU' 'sip-files00096.pro'
1e8ccdfae86465d4533f9d1d06eb2c69
52d3664a6a8852305448fb8d033b0f9a075c9ae4
describe
'96339' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIV' 'sip-files00096.QC.jpg'
07d4ce5bba5cc30d0dcbb7fc409dae3a
32edf0b2d2f1103d0c5106b249322ce33cebf2c0
'2011-11-17T19:30:11-05:00'
describe
'604624' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIW' 'sip-files00096.tif'
d7253e8abbe5fedacf7c7120e687c3e9
b9087459a0ee7d2885773f53bf45449d07c82300
describe
'633' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIX' 'sip-files00096.txt'
19e049ddd50327659b01b9634cc1c1bf
85abd2cbaad0f12e0150715435bdd67933035fbb
describe
Invalid character
'73120' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIY' 'sip-files00097.jp2'
9a407cc8a8c010789611bb25d8f7641f
b6dc47a5cd94f9545b0091135ed5bc6ee575f895
'2011-11-17T19:42:12-05:00'
describe
'263093' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKIZ' 'sip-files00097.jpg'
80aabe20f31ad0059aefcca6ac751b5d
5f0fd066a6aeacf87b4326c83bcfad8c469cf66a
'2011-11-17T19:48:53-05:00'
describe
'14332' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJA' 'sip-files00097.pro'
9f5acac36a517bb7d384ac71ae466afe
36aa42be1f14c30a84f369c215f551059cd2ac08
'2011-11-17T19:30:53-05:00'
describe
'99288' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJB' 'sip-files00097.QC.jpg'
0a38c5bcad64f9debd3dca5d0d7f0ba6
01a3709f7080eb6145aff6c1297a367da3f78b82
'2011-11-17T19:48:35-05:00'
describe
'598052' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJC' 'sip-files00097.tif'
078e835fdf9d78e811ccdb84f60c3690
56b24dcc160ed9db8e74f71f780de0ddb41f2fda
'2011-11-17T19:47:06-05:00'
describe
'704' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJD' 'sip-files00097.txt'
50e1a758dd2d235599a793b7bbcb2829
6a78773db7133a86aec8d1e0e7f5bdcb251be5c9
'2011-11-17T19:50:53-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75413' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJE' 'sip-files00098.jp2'
d69dd052b4ca4f32149c990f34dc57ea
3804c4f9c05bf2b6202df607c6941f2d7ab2cab4
describe
'267289' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJF' 'sip-files00098.jpg'
f9569ec7bab9d04c7be1bc83b4d5dae5
5c25b2bd0190ee4fc00a82224db9297cee06e4c8
'2011-11-17T19:45:20-05:00'
describe
'14053' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJG' 'sip-files00098.pro'
58b8de695ac6902a839336892f72689e
04d88634f10fb627a32acae078c1f4bc5920c5e3
'2011-11-17T19:49:23-05:00'
describe
'102116' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJH' 'sip-files00098.QC.jpg'
5fbff1a31e22ac23400ce33c1007cee1
8635e14d66f04523231c779337333ffa15620f30
'2011-11-17T19:45:59-05:00'
describe
'615384' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJI' 'sip-files00098.tif'
10c3ba2de426d3afe96850e601dd8a40
6bd3d5f3b057e1ef38f8143c67559536d02a8a49
describe
'712' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJJ' 'sip-files00098.txt'
e6b8b909924148fb207658f2642117c8
ba89a5cdb6d6c721ab74ec27dc8a3e7d8f6f520a
'2011-11-17T19:30:05-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74093' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJK' 'sip-files00099.jp2'
d72481eac5599696faf3b0ccc592d516
6b5c1b7cd401cb3fd3177bc9effe295c70cf28d2
describe
'247157' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJL' 'sip-files00099.jpg'
4e91ab43a3d0b425b58f7e7f2b0e0449
ca5ead4a9714e62a68a014df6f5c39dd61357006
'2011-11-17T19:48:36-05:00'
describe
'10397' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJM' 'sip-files00099.pro'
dfd0055eb0600a10d3fc8ef683f708b7
dfed867d23188ac55793301c91c8eec5804525f3
'2011-11-17T19:29:08-05:00'
describe
'95348' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJN' 'sip-files00099.QC.jpg'
8724bc15ffbe0cc511040162508a0466
a2846e7f21507b0a03bedf902fae67c0324577c4
describe
'604692' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJO' 'sip-files00099.tif'
a5433c07f3fbfc5321cd1621f3aca9ac
800084732fe8cbf09f27bf3c64953fad7ee37cf7
'2011-11-17T19:50:44-05:00'
describe
'555' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJP' 'sip-files00099.txt'
b19dba0931896c034e86e8c038c27bdc
a72399e36237bf94b4baa23585f9e90787c04655
describe
Invalid character
'74679' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJQ' 'sip-files00100.jp2'
3402287f15edd4ca0b2a5917a5a19aef
0542dfb89f257347ff6244ef3173aa05cea2034f
describe
'257677' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJR' 'sip-files00100.jpg'
31d8590f3005ece5aa4f2ed541ea335d
4d812ff16c3a90db661b1651138fc76ad394d87b
describe
'29766' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJS' 'sip-files00100.pro'
19804b2b61055119315ec2a3d08e7bd7
466f6dfa4711b79047befca0cb64fd61b8aab958
'2011-11-17T19:44:09-05:00'
describe
'99246' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJT' 'sip-files00100.QC.jpg'
bfbc40e154ba651da09239cae8589cd6
c1704597e43cb817ff981df22538390154fa24ba
describe
'609268' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJU' 'sip-files00100.tif'
2edaaa3bfc4cba14684dd8ade984010b
c75ae6ea521a865860c9962e805244126f93c07d
'2011-11-17T19:29:57-05:00'
describe
'1306' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJV' 'sip-files00100.txt'
c5e3f2dbaee852a587b606001fa852aa
7281e87750492aebb391fba2c6ac066bc7dd87ed
'2011-11-17T19:30:38-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'74100' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJW' 'sip-files00101.jp2'
1d718159884c7920f2737c2a7a243119
f15cdbdfd51c6c740151bdd8df66ce46b2cd7f68
describe
'266940' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJX' 'sip-files00101.jpg'
6f3f0781926cd03f0de48e590bfbee7e
76195ca4070c92ded8969137b4122735936812a0
'2011-11-17T19:48:58-05:00'
describe
'33059' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJY' 'sip-files00101.pro'
d152deea82d0285fa71a0d285f151546
487a5107b11791c5dca25d03d3e21005dca3166b
describe
'98482' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKJZ' 'sip-files00101.QC.jpg'
d783b008eecb2421180da370aaecb07b
70def58aa6f149f2a312f982ab5576eb0206500d
'2011-11-17T19:48:12-05:00'
describe
'605028' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKA' 'sip-files00101.tif'
1bb20862def4cac7e966a6b23dd9e395
4fc33bc6a7b44b5b5c5ac7f8aca0134c12ee88cd
'2011-11-17T19:29:03-05:00'
describe
'1427' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKB' 'sip-files00101.txt'
050f10b37b5c2e48246f35577256baf0
4c7acb80a3c97bf3f5611acf3dacf611b6e97538
describe
'74499' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKC' 'sip-files00102.jp2'
630d443370a2fdbf443904c2a158bc28
e7c7748abd303e27be90865a8563d08905459c39
describe
'253418' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKD' 'sip-files00102.jpg'
0b3b8749794993681ff9cccc5a8943b2
36272232722ba09b2e0ac7989c60cdfba87aed10
describe
'28511' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKE' 'sip-files00102.pro'
5809a8fa205edd2a921ded24c86fe186
b50da2086ade001ae9e98497ce54acc2693237b0
describe
'97889' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKF' 'sip-files00102.QC.jpg'
9dd3d880d28dd3af8af898042a8da28f
156a73f1533fa435bc32aaf5de6873c8253b1b33
describe
'608144' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKG' 'sip-files00102.tif'
9dc1e01fb5c252e7d6f2477913725b98
7b348ce77cf48e86422e579ba90c5779f4cdd7bf
describe
'1227' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKH' 'sip-files00102.txt'
4a07a3402964edce375d9ceba366174d
25072b3dfafc6692a74565b31018b2f58a54346e
'2011-11-17T19:51:47-05:00'
describe
'74314' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKI' 'sip-files00103.jp2'
a1c4b61bf104f30a12a828875469b1aa
0b8a6f0bd0589159c7e23de168dbf07c3649b6ca
'2011-11-17T19:28:16-05:00'
describe
'268082' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKJ' 'sip-files00103.jpg'
8cacb192b7317212bfcec7df092e1812
fdc0c31fc37b3deb1f544a0843f224d89feb5b70
'2011-11-17T19:31:05-05:00'
describe
'33660' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKK' 'sip-files00103.pro'
36625269b766dfdf7bb08290a3a87cae
36ff5980a03e458b8a3ecfd54778cd70afeb4293
describe
'100539' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKL' 'sip-files00103.QC.jpg'
0d99ddb13ea7802af858a543d4c37a17
f2fe348ca9c7f6b9053b794a7cb2debdde42c8ca
describe
'607052' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKM' 'sip-files00103.tif'
6c7da7c7443b9599487ca3caa9d2c272
59937f5b97f081cc8db80c493008921c32b15a2d
'2011-11-17T19:48:24-05:00'
describe
'1432' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKN' 'sip-files00103.txt'
29f4a17396fe1030a8f25c1db94d4325
aa43a49b67e258a6c2607aa7ce80cce21a05cd60
'2011-11-17T19:32:17-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73794' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKO' 'sip-files00104.jp2'
a9363ad56f572c6e9a4993a39e059f35
f3208d389a64c8ef8a827800d5232fb26c2b7f3a
'2011-11-17T19:44:01-05:00'
describe
'261756' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKP' 'sip-files00104.jpg'
59ac628054adf7966d9c4e4b7748e009
df2bde40fc8c6158874bbf77977ec890d9a0d110
'2011-11-17T19:32:33-05:00'
describe
'32880' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKQ' 'sip-files00104.pro'
685e592c50d94ae4fb69cf5509f4bffc
48bd15ae319ac3a974ef095d59429273f4dd1aba
describe
'99051' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKR' 'sip-files00104.QC.jpg'
669a1bba315805a155e0993fb00aedda
1321df234313268d1d843275790a1f7fa99fc254
'2011-11-17T19:28:45-05:00'
describe
'602564' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKS' 'sip-files00104.tif'
1dbc7610ec0825241883cee8f54d18a7
f64d808a0534cc86a4e73915ab1bef97ad22b4cb
'2011-11-17T19:50:03-05:00'
describe
'1380' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKT' 'sip-files00104.txt'
7eab325924bc307be89a2dae2278e91f
9e934104169f589477a4cd5a7badb18f490ccd71
describe
Invalid character
'73946' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKU' 'sip-files00105.jp2'
6cc2a08610b1484820ab6c547709d2b9
2f6522d6a70b643cfd5298e7b7271ee9a2da4744
describe
'261758' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKV' 'sip-files00105.jpg'
d45890a070f9ed53c568a14c3b1c932f
2908fb190845d025cd988d3d64e3675bf7a9fba7
describe
'27339' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKW' 'sip-files00105.pro'
e014dffc8659bac21afa29cf1472387e
bbad09d99eea33e009f3c7c9d10b5efe75291936
describe
'100273' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKX' 'sip-files00105.QC.jpg'
a8d837136aad9e82f83dfc05a59f163d
1a06f1ba9f8cfdd2a2d506f24684d2312c6ace85
'2011-11-17T19:45:36-05:00'
describe
'604432' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKY' 'sip-files00105.tif'
a2d4b225f4fc79fc904418c9c94a3f19
2b4e7ad8f9da7a160ea3df826941136a3e90a32f
'2011-11-17T19:29:25-05:00'
describe
'1188' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKKZ' 'sip-files00105.txt'
b8b8a500847c14f381799f1d2588ea41
0e8dc996488d98f618ebf3ec401078480703694d
'2011-11-17T19:32:30-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'75750' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLA' 'sip-files00106.jp2'
349c3edf84da4cebeac198071b88e68b
d9992e3516b9f054adb8223182ed2b8c5401ad8b
describe
'259730' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLB' 'sip-files00106.jpg'
ebc87ee8fb1c11b0f22d395e25cd4fcd
0dc2ffc03117aa988e2789a339926e02dc68f725
describe
'27145' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLC' 'sip-files00106.pro'
2167679050758d4c5600e192d93c7d85
1d71e5f7eeab39bdae68505a24890a02838a0713
describe
'100263' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLD' 'sip-files00106.QC.jpg'
ba27ec5aefab4814403ceec5ea98063a
db6b1b9fdb48e49a461196503c335df7cfe567a2
'2011-11-17T19:49:24-05:00'
describe
'618168' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLE' 'sip-files00106.tif'
db2e83e3ccbba5dd6b208971e6a970a5
66fb8c07e59444e6350768214063da8d5b60b573
'2011-11-17T19:28:41-05:00'
describe
'1178' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLF' 'sip-files00106.txt'
8b76b708a2d81993eb4da4906daa4aa8
5d7b6b4d8e4bf7abc7477f105ea98f66fc8333cf
'2011-11-17T19:30:57-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73019' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLG' 'sip-files00107.jp2'
ffbeeffa33f2d03a3f65a7ccc4e841d5
a3fb4534ff0552d179fe999829aa2c21bdf1d7ed
'2011-11-17T19:31:50-05:00'
describe
'253987' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLH' 'sip-files00107.jpg'
67d464a8b268a84af0ebbd666d5147fc
f357a3c8bc9b92c0568be4a75cd489e7b921b460
'2011-11-17T19:31:58-05:00'
describe
'30331' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLI' 'sip-files00107.pro'
87f664be9456c4b60fd95e1e0d16575a
722727c767a938e401c797c551af0864ba721349
describe
'96983' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLJ' 'sip-files00107.QC.jpg'
660dfbd8ca1d691755bd9961f59ba344
5e627d04e62a863d85d1557be5a2eadee21b3ede
'2011-11-17T19:31:29-05:00'
describe
'596920' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLK' 'sip-files00107.tif'
581c8e4f698380fa5814b48e50093abb
0513ce60abe51cdb5ae66c655497b3592ff022cd
'2011-11-17T19:51:29-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLL' 'sip-files00107.txt'
2e5b34c068aad1bb2b4467ecab1a2177
abaeb9c7c2faf2b98e7c2086b22546260ea03f16
'2011-11-17T19:30:47-05:00'
describe
'74269' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLM' 'sip-files00108.jp2'
2fbe6bbdb0d41026a83e09de414e0dc4
032818ee57389d71bf8523fc3608d2efbef13f1d
'2011-11-17T19:45:24-05:00'
describe
'258716' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLN' 'sip-files00108.jpg'
0673fa1f3054ffad6bd9e6a5fff2c17a
d40741e4713596ee2f263b8c1081eaadc5b053da
describe
'16025' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLO' 'sip-files00108.pro'
e6351d4f4c81a94669ba301e72af582a
2c42fb59afaa1226581890561b1dfc12da2a19ef
'2011-11-17T19:47:51-05:00'
describe
'99211' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLP' 'sip-files00108.QC.jpg'
1d7db8d08df1da66db1da8031c2b4ef3
e48948dd194a9af8f71506a8cf9d3ac2456c7f90
describe
'606172' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLQ' 'sip-files00108.tif'
e2f82da2936a3a40d37f4e0b5fc02a2c
51bd607a546f6fd49396ac93dcb7e4433de98d42
describe
'780' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLR' 'sip-files00108.txt'
f2c1fef19b35a35f8367b55692d14390
164e639cd97c33f3535dab5d14447d2b39daa98a
describe
Invalid character
'72858' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLS' 'sip-files00109.jp2'
844e17362ead0068ec64f42c618c59cc
69ff0529f5a0399ecd41353eb4ee3ae94495fd05
'2011-11-17T19:29:19-05:00'
describe
'250235' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLT' 'sip-files00109.jpg'
d6407f8b282700499f51c09fc19ccd5c
98e77eca0f23d8a001916bbc37104df0164403ff
describe
'29916' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLU' 'sip-files00109.pro'
c54b9af4e04187e00e609d38b283be87
38dc3bb30ab302d9d7d22010b51517d1b911efde
describe
'94986' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLV' 'sip-files00109.QC.jpg'
d783117c2367570414b8d95119dc9b46
0e906d12d6eeba60278bcf76014409140903f26f
describe
'595836' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLW' 'sip-files00109.tif'
2dff69e97469f85c6d661712d598401b
9c2b6fe06461342ad8f9ec781e95e42cab32b182
describe
'1266' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLX' 'sip-files00109.txt'
9cff5a00e99e867f903b2dc4a4f6f60a
4bd7eac650ae692891815482d0b64a671fed3c82
'2011-11-17T19:51:05-05:00'
describe
'73940' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLY' 'sip-files00110.jp2'
4560009d3a88d96a38662bdec1f48503
1096ce9b92d46328d305f3c22ad6951184dfb765
describe
'260380' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKLZ' 'sip-files00110.jpg'
b2593f72e3b50e4fd20c5af3e2e4f05a
ab7c4a26350859ceea78bb82a61944bbfd62de57
describe
'31866' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMA' 'sip-files00110.pro'
3ceae0eef4f53e5fa91744f50cfb3330
d08bd73f2e28d396c0ab3388b0544caa25b01142
'2011-11-17T19:49:20-05:00'
describe
'99066' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMB' 'sip-files00110.QC.jpg'
6ef51d9ded245661327ffa98c8b8b3c8
d4745af96f4da6ee0d11ed99f62777bbab05df68
describe
'604464' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMC' 'sip-files00110.tif'
013f7cabab99b3e4e4fa2a410bce1649
4129daa2369b923508b5d44c7e219a70ee6cb29e
describe
'1352' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMD' 'sip-files00110.txt'
3499ccd56cb910d1ce456fbdd4973d6e
c43531ba646d1ba3d0825cc2140ec3c7be8c6f87
'2011-11-17T19:30:27-05:00'
describe
'73784' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKME' 'sip-files00111.jp2'
fd993ddc625645235100d802e2e58d26
2b3b12c0efa347d6be9feb295a5e23c7608fbc7c
describe
'355551' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMF' 'sip-files00111.jpg'
49d4b1ae0624c4f13d7ba3bb7cda5bd8
99f69276184f69b35e7fe1e303aa83169d5b7037
'2011-11-17T19:29:14-05:00'
describe
'2692' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMG' 'sip-files00111.pro'
d7a6d421245308762e555ed7a68ad420
4add46cc49ac3b89b2aacd1fce18939c1ea35f45
'2011-11-17T19:27:18-05:00'
describe
'102864' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMH' 'sip-files00111.QC.jpg'
296d9b480634d27b3b5937f25d7f9d64
552fcd2561a5ba441329178825cf388b70b9d9fb
'2011-11-17T19:51:25-05:00'
describe
'603356' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMI' 'sip-files00111.tif'
611fe8499f280b0bbd14b61176bb858a
c3937b021a80952a4e095a7dafba2fe379a9394d
describe
'248' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMJ' 'sip-files00111.txt'
335798e707b0a71c286cc5d719ab6df9
8ec57e0c57fafa224b186deaa7756752b70bd1a0
describe
Invalid character
'72802' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMK' 'sip-files00112.jp2'
4f7bd19ec6cecc4fe05fcd49e421bb01
99ca487fb9877cb6cea2fe4e1f40a29a99c1ef1b
'2011-11-17T19:47:26-05:00'
describe
'102077' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKML' 'sip-files00112.jpg'
ced33ae2109d649aa9fc1a1782041fd4
0f75af210f616646fbc7016fdb4de14c7e569c89
'2011-11-17T19:48:18-05:00'
describe
'41868' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMM' 'sip-files00112.QC.jpg'
3726b512b897eb98d04b439fb5152e0b
f09aba1c766cb79b318899a4fb889e7cfaae29da
describe
'592028' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMN' 'sip-files00112.tif'
f6a1d472004b4c8898f03424af7aaaf5
fa8dce81889d3fd6df2ecf7f3cd7345d34ccd5ec
describe
'74319' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMO' 'sip-files00113.jp2'
f44c37e18d0f061d9075bc43df185b87
be539b023122648182593a1d489f0b09b5545e28
'2011-11-17T19:32:09-05:00'
describe
'267270' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMP' 'sip-files00113.jpg'
b0c03394a0d9bf58c80dda0b1b5951ee
c4553186f0c9a4af6820adf7a4d1a807937ea4b9
'2011-11-17T19:45:44-05:00'
describe
'31548' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMQ' 'sip-files00113.pro'
6d4af87e8ceccd5067170dd6aca13a94
d11ea75e521bfd23f380187f6e73de3056582814
describe
'98851' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMR' 'sip-files00113.QC.jpg'
f6a7a45fbe78c21170bc9fb38d38aaa4
b868f91fefc21b242fa0ff923cda346ca73291fb
describe
'607416' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMS' 'sip-files00113.tif'
16cb7c10ad9f64474c0fe902540457c7
7975ddc2e4c2d4ddabc7d6593092d1ceb06f3b7a
'2011-11-17T19:29:13-05:00'
describe
'1347' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMT' 'sip-files00113.txt'
3ad1262e1a956b29f393450a1f8e5f68
707739d1462e0f33330f999d84d4a86928095a42
'2011-11-17T19:27:05-05:00'
describe
'74366' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMU' 'sip-files00114.jp2'
b335d8fd798833654049eaab8916e1b2
c199c032b4b9ee1ebe4c526232617d3dda792bc0
'2011-11-17T19:27:50-05:00'
describe
'270185' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMV' 'sip-files00114.jpg'
12aa4b4dfb16ab2e529944876905a065
faf348232567dba2f38a52fabef8e06c9d30cb0c
describe
'32344' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMW' 'sip-files00114.pro'
b09ebc39aff38ce3ad48180121557cd4
8d27785074b71683827fc9a27f76a4803db491b3
describe
'102620' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMX' 'sip-files00114.QC.jpg'
9622eeeb9889cf2aeb31bf303dea1b14
3baab98b1fba35104afcdb35ba7487ddfce32e79
'2011-11-17T19:27:14-05:00'
describe
'607192' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMY' 'sip-files00114.tif'
e4d3be4f3c6511f68424fd330382442e
fb1b255c3226fc6e855e9c0565276b4e42bd2141
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKMZ' 'sip-files00114.txt'
a664c1d3a50e856c080d85e63efbca94
31580c0ac45efd934e5d320aa96f0c7c44ec22f8
'2011-11-17T19:45:19-05:00'
describe
'73093' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNA' 'sip-files00115.jp2'
8b20f3524bfef18e746f482726a7febe
c054a839b6f14cd08b8caccb5e5c883e7ccafee3
describe
'265373' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNB' 'sip-files00115.jpg'
c9e371d7df8badc067072728f4a1f40f
bbcea03030dfd0e0b84510b143bb3e181479314e
'2011-11-17T19:47:28-05:00'
describe
'28334' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNC' 'sip-files00115.pro'
1d16b6a58384e8c1d504f2f1ec7bdc46
39375542f9d50042fc89731d839385cd2bf3d596
describe
'99250' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKND' 'sip-files00115.QC.jpg'
958931173c6bdeb7379141c5a549b177
345e8f0fe4c7282a9cc2ffb47868683312f89258
'2011-11-17T19:45:41-05:00'
describe
'598320' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNE' 'sip-files00115.tif'
f11946f1aff3ae5c68d0c7c71c8642cf
7d2345d964423a6dca0ea6354a26b977fa595442
'2011-11-17T19:50:32-05:00'
describe
'1220' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNF' 'sip-files00115.txt'
cb6e3835489f113cfc08c061ae5bd23f
5653ee518db4db7ebb5241cef17572c3234f6fee
'2011-11-17T19:29:31-05:00'
describe
'73867' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNG' 'sip-files00116.jp2'
731852bc8b8e90ac88d1200a9c2230c1
7aadac3bc615abf2ae1a587349e23cfbc6e79bce
describe
'279239' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNH' 'sip-files00116.jpg'
54c656649985b9d2ac9a49ec350725e5
2adc33fe62fca1604baa521ff471df8ec8e610f0
'2011-11-17T19:28:13-05:00'
describe
'35812' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNI' 'sip-files00116.pro'
92d73c3506c13ae7005b4b54ca7648d4
6fe9393bad55de790dd560367ce9712613da8206
'2011-11-17T19:28:00-05:00'
describe
'102453' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNJ' 'sip-files00116.QC.jpg'
0745622aee3f0b8d553adb5c1348826f
297f6b850a9a94058ecc33faa464ad234dbbbe62
'2011-11-17T19:43:57-05:00'
describe
'603816' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNK' 'sip-files00116.tif'
15bb58d59a687b51af4ff4ec62588d5e
a40757708c534e267a59278927684b769784d25d
'2011-11-17T19:43:53-05:00'
describe
'1525' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNL' 'sip-files00116.txt'
7173a04de82facb0ac99d00387811f7f
232cf8ab72c747cf301dbf167b2225d60a23386d
describe
'74216' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNM' 'sip-files00117.jp2'
d624ae27d95a919de0f2d4d18dfcafa4
0f245d2038a038c5ef3d41cb30d03275abd212d9
describe
'265215' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNN' 'sip-files00117.jpg'
551fb561b10b10ab2276da44b3587898
7c00e713aef76586c30e0f2d38f1dff5920d77f8
'2011-11-17T19:44:50-05:00'
describe
'31043' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNO' 'sip-files00117.pro'
306e459267d3952b743906b004ae4e99
7620bb8e09b02589eb656d8116c03c495406ca40
'2011-11-17T19:51:34-05:00'
describe
'100036' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNP' 'sip-files00117.QC.jpg'
960c38a68a6425dfc5c1581aca4f5964
7c07e01ea5284844b3a6d3efc9f4b6cfe2229856
'2011-11-17T19:31:17-05:00'
describe
'606368' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNQ' 'sip-files00117.tif'
0fe723b321effd0a0f754ac7cdd2dcf9
d434afe8327e8bebe7e88fc408f839cda46f051e
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNR' 'sip-files00117.txt'
d2f5b4ffa4ff198d949ad06b3d0df445
7f27469011016e71bfc10bcaa3fabc7d59886e84
describe
'75463' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNS' 'sip-files00118.jp2'
88795b3721a64904f66800e852d3f5fc
3bcd58bcf5bed66167e75cfed9adf2fbfbfe8ea4
'2011-11-17T19:49:00-05:00'
describe
'272744' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNT' 'sip-files00118.jpg'
31abf6b4766daa58270e893599929b68
92decf849c7e089164e47c9439d4fedfa2b9d050
describe
'32065' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNU' 'sip-files00118.pro'
66f14c6be2fc301ceae72db2adb357cd
455323944dd07848b5c338ae65c0c6440a2f1534
describe
'101943' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNV' 'sip-files00118.QC.jpg'
9af6abc45be402771da89f1aa25eafe8
c3bc82c6244452b213415fbc8505e92ea0c6c051
describe
'615584' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNW' 'sip-files00118.tif'
c7b3d798ce7e7e05c6f2aea39043776a
e28a5198aef0b313a80c3310d6ca68537333e98f
'2011-11-17T19:28:38-05:00'
describe
'1362' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNX' 'sip-files00118.txt'
e73ba4aa976802d6818dd4a2e5b615e5
a586375833f3217beaeb89700ea97c02e70fd75f
describe
Invalid character
'74225' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNY' 'sip-files00119.jp2'
40f34162894b1ae359e070129578f49a
566f229d5585efd12e52011f11da7d6cb0112521
'2011-11-17T19:31:37-05:00'
describe
'275806' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKNZ' 'sip-files00119.jpg'
a555aaf4ec60be6675caa1b7364bed78
414a30a9bb6e04920da7c2c13ba3584c6d2cd84e
'2011-11-17T19:32:29-05:00'
describe
'31267' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOA' 'sip-files00119.pro'
2e9c150893468ca7f4eddd860d7ed3de
f6d40b76ebe7a3b8fef88ab499454c0137368771
'2011-11-17T19:49:36-05:00'
describe
'102262' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOB' 'sip-files00119.QC.jpg'
f4373b79ae2009474ec8a7a9fe0498bd
1819bce5606d6e4470bf13c743c5d7872d6b787d
describe
'607100' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOC' 'sip-files00119.tif'
79e2da748bf609cd1633e3fd7b383307
214c986b53e17b9168ac0fc74c7cb9171ee84fd2
describe
'1325' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOD' 'sip-files00119.txt'
f506a1ad9702e5cdd90d1024c419921f
b0e5462ceaabe3d63c6ce523eef3d3da7f13b61f
describe
Invalid character
'72743' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOE' 'sip-files00120.jp2'
0317b156006f821d3dd6e3118132b6c1
a0248f521b0b650dcd1d2a62a3a6d342bdb32188
'2011-11-17T19:44:08-05:00'
describe
'267416' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOF' 'sip-files00120.jpg'
89ae9ddac34da098bad5783463702140
5dced3fd3aca56aac176ad8d4c9a3c18d380d59d
describe
'31440' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOG' 'sip-files00120.pro'
ed4083a72a57f1d52787a44a0a17bb9b
63813d613244c2870ace75675c9fc7f5544d70f8
describe
'101070' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOH' 'sip-files00120.QC.jpg'
6011d1d2d22079f94a9f804ea3d977d9
3bb6e061786506798d717f610ce266861492a06f
'2011-11-17T19:49:05-05:00'
describe
'595908' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOI' 'sip-files00120.tif'
c3a95a7e826632b392b939383b108f44
6ea82fd6fb7e9e7584aaa470d87383fd9073bd5e
'2011-11-17T19:47:53-05:00'
describe
'1334' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOJ' 'sip-files00120.txt'
1e9f82970805041d0bd33379c3cdd550
0245cdf086a4418d08c72c1d99e00965bd8ba28a
describe
Invalid character
'71855' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOK' 'sip-files00121.jp2'
24a2b7c195cd31fc4c5998c1d764098d
7111357ea6a2187c115bcf37381e1a0cc39068f7
describe
'249554' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOL' 'sip-files00121.jpg'
e68a76bc524e103042401d6427627c0b
af88578e57e8e86a8489f388d1826f75589f5a0c
'2011-11-17T19:44:57-05:00'
describe
'28713' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOM' 'sip-files00121.pro'
95eb4240f23c72b46d00ff3c69f12951
9bd6d097c9964ba59499f986c161ae99b19c9554
describe
'94744' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKON' 'sip-files00121.QC.jpg'
a25bef0dc45ca62e2ec3b7c5ed1b092f
72b2c86f51c12c4872c24baf7ebeba07b13b5b59
describe
'588008' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOO' 'sip-files00121.tif'
832c496b9f2851286725aef027ed6c12
26aeb9ad79768457eea167b296d848ae03f15f9a
describe
'1228' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOP' 'sip-files00121.txt'
bd714093646ca0fdbecfcec58de31574
cf0a1708c5779f5b831efc812982a53530520ee5
describe
'74266' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOQ' 'sip-files00122.jp2'
2f973c7688227f92d50529b09d118458
e99e95170886325a6692a8164ade0fb912c36094
describe
'254206' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOR' 'sip-files00122.jpg'
268185e5ca3f7a3b4accd82a321a91e4
1ad4f789465de2df75782f1def1f75180c3c531a
describe
'28532' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOS' 'sip-files00122.pro'
6b100a299f2a41395b0454370ca44fe4
dc2d41590d37e6f53c28e3541d602ca9ff5c5bdc
describe
'97665' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOT' 'sip-files00122.QC.jpg'
31c9269376bc3fb3944e6d1725d990f0
220e2866d2fb25134b08afec3806e23517699611
describe
'606460' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOU' 'sip-files00122.tif'
8d63d7be8cc819cd4447ab8bc7f82421
fcf96b6f83186bade0b54435421c92f9484cdb4d
'2011-11-17T19:27:55-05:00'
describe
'1196' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOV' 'sip-files00122.txt'
1225d33d8c09a7340a5d68725c279444
10f9db97b18badc728ef6284ce84dd25eb400d67
describe
'72824' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOW' 'sip-files00123.jp2'
b14dc1a44995ec6f1b6ef8376f3d99d3
52c5d4c0fe8188b80b3529895913be6b388c984c
'2011-11-17T19:44:54-05:00'
describe
'258619' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOX' 'sip-files00123.jpg'
97a2b277363b728668d5ab8c7bf7c324
fa63c55e1fe7aa7546ce7490de48c8ddeb5ec245
'2011-11-17T19:48:38-05:00'
describe
'32791' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOY' 'sip-files00123.pro'
f7ab4ddc79e5b7f09e3a8d577a5edb0e
2fc4ebe1cc5e3ecaf556979a10278371c661e04b
'2011-11-17T19:29:01-05:00'
describe
'97150' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKOZ' 'sip-files00123.QC.jpg'
de29ca272d2ba16a8de5acfed4f242a4
a8782a8c3d19444e2e39657af0256e3562e73d39
describe
'595124' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPA' 'sip-files00123.tif'
e2756e458e3b812a66429a88721c1249
405f2c5cf12eaf4c7f6d5de96df50c2bb49f217a
describe
'1387' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPB' 'sip-files00123.txt'
c65c1c663f53c182918321e7b84c518d
3a81db9e216ed366697d54a93b1fc300f6960249
'2011-11-17T19:32:28-05:00'
describe
'74359' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPC' 'sip-files00124.jp2'
05eccde229e918a6faa2ad7002c51ca3
14a4f7635352783f21aa9b5539b6048ccd620310
describe
'263736' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPD' 'sip-files00124.jpg'
e5fe6ad360f967e43164ba4291b1bc8d
0a2b88087e4b73fb78a12676d1b38337ad9b0154
'2011-11-17T19:47:33-05:00'
describe
'28323' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPE' 'sip-files00124.pro'
a247aad4a21429a7a1bde7a904f0db83
47f67b0b3eafe96796ae8202880f67aa8255bc12
describe
'99153' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPF' 'sip-files00124.QC.jpg'
f760fdcabebff4f4a9c8b49f222bc3ee
578961e957c6c78778962ecc82931d188b9cc42f
describe
'606880' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPG' 'sip-files00124.tif'
c131ce4ad451995795a2e6b807300915
e4c2e34953f0d591754cab3a429c60acea394d79
describe
'1201' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPH' 'sip-files00124.txt'
7f9aace48734c71c671aa23aa07a5b6d
9086a01dcfe78eabf188cd9ccd4b9bd6bceb25a2
'2011-11-17T19:32:15-05:00'
describe
'73506' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPI' 'sip-files00125.jp2'
b2ad2252614b405b7353c3f8e6c0f235
47df2428bc698535744f971c568fd8172da56e21
'2011-11-17T19:48:10-05:00'
describe
'246056' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPJ' 'sip-files00125.jpg'
209cd561ca5829a53217d24d204fec6c
a352e88a5f451bbe67faa5a64b132cda03296d5d
describe
'30875' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPK' 'sip-files00125.pro'
7f6489b401cc2b1b338d8416f8a20da7
e4b72a8d9b2d2dd0bde40598bcf40a7e1926f2f4
describe
'95923' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPL' 'sip-files00125.QC.jpg'
612405b92d62ea4225bdd3b626a7420a
687026fb0e3645d45e03108467602177ac3d4548
'2011-11-17T19:32:27-05:00'
describe
'599968' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPM' 'sip-files00125.tif'
a2ed552f7263aeefb5e007a6cbfd2160
0217dab109950e966874abbdfbaed2b1cf4f09a9
describe
'1360' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPN' 'sip-files00125.txt'
40ca120f5ae76c6360d00531e164068a
464a02d23763ea2331b84247b79f2e259e7c9ef7
describe
Invalid character
'75376' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPO' 'sip-files00126.jp2'
49ad0a4ea90fd3801f7a61fb0c33b173
72693db314d6fe5fc4781b2cdf65c5e2a4a8d015
describe
'256169' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPP' 'sip-files00126.jpg'
83c29658b9ba1cb0c7f49fccdb15e53f
21c9f6e5f9d1058436c2ac8d695144588be5bb1c
'2011-11-17T19:51:21-05:00'
describe
'26355' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPQ' 'sip-files00126.pro'
c2b594146dca277035f70e413cb9fa70
0be6c1c89396d93c361d4106ff837409c8efbad4
describe
'100079' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPR' 'sip-files00126.QC.jpg'
f6f2ee9435fe85d54cf0f39698ff37da
52b4f7318d75eb4310899c62871420e8dc3eecd6
'2011-11-17T19:29:34-05:00'
describe
'614968' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPS' 'sip-files00126.tif'
51c733dda3c0a58c3ca69d5928aabe1d
faf882bf9e8cccc32d0680bdf42cfacc51cc843f
describe
'1111' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPT' 'sip-files00126.txt'
669bd54a416915cab608894b91292a9b
ba2d0a035e4162de56f02bcf5067529520ead90d
'2011-11-17T19:44:38-05:00'
describe
'72005' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPU' 'sip-files00127.jp2'
c8ccb0b67bc83eeb13eac0b892c404bf
3c461c9e5867748a0c7e92637072cbfaa4f77a4c
describe
'246878' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPV' 'sip-files00127.jpg'
620dc21cefd1136a89e8ef099337a201
5ecf31b82c60334e14f7b0b7e329a55633e32653
describe
'26287' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPW' 'sip-files00127.pro'
50e2cd88864a2d23459dafac8eddf119
438ea4d68142cf8d9c82fb1c4c5fbea154dc7910
describe
'92333' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPX' 'sip-files00127.QC.jpg'
d7bd743f11870e49cc05d2ed53149a75
6a88eaf9645e3f161f3ccf0a730db4166453c85c
describe
'588352' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPY' 'sip-files00127.tif'
c9a98e56c7ee0166b4076e1138183704
14ed7917d8b21fccfe8142fcef4aa26bcb5244bb
'2011-11-17T19:30:51-05:00'
describe
'1176' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKPZ' 'sip-files00127.txt'
fab17b806aa8e8f5e215a9a1bd8b77ff
f38e8ea241ab3598c71d658036d469e6f1f3e099
describe
'73641' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQA' 'sip-files00128.jp2'
0578b9ab0176d7670b69ddd8d7bdf147
aeb2341b82075ac63de254f3ea30e31555b74f67
describe
'282921' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQB' 'sip-files00128.jpg'
3f7ba567c920ff2abc9a3b2acfce14f5
baa90122201fbf8b031515f1aaeac3d6b5525466
'2011-11-17T19:27:02-05:00'
describe
'6229' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQC' 'sip-files00128.pro'
e31f6f9ba3ecd31198fc237752ba2e6b
fd45a97a15e544200799c3694e37ef12cbb89719
describe
'97839' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQD' 'sip-files00128.QC.jpg'
d68e0b18fcb7d667dbee1c67f759fc46
0dd3d78c2530d10069339fa7ddb8aa6b5cc2011a
'2011-11-17T19:49:37-05:00'
describe
'601356' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQE' 'sip-files00128.tif'
662f03ac614ad8a24a91b5cce62c5927
9c23af08c62a63d54e1dae24a33e615ee2b935ec
describe
'356' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQF' 'sip-files00128.txt'
26b01020350472dedc8eac2f584ae48d
d1a478300f000ae91c18a1f0ef124a51707b3058
describe
Invalid character
'72783' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQG' 'sip-files00129.jp2'
9e6b92151f63e5fa94754bcda1fab2a4
7ddf45b5e3a564ed8779df0e8e57df3be224d8ee
'2011-11-17T19:29:29-05:00'
describe
'251255' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQH' 'sip-files00129.jpg'
2cd7d6e15e8240727d8cd43bd89a7380
4834722a6b97c66913c4c63516885e0c746c6bba
describe
'21477' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQI' 'sip-files00129.pro'
a94a6d71737faf28955781186dc40d28
0576b5edbc3041ee025df892e1dc073dc72c938b
'2011-11-17T19:49:49-05:00'
describe
'96216' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQJ' 'sip-files00129.QC.jpg'
ccc1b85fc62b3cf9038f352889528d62
84feb20f5c578647ec7f2eab0baeafb8d599901a
'2011-11-17T19:50:26-05:00'
describe
'594276' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQK' 'sip-files00129.tif'
9dabb5470c94ebfb65bcb7af47c8664e
4d3746c5df0a5213b388c453d3dadadb81e436b2
'2011-11-17T19:45:48-05:00'
describe
'970' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQL' 'sip-files00129.txt'
a55520ff420e80fba935043a3acaf478
9f17983a7c3a70901aa1118872708a0925acef84
'2011-11-17T19:45:43-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73942' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQM' 'sip-files00130.jp2'
60c989c7b3df44e38593061b7e09d12c
7f294b195116f8573c930a5b326162ef46f5d54a
'2011-11-17T19:27:47-05:00'
describe
'255897' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQN' 'sip-files00130.jpg'
10f7f56e847307c2738843e478ac08bf
6b5c6c117d5b00d060614e408c0dee3231c9f00d
'2011-11-17T19:44:10-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQO' 'sip-files00130.pro'
09414e2b01575fb7bba7e3c1c86252d1
081a91fd8ed1b28e6185f1f6d2277b0d0876f1b6
'2011-11-17T19:39:31-05:00'
describe
'98413' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQP' 'sip-files00130.QC.jpg'
e692ad9609f2c2a240887cd5446b2800
611f01191338db719dd704233d5dc83c5210e89f
describe
'603616' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQQ' 'sip-files00130.tif'
c2822b10fd5776d18dca5438d4253991
b430f3286455d952ceb66a2210cb1c0f6a7d263d
'2011-11-17T19:50:14-05:00'
describe
'1242' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQR' 'sip-files00130.txt'
2d2a691aa7fdc1405886c1d249b7695d
47d458eb7da7ee9b5f0f141df9e143d55a5782f9
'2011-11-17T19:45:17-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'73265' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQS' 'sip-files00131.jp2'
2df5a1a06033ab72eb330dfb960dba16
64c0f03bdf9238700fd71490054dec991ac7a9dd
'2011-11-17T19:47:58-05:00'
describe
'333492' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQT' 'sip-files00131.jpg'
30b9cd0cb7ba82c86c40fd63f172c040
a0db8598bc8260a7c161445d92e497f4da0fea96
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQU' 'sip-files00131.pro'
fb10170e01cd86127bcdd8ea61c3e87c
776f84c5e8ef3bd0f45e43add43bbb49b45fe490
describe
'99212' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQV' 'sip-files00131.QC.jpg'
6b43bf68ce4b478aef32c9a48cf36416
6c1db31736068657101a665b23b45a8838f1c5d9
describe
'599460' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQW' 'sip-files00131.tif'
2d71471aac339e9afd5466a3bf41ce49
44e1adeb9dfcfe4b33ff9efb69926eadcbeacc55
describe
'75073' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQX' 'sip-files00132.jp2'
709b47262532bba9dbf8fc00ecf1847d
b0e443cf8ff6ec0d5b648e183e83bc87556c9ce6
'2011-11-17T19:28:31-05:00'
describe
'102717' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQY' 'sip-files00132.jpg'
c2e53fa8ff9f1d1a5cafc653052397a6
e19f4dbd90dd05eca564db8ad8f61130e20fff92
describe
'42471' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKQZ' 'sip-files00132.QC.jpg'
ff30ae829f80d036cccc462c61d044f7
1fa5874f0e2548f2b2ee21ef1479713565fbe31f
'2011-11-17T19:48:59-05:00'
describe
'608972' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRA' 'sip-files00132.tif'
3891e0ad2a4333b165e76ff92e6d9d49
3045d66c70a756ab863d29846faefc046ace22d1
describe
'72617' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRB' 'sip-files00133.jp2'
d2d02b0d4de4e85e0e57bcf9ddd008bc
a8e1240db788be0b6d45d1bc8349b5d38bcb2927
'2011-11-17T19:28:17-05:00'
describe
'243176' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRC' 'sip-files00133.jpg'
36094d638b07d978b490ba34261f4923
76a0e12267a72de0ba5ab6bc8e25272996da64f3
describe
'29817' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRD' 'sip-files00133.pro'
2057ed7077bf7e11bce48328b4619b3a
808d93f76dc19e018aab83285e5d4674ccea977d
describe
'93753' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRE' 'sip-files00133.QC.jpg'
4405b8db924220db790f92e6920bf1ff
ad3334f01f46361daed1616abba142bd7cddc619
'2011-11-17T19:48:21-05:00'
describe
'592748' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRF' 'sip-files00133.tif'
26a429f3e1c04729d579a71f10926bfe
69be5369d96d73f9dd026a2cd47d33b5b6814ab2
'2011-11-17T19:39:36-05:00'
describe
'1294' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRG' 'sip-files00133.txt'
fb536450e423c619592b551a559d9b99
0ec823e6dfcb60d40dee11075af0c99abdf09026
describe
'73973' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRH' 'sip-files00134.jp2'
da0c4ce66c9da8978d099eb375264cad
c41c10ee9ba92b971ab025d73ebe368da4c9543a
describe
'267490' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRI' 'sip-files00134.jpg'
efd5156fc26056ae402dc59ff2320ff2
3a0dc5e129fe6f57daa4d2a76ef09fe9022c6b57
'2011-11-17T19:45:29-05:00'
describe
'33802' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRJ' 'sip-files00134.pro'
2693ac47db8b78db0c70ae50031104ad
68553ced46f654220ec503cbe1a27f64559a840d
'2011-11-17T19:32:04-05:00'
describe
'101166' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRK' 'sip-files00134.QC.jpg'
a6cca5971c11f2940d46e365d5425c36
0b1b5f13f9a115cacd955614a47cbb9340234824
describe
'603784' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRL' 'sip-files00134.tif'
0894659af4937aa7c2afae909901b1b5
776bd0b3a89db9b9513d92bd42163aca9e14eef0
describe
'1409' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRM' 'sip-files00134.txt'
48a85a14cd94b34a0714312ae1044f74
cefe87bbaeb68fcae36b6218d3aaf2bbc5841514
'2011-11-17T19:48:45-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'72629' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRN' 'sip-files00135.jp2'
2120ac63f88e8ddafeb36fb516bbb40f
00f3410923e3f693b00e9c654f461bb85df39af9
describe
'256841' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRO' 'sip-files00135.jpg'
4bffeb69cf296b8ce26bd72a200aa9ca
aa867950fa9c3dcd1ace390d0cca14c1f609a72d
describe
'32676' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRP' 'sip-files00135.pro'
5eacfbf2fba6f79aaa418481322b1c9d
661bd9125a4a38bbf2a01610d60a8624c64ef498
'2011-11-17T19:51:19-05:00'
describe
'96160' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRQ' 'sip-files00135.QC.jpg'
5a151e4e2cdc2b8594e1f978a4ccd4a9
88a55dae440a6bc9aa8a92077430abbd216e0f75
describe
'593832' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRR' 'sip-files00135.tif'
cf393f3d13eebf4b5fff629f265ad9e3
f624d7ed96c95db2dd7c4cb3739d29a4fe3e2a2c
'2011-11-17T19:39:41-05:00'
describe
'1410' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRS' 'sip-files00135.txt'
83afe8adacb8549133592bb2d009f891
bb49b574b8e761ed629429b1e7df76881ffc1bad
'2011-11-17T19:27:03-05:00'
describe
'74507' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRT' 'sip-files00136.jp2'
f29af1c60722dd2877080098c1c1f314
903076c8112ccd08444591a3453021446c2ae2d6
describe
'267897' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRU' 'sip-files00136.jpg'
de01ab770123224aca880b3c16d77132
e8acd79afa1881b792d9953f66db593c9c1357a3
describe
'19779' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRV' 'sip-files00136.pro'
a8fb269eb97fb98943f195a2820a2588
c2ecd62181a938bcb1bdd2c7041f4b33e3a86723
'2011-11-17T19:51:11-05:00'
describe
'101498' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRW' 'sip-files00136.QC.jpg'
8ec7c07fc198ce8724176b3c1c2ca2bd
b0155f94fa49ebf1784f605e271a4555a47918a1
describe
'607936' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRX' 'sip-files00136.tif'
b4ebc3c9de0baf0e1306799f33a31586
35d6f557bbbbcb6a19e9f022a1923eda815a85da
'2011-11-17T19:45:32-05:00'
describe
'945' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRY' 'sip-files00136.txt'
0ddfc94097ffbb08b2f7200a6c20dbd9
4a8912fcf48e76596f8c10dbcd4745086881deae
describe
Invalid character
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKRZ' 'sip-files00137.jp2'
5bbbf087de331450de1e69d7298cb6ae
b112d34bc1cdbb6f57b4c1554336438201f3410e
describe
'279015' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSA' 'sip-files00137.jpg'
62106e64d4fe4736699cbadfd80d106d
cc3a0100fef069c76a4a192b7e2728b9d17d13b9
'2011-11-17T19:50:00-05:00'
describe
'31682' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSB' 'sip-files00137.pro'
ceb1293818b83aed3ad9421cf97a4747
3bc667de60d21ce1c40491da750a80f2be9678f5
describe
'104791' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSC' 'sip-files00137.QC.jpg'
f608ee882fc08d94381d03c353f5c924
38d4a6d3426e2d68edbfa5c6f14cee84bb039e32
describe
'605484' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSD' 'sip-files00137.tif'
2e5300f98c1cf0b45aca61ed83f53ae6
4a45535bc3a843d99d7eb2c6e22624df0fd3775d
describe
'1342' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSE' 'sip-files00137.txt'
bc1e8e2780e07ed074952bde96e1c207
fb3c46901fc466b68c7f65c2240395300041e7c7
describe
'72391' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSF' 'sip-files00138.jp2'
32debfb52bccc9842906501f54700ce5
471597d5d78cd571ac97f6643ea11a68289bf7a0
'2011-11-17T19:44:20-05:00'
describe
'255228' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSG' 'sip-files00138.jpg'
22c4ab3e93ef1450197e950182a9750b
9622d87970e2cc35accfce0ed65c925a2b035fe6
describe
'29625' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSH' 'sip-files00138.pro'
b3176c710edb67e49e383c82e75038b4
86e3e7b336407b04c5d4e5696291a143a41899c5
'2011-11-17T19:49:48-05:00'
describe
'97369' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSI' 'sip-files00138.QC.jpg'
813b764fff0abbeedc07c3f8bf18b689
65786049dabfce11f5f765737092e52fc69f2c06
describe
'591972' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSJ' 'sip-files00138.tif'
b643e9bd0be8e76ce1e0357f93322354
b2bbcd9bffe07e810b200cd5de8672f7ba265ed3
describe
'1270' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSK' 'sip-files00138.txt'
4465cdf853648d007b010f6e0ade3233
83b7b02df678ff782c57dfdd6ed47778b021b4ff
describe
'72764' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSL' 'sip-files00139.jp2'
39c52ece9cdba99d108054f3f6f35dc0
7685ced44f42ee94007150046475014e960b9f00
describe
'268072' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSM' 'sip-files00139.jpg'
59ec91b0afda5924af94ba70a8b8f1bb
d5341e5b0251c6ea38d838d3731a133ca2aa79e8
describe
'32018' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSN' 'sip-files00139.pro'
ab0421d910d4e0320b1cc9fcc92fb9e9
8d28008b05f9bb4f4bbad4072b6babc6b47a2193
'2011-11-17T19:29:16-05:00'
describe
'100040' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSO' 'sip-files00139.QC.jpg'
a2235f5bfd5eeb4978b41ba95e468c76
a5a3d4dc54a67e08f68c20f538d0f91e00570d33
'2011-11-17T19:27:49-05:00'
describe
'594620' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSP' 'sip-files00139.tif'
bd8a6a09b3f1b6a6c3eeb11e461e71ec
7bb02d41ea56dd3741c33c435d20de5c3f26f479
'2011-11-17T19:47:30-05:00'
describe
'1364' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSQ' 'sip-files00139.txt'
44a2b0a14757936fa97c5e557e91ac33
e5792291234989a3cf14e2196ca9cc3be50e889b
'2011-11-17T19:31:01-05:00'
describe
'73643' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSR' 'sip-files00140.jp2'
b3c684ed6749a8f5265813dfd7abd61a
8ee6ceefb9a58875e35c4cacaa6c0bd654c044f3
describe
'256386' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSS' 'sip-files00140.jpg'
3d524b950d420e6efe96c6145ad6634d
ff70f59b26c4409184e508ea05f750412ca2f416
'2011-11-17T19:28:33-05:00'
describe
'30298' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKST' 'sip-files00140.pro'
5cb7d4e65d712d48014865a5736f7856
1bfb2ab4b4b99c6f521d0ce1526cb93c43638b71
describe
'98316' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSU' 'sip-files00140.QC.jpg'
7516397174fdd6e97405194628f21cff
1e5a805a920814c677246d324d477a43c43fc96b
'2011-11-17T19:50:24-05:00'
describe
'601292' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSV' 'sip-files00140.tif'
3ce82ce675ec02bc09adba73b51c8c42
1451117e30cd89f7257a7d18aef1cabf3be9c94d
describe
'1279' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSW' 'sip-files00140.txt'
87c140490c59562bc1555eef0788ed73
21507d76c0c774e61e42be9a700836fe7152a190
describe
'74110' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSX' 'sip-files00141.jp2'
0d63c37aadc3f2814f4ddb7a71d8c5bf
98ecfb9435efc3d06723d0c8cc662f74c8f17dc1
describe
'261014' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSY' 'sip-files00141.jpg'
64fe8ba93f1c60543183d1df7e88ff0b
6829dc0c261c0566e74b7fc51b34993df3ce8a3f
describe
'29428' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKSZ' 'sip-files00141.pro'
f975e0f6e25d38c50a7c3d0d83339148
43401cfca98e3f34acfb6830f0e948c5714d6088
describe
'99161' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTA' 'sip-files00141.QC.jpg'
8d6d408e6528b346880be3146f161c29
cb5985348017d42b4b646a4d9a8a4c95e602bc17
describe
'605184' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTB' 'sip-files00141.tif'
4bad44b5aa22d16fc7ad501809c69100
0ddcdbc3aece00ffd0df355f826c2f9167fd2439
describe
'1250' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTC' 'sip-files00141.txt'
39460aa11b13fae41c7bf90730f85ec7
fc6694caff01ba00fabf0f097d17b9692f84bf6a
'2011-11-17T19:39:38-05:00'
describe
'73545' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTD' 'sip-files00142.jp2'
00527d290dd52f3dab4105d79c9a7135
0cef521a9418954a8df5d76b47bca25a2c210d07
describe
'259883' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTE' 'sip-files00142.jpg'
73f1983e956f22b63f5840378cb524a4
07f22938feab5cb4e71987bb6ab6a149096839bf
'2011-11-17T19:49:58-05:00'
describe
'30577' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTF' 'sip-files00142.pro'
aa9f08a3736574a65ccd6f3c966d56db
e7cf446a4496c8732e3dae9e8e7633a888bdb079
describe
'99509' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTG' 'sip-files00142.QC.jpg'
5e690dea4fadefda2356000ceb860dae
061e4d0c7f1b29472726b943af82559999a5a595
describe
'600808' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTH' 'sip-files00142.tif'
966510f2e12cb812d45597b06a8b0d7c
8c2bcc3f467c88895476fa90f4e3caa402c51500
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTI' 'sip-files00142.txt'
1642a840065e7650361bd0d9d654e5af
974faf44a2195ddcbc4a727805b09d60167ae480
'2011-11-17T19:41:58-05:00'
describe
'72862' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTJ' 'sip-files00143.jp2'
280ca8507f3e1bd175411b2c543a8e11
d83e1d96d5cf795d030d6b12a190bae028234821
describe
'263448' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTK' 'sip-files00143.jpg'
c6548d2196133678249aa5066725654a
38be018879a6fa38961357379d7c4854088e1213
describe
'31781' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTL' 'sip-files00143.pro'
97ab0b464424df68f3477c3d42252e7e
311bbd7888c3533de62d9d677a21181b196decb9
'2011-11-17T19:51:51-05:00'
describe
'98988' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTM' 'sip-files00143.QC.jpg'
955fda69cd7cc2555cce6f4bb65dc6b8
20abce91137b5aa6f04e90815c817ab71fbff2ea
'2011-11-17T19:48:44-05:00'
describe
'596444' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTN' 'sip-files00143.tif'
6f59fcf072f0313c0ec91bba72d13e87
a2e17e081776b0c5e1d0b788264f8104eb486bc9
'2011-11-17T19:29:32-05:00'
describe
'1351' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTO' 'sip-files00143.txt'
96cb74cebb7e9845b8cc3080483113e6
c7fb597a46174bbd0af97574615771519d164730
'2011-11-17T19:43:33-05:00'
describe
'72133' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTP' 'sip-files00144.jp2'
b0251dd15c4cafb18799ade1f554ce67
91f843538a7c252127c87b0262143e41c1846b5b
describe
'258533' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTQ' 'sip-files00144.jpg'
e9fea0f0e92fd857367a9e641f45b949
d108dc1a8d3f2c1e5d093dedd492cd5e96444ebf
'2011-11-17T19:26:57-05:00'
describe
'28731' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTR' 'sip-files00144.pro'
8cdf85997d43ca49fe862c7a5a4d6a72
6588855777e9908ddd5b37e160e98115cea19f20
'2011-11-17T19:48:00-05:00'
describe
'96643' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTS' 'sip-files00144.QC.jpg'
4f287301716fe7b707b2287b756f146e
5930891bae9b1515118e0ce379fe38b078473c2b
'2011-11-17T19:31:59-05:00'
describe
'589484' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTT' 'sip-files00144.tif'
c9e5b77987c23bd5e780fa96bf285412
cc005f3663925c04ca2d86026fb99c7093843c4d
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTU' 'sip-files00144.txt'
a4590a25f95386de69d8c1ad26bdffa7
8650e62d2637872bfcad27095c8e2eb7c64071be
'2011-11-17T19:27:36-05:00'
describe
'72238' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTV' 'sip-files00145.jp2'
71129402a414d1ef5fb665e48f23e7ea
4704d0477ba24a4e5667b4a06447a119e1948e1e
'2011-11-17T19:50:18-05:00'
describe
'256896' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTW' 'sip-files00145.jpg'
d2ecf4ff1ff7fffbc34946611d3dbd70
21b696df5137c9b5f94277e2e0ca8f6b03b8d500
describe
'27298' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTX' 'sip-files00145.pro'
6e104b003c9479555951c1df40aa0ae1
5ea04039799e45618b200d392fc3959b35ff73c4
describe
'96022' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTY' 'sip-files00145.QC.jpg'
032ddcdfbac99170e6777b279d4703ce
12164781d86b7c5bdece172a75160ce6dbb30cb6
describe
'590804' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKTZ' 'sip-files00145.tif'
3ab3cad0a08a25880e454bd0599c9549
2ff64098aa1dbe173d23d005d71bec823963c25b
describe
'1175' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUA' 'sip-files00145.txt'
e722fd36d04e4e8ece673008d4b1f7e1
60077539875bbd64b37ca641a5287e675988efd0
describe
'73538' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUB' 'sip-files00146.jp2'
5bd508a991548bb4a324f34b886c96bd
05d44fb2315fc0a67c7563da5cd6e87f72579765
'2011-11-17T19:45:07-05:00'
describe
'278311' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUC' 'sip-files00146.jpg'
113ec6187c45d4ce1c89dca12540eed1
db5066564f4c3d7ed2ed08eeff1e0918599d164b
describe
'33593' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUD' 'sip-files00146.pro'
43d4ab7ef33620f85bd30bcb04d07384
17147636d500b58fbaf30a143b10d6a6a72d2d7f
'2011-11-17T19:29:05-05:00'
describe
'103974' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUE' 'sip-files00146.QC.jpg'
9e3de7ad5acff945fb35b3c99e454769
1ef8073b2fbe90543c07ba13d22c5ff2b96c3741
describe
'601028' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUF' 'sip-files00146.tif'
951f25f590bf2dc217ca4d4ba2a70849
bc3ee377d6e308f4fc9b97d7a4793e4848e7863a
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUG' 'sip-files00146.txt'
5a842a878ff684d2ba9069f24aacddb6
6e9801055bbeb19fd9f4e608c2e8dd7d9519f1d5
'2011-11-17T19:43:25-05:00'
describe
'73451' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUH' 'sip-files00147.jp2'
c63826b0923891e1bfa95f630da58f1c
93f93a98e02da65999ffc3843bb6238186b3bb69
describe
'262748' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUI' 'sip-files00147.jpg'
39d8b764b1fe18c9c485f4c9ebf5782e
9f97ddc6d0fe9f4aa12dab70502df1d121c97a73
describe
'30188' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUJ' 'sip-files00147.pro'
e8f502aa8b04e5efd8bf3c86a2ad5d4c
e2350802c8e292dce533bb1e6cb8f5fcba16afdc
describe
'98716' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUK' 'sip-files00147.QC.jpg'
a9ae0836040c9d886fb295ab8c844d83
8a080f9ee3e48a501e9ef41728b51232eb10e3ca
'2011-11-17T19:50:04-05:00'
describe
'600944' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUL' 'sip-files00147.tif'
01d23afb575c9b4d2e3d364abf273396
3a88639811fc28a35504568e9988d4e3d72de21f
'2011-11-17T19:32:08-05:00'
describe
'1287' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUM' 'sip-files00147.txt'
d1d3cf9589cd6468c0e5fac6b7efc3af
25e84a3ba68592c585603c075fae1d3d413aceff
describe
'73106' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUN' 'sip-files00148.jp2'
bddecca8bad1e5fd13276d59412eae4b
31ed06102ae5352027dd705f1b4b7e6b09e3e2c7
describe
'261283' 'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUO' 'sip-files00148.jpg'
619f0c288673334cddf34d537cbe1732
1fe9b4b2e982464a81aaa281a8afbb42c6b95f6b
describe
'info:fdaE20080927_AAAAMFfileF20080929_AAAKUP' 'sip-files00148.pro'
2b7bd22d41b7652