A white-haired man was sleeping at my feet, a gendarme was sweltering
under his three-cornered hat, and two soldiers had unfastened their
knapsacks and used them as pillows. Near the bowsprit stood a cabin-boy
looking into the stay-sail and whistling for wind, while the skipper
remained aft and managed the tiller. Still no wind arose. Orders were
given to haul in the sails; slowly and gently they came down and fell in
a heap on the benches; then each sailor took off his waistcoat, stowed
it away under the bow of the boat, and the men began to row again with
all their might.
* * * * *
Our departure had been so delayed that there was hardly any water left
in the harbour and we had great difficulty in landing. Our boat grated
on the pebbles, and in order to leave it, we were compelled to walk on
an oar as if it were a tight-rope.
Ensconced between the citadel and its ramparts, and cut in two by an
almost empty port, the Palay appeared to us a useless little town
overcome with military ennui, and put me in mind, I do not know why, of
a gaping _sous-officier_.
One fails to see the low-crowned, broad-brimmed black felt hats of Le
Morbihan, that give protection to the shoulders as well as the head.
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