The vessel was a French fishing brig from the island of St. Malo in the
English Channel. None of the crew understood English and neither of us
could speak French, but they understood the language of distress and
kindness needs no interpreter. The captain showed me a calendar and
pointed to the tenth of June, and when I pointed to the second he
evidently found it hard to believe me, but John's condition helped to
corroborate my statement. They let us eat as much as we wished, but
nature protected us, for the process of eating was so painful at first
that I felt like a sword swallower who had partaken too freely of his
favorite dish. Fortunately, also, our hosts were living the simple life.
Their menu consisted chiefly of sliced bread over which had been poured
the broth of fish cooked in water and light wine, the same fish cooked
in oil as a second course, bread and hardtack, and an occasional dish of
beans, which seemed to be regarded by them as a luxury. They had an
abundance of beer and light wine and in the morning before going to haul
their trawls, coffee was served with brandy.
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