When Barazère was laid on the long new plank, suspended in mid air over the foaming waves, the bonnets of the sailors were all removed in a last salute; a signalman recited a prayer, hands made the sign of the cross--and then, at my command, the plank was tilted and there came the dull sound of a heavy thing plunging into the water. The _Primauguet_ passed on its way, and the body of Barazère sank into the abyss, immense in depth and extent, of the great ocean. Then, very softly, as a reproach, I repeated to Yves who was near me, the phrase of the night before: "It is with men as with beasts: more will come, but . . ." "Oh!" he replied; "it was not I who said that; it was he." (_He_--that is to say, Barrada--heard him and turned his head towards us. There were tears in his eyes.) We looked behind us with uneasiness, at the wake; for it happens sometimes, when the following shark is there, that a stain of blood appears on the surface of the sea. But no, there was nothing; he had descended in peace into the depths below. An infinite descent, first rapid as in a fall; then slow, slow, petering out little by little in the ever-increasing density of the deeper waters. A mysterious journey of many leagues into unplumbed abysms; during which the darkened sun shows first like a pale moon, then turns green, then trembles, and finally is effaced. And then the eternal darkness begins; the waters rise, rise, gathering over the head of the dead traveller like the waters of a deluge which should reach up to the stars. But, below, the dead body has lost its loathsomeness; matter is never unclean in an absolute sense. In the darkness the invisible animals of the deep waters will come and encompass it; the mysterious madrepores will put forth upon it their branches, eating it very slowly with the thousand little mouths of their living flowers. This grave of sailors cannot be violated by any human hand. He who has descended to sleep below is more dead than any other dead man; nothing of him will ever appear again; never will he mingle with that old dust of men which, on the surface of the earth, is for ever seeking to recombine in an eternal effort to live again. He belongs to the life of the world below; he is going to pass into plants of colourless stone, into sluggish animals which are without shape and without eyes. . . . CHAPTER XCI On the evening of the burial of Barazère, Yves had brought his friend Jean Barrada with him to my room. They were now the only survivors of the old band: Kerboul, Le Hello, had been sleeping for many a long day at the bottom of the sea, to which they too had descended in the fullness of youth; the others had left to join the merchant service, or had returned to their villages: all were scattered. Yves and Barrada were very old friends. On shore, when they were together, it was not good to cross them in their whims.