"Oh, no! Oh, no! I don't want to. It belongs to me, does it not, as it is
my arm?"

And he took and placed it between his feet.

"It will putrefy, just the same," said the older brother. Then an idea
came to the injured man. In order to preserve the fish when the boat was
long at sea, they packed it in salt, in barrels. He asked:

"Why can I not put it in pickle?"

"Why, that's a fact," exclaimed the others.

Then they emptied one of the barrels, which was full from the haul of the
last few days; and right at the bottom of the barrel they laid the
detached arm. They covered it with salt, and then put back the fish one
by one.

One of the sailors said by way of joke:

"I hope we do not sell it at auction."

And everyone laughed, except the two Javels.

The wind was still boisterous. They tacked within sight of Boulogne until
the following morning at ten o'clock. Young Javel continued to bathe his
wound. From time to time he rose and walked from one end to the other of
the boat.