Captains of the Sands Read Online Free

since he crossed the threshold of this establishment, the cases of rebellion and rule-breaking have increased. This priest is nothing but an instigator of the general bad character of the minors under my care. And that is why I am going to close the doors of this house of education to him.
    Nevertheless, sir, picking up the words of the seamstress who wrote to your paper, I am the one who invites you to send a reporter to the Reformatory. I make a point of this. In that way we and the public too will know for certain and in truth the way in which minors are treated as they are regenerated by the Bahian Reformatory for Juvenile Delinquents and Abandoned Boys. I expect your reporter next Monday. And if I don’t say that he can come whenever he likes, it is because visits must bemade on the days authorized by the rules, and it is my custom always to obey the rules. This is the only reason I invite your reporter for Monday. I will be most gratified if you print this. In this way the false vicar of Christ will be confounded.
    Your thankful admirer,
    Director of the Bahian Reformatory for Juvenile Delinquents and Abandoned Boys
    (Published on the third page of the
Jornal da Tarde
with a photograph of the Reformatory and an item advising that on Monday next a reporter of the
Jornal da Tarde
will visit the Reformatory.)
    A MODEL ESTABLISHMENT WHERE PEACE AND WORK REIGN—A DIRECTOR WHO IS A FRIEND—EXCELLENT FOOD—CHILDREN WHO WORK AND PLAY—CHILD THIEVES ON THE ROAD TO REGENERATION—UNFOUNDED ACCUSATIONS—ONLY AN INCORRIGIBLE WILL COMPLAIN—THE “BAHIAN REFORMATORY” IS ONE BIG FAMILY—WHERE THE “CAPTAINS OF THE SANDS” OUGHT TO BE.
    (Titles in article published in the second Tuesday edition of the
Jornal da Tarde
, taking up the whole front page, on the Bahian Reformatory, with several pictures of the building and one of the Director.)

IN THE MOONLIGHT IN AN OLD ABANDONED WAREHOUSE

THE WAREHOUSE
    In the moonlight, in an old abandoned warehouse, the children are sleeping.
    In olden days this had been the sea. On the large, black rocks near the warehouse the waves sometimes broke fiercely, sometimes lapped softly. The water used to pass beneath the dock under which many children are resting now, lighted by a yellow moonbeam. From this dock innumerable fully-laden sailing ships used to leave, some were enormous and painted strange colors, for the adventure of an ocean crossing. They came here to fill their holds and tie up at this dock, whose planks are worm-eaten now. Formerly the mystery of the ocean sea spread out before the warehouse, nights before it were dark green, almost black, that mysterious color that is the color of the sea at night.
    Today the night is clear before the warehouse. Before it the sands of the waterfront now extend. Under the dock there is no sound other than the waves. The sands have invaded everything, have made the sea retreat many yards. In a short time, slowly, the sands went conquering before the warehouse. The sailing ships that used to leave fully laden can no longer tie up at its dock. The muscular black men who had come out of slavery no longer worked there. A nostalgic sailor no longersang on the old dock. The sands, very white, extended out before the warehouse. And the immense building was never again filled with bales, sacks, cases, abandoned in the middle of the sands, a black spot on the whiteness of the shore.
    For years it had been inhabited exclusively by rats, who ran through it playfully, gnawed the wood of the monumental doors, lived there as exclusive masters. For a certain time a stray dog sought it out as a refuge from the wind and the rain. On the first night he didn’t sleep, busy tearing rats that passed in front of him apart. Later he slept a few nights, barking at the moon in the early hours of the morning, for a large part of the roof was in ruins and the moonbeams penetrated freely, lighting up the thick plank floor. But he was a dog with no set place and he soon