"M' friend," said Byram, in solemn ecstasy, "I take off my hat to that there kid!" And he did so with a flourish. "You orter seen her; she hung on that flying trap, jest as easy an' sa.s.sy! We was all half crazy. Speed he grew blue around the gills; Miss Crystal, a-swingin'

there in the riggin' by her knees, kept a swallerin' an' lickin' her lips, she was that scared.

"'Ready?' she calls out in a sort o' quaver.

"'Ready!' sez little Jacqueline, cool as ice, swingin' by her knees.

'Go!' sez Miss Crystal, an' the kid let go, an' Miss Crystal grabbed her by the ankles. 'Ready?' calls up Speed, beside the tank.

"'Ready!' sez the kid, smilin'. 'Drop!' cries Speed. An' Jacqueline shot down like a blazing star--whir! swish! splash! All over! An' that there nervy kid a floatin' an' a sportin' like a minnie-fish at t'other end o' the tank! Oh, gosh, but it was grand! It was jest--"

Speech failed; he walked away, waving his arms, his rusty silk hat on the back of his head.

A few moments later drums began to roll from the square. Speed, pa.s.sing, called out to me that the conscripts were leaving for Lorient; so I walked down to the bridge, where the crowd had gathered and where a tall gendarme stood, his blue-and-white uniform distinct in the early evening light. The mayor was there, too, dressed in his best, waddling excitedly about, and b.u.t.tonholing at intervals a young lieutenant of infantry, who appeared to be extremely bored.

There were the conscripts of the Garde Mobile, an anxious peasant rabble, awkward, resigned, docile as cattle. Here stood a farmer, reeking of his barnyard; here two woodsmen from the forest, belted and lean; but the majority were men of the sea, heavy-limbed, sun-scorched fellows, with little, keen eyes always half closed, and big, helpless fists hanging. Some carried their packets slung from hip to shoulder, some tied their parcels to the muzzles of their obsolete muskets. A number wore the boatman's smock, others the farmer's blouse of linen, but the greater number were clad in the blue-wool jersey and cloth beret of the sailor.

Husbands, sons, lovers, looked silently at the women. The men uttered no protest, no reproach; the women wept very quietly. In their hearts that strange mysticism of the race predominated--the hopeless acceptance of a destiny which has, for centuries, left its imprint in the sad eyes of the Breton. Generations of martyrdom leave a cowed and spiritually fatigued race which breeds stoics.

Like great white blossoms, the spotless head-dresses of the maids of Paradise swayed and bowed above the crowd.

A little old woman stood beside a sailor, saying to anybody who would listen to her: "My son--they are taking my son. Why should they take my son?"

Another said: "They are taking mine, too, but he cannot fight on land. He knows the sea; he is not afraid at sea. Can n.o.body help us?

He cannot fight on land; he does not know how!"

A woman carrying a sleeping baby stood beside the drummers at the fountain. Five children dragged at her skirts and peered up at the mayor, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his fat head.

"What can I do? He must march with the others, your man," said the mayor, again and again. But the woman with the baby never ceased her eternal question: "What can we live on if you take him? I do not mean to complain too much, but we have nothing. What can we live on, m'sieu the mayor?"

But now the drummers had stepped out into the centre of the square and were drawing their drum-sticks from the bra.s.s sockets in their baldricks.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" sobbed the maids of Paradise, giving both hands to their lovers. "We will pray for you!"

"Pray for us," said the men, holding their sweethearts' hands.

"Attention!" cried the officer, a slim, hectic lieutenant from Lorient.

The mayor handed him the rolls, and the lieutenant, facing the shuffling single rank, began to call off:

"Roux of Bannalec?"

"Here, monsieur--"

"Don't say, 'Here, monsieur!' Say, 'Present!' Now, Roux?"

"Present, monsieur--"

"Idiot! Kedrec?"

"Present!"

"That's right! Penmarch?"

"Present!"

"Rhuis of Sainte-Yssel?"

"Present!"

"Herve of Paradise Beacon?"

"Present!"

"Laenec?"

"Present!"

"Duhamel?"

"Present!"

The officer moistened his lips, turned the page, and continued:

"Carnac of Alincourt?"

There was a silence, then a voice cried, "Crippled!"

"Mark him off, lieutenant," said the mayor, pompously; "he's our little hunchback."

"Shall I mark you in his place?" asked the lieutenant, with a smile that turned the mayor's blood to water. "No? You would make a fine figure for a forlorn hope."

A man burst out laughing, but he was half crazed with grief, and his acrid mirth found no response. Then the roll-call was resumed:

"Gestel?"

"Present!"

"Garenne!"

There was another silence.

"Robert Garenne!" repeated the officer, sharply. "Monsieur the mayor has informed me that you are liable for military duty. If you are present, answer to your name or take the consequences!"

The poacher, who had been lounging on the bridge, slouched slowly forward and touched his cap.

"I am organizing a franc corps," he said, with a deadly sidelong glance at the mayor, who now stood beside the lieutenant.

"You can explain that at Lorient," replied the lieutenant. "Fall in there!"

"But I--"