So the signal was given, and a general discharge of cannon followed from the fleet, doing no special harm. I believe the widow Jean’s son was decapitated, and that young fool, Allain, who must needs leave his pretty sweetheart Annette in Floillé to pick up a little glory, that his marriage might come off with more eclat than any in his village, lost a leg or arm; but these were trifles nobody minds in a skirmish. However, it was before the balls came bumping along the sands—indeed, while they were disporting, like great whales, in the outer surf, and casting up jets of water at each _ricochet_, that the brave rear-guard took to their heels—a piece of prudence for which I beg the indulgence of those military young men who are suffered by their employers to sport moustachios in their shops and counting-houses, and whose chief motive for advocating, in strong language, a dissolution of the Union, is supposed to lie in the admirable opportunity to be afforded of winning undying laurels in civil warfare; for I would intimate, however reprehensible cowardice may be on any occasion, and on this in particular, that watching the lively skipping from wave to wave of such iron globes as a 42-pounder debouches, while chatting with the officer of artillery, who has just sighted the piece at a hogshead anchored in the bay, is quite a different thing from doing the same when serving as the hogshead yourself. “Yonder go a brave enemy!” cried Padilh, with a laugh, to his colleague in the next barge, the two maîtres-de-camp heading the flotilla with the landing party. “If any fall in your way hereafter, don’t forget they’re women; spare their lives, as you wear spurs, señor mine.” To this Inique answered, standing erect in the stern and shading his eyes with his palm, quite another personage in voice and carriage from the penitent of two days back: “But the line of the French has not a gap in it—yes, one, which they have just filled with a fresh man. There’ll be sharp work there, Padilh, although we are strong enough to surround and capture the whole detachment. Lay to your oars, men! Make prisoners of as many of the gallant fellows as you can.” “What’s come over the master?” grumbled a sergeant to a crony. “Last time he marched against the French it was nothing but ‘keep your pikes level, my lads; the man that fails to spit his man, deserves to be cut over the head in return.’ And now it’s, ‘don’t hurt them, these fine fellows.’ You see, I like a man to be one thing.” “Why, they say Señor Inique has a cousin, or a son-in-law, or something of the sort, who is no better than he should be, and at this moment in the French camp. Who knows if the señor hasn’t an idea of turning coat some day himself? It looks like it, don’t it, sergeant?” “No; hang it, man, he wouldn’t do such a dirty thing. Why, don’t you know, you unbelieving Thomas, there ain’t a gentleman in all Spain with such a name for honor!”