This was encouraging; but afterwards, as the three went towards the little cottage which served as Gilbert’s headquarters, Sapinaud spoke very gravely of the terrible difficulty of getting the peasants to face artillery fire, and they discussed the alternatives of devoting a few days to drilling them, or of risking an engagement in order to give them confidence. They were about to enter, when there was seen coming down the Saint-Fulgent road a fresh body of peasants headed by two horsemen. The riders pressed on, and in a moment or two were dismounting and shaking hands.
The elder M. de Royrand, a retired lieutenant-colonel of musketeers, was a tall, vigorous old man; his brother, somewhat younger, bore, in the empty sleeve pinned to his breast, a memento of the naval battle at Ushant where he had lost the arm which once filled it. Both wore the cross of Saint Louis.
Louis caught his cousin by the arm. “You will not need me,” he said. “If you do, you can send for me. I had better keep an eye on these three armies; perhaps they won’t get on together.”
And, going out, he found himself in converse with a peasant who had accompanied the newcomers, and discovered that his name was Cougnon. It was he who, having been elected by his comrades as their leader, had conducted them to M. de Royrand.
“M. Charles de Royrand is full of valour and goodness,” said he in his heavy patois. “We must always have a noble to lead us.”
“And what arms have you?” asked Louis.
“Clubs and pikes,” answered Cougnon, waving his hand at his troop, nearly all young men. “They were enough to frighten the National Guard at Saint Fulgent,” he added, seeing the Vicomte’s face fall a little.
Saint-Ermay left him and walked slowly down the road, whose banks were lined with peasants. More solemn and determined than elated was their gaze at him as he passed them, sitting or standing against the hedges, some with their wide-brimmed hats of Sunday and holiday wear, some with their everyday reddish woollen caps on their long hair, cut short on the forehead but left long and unkempt behind. Some of them were wearing coarse white or blue stockings, others long gaiters of homespun, but hardly one possessed any other footgear than wooden sabots. Under their short waistcoats of white flannel or of grey serge the bulging shirt affected by the Vendean was sometimes covered by a handkerchief wound round the waist. A few had these handkerchiefs stuffed with cartridges. There was not a cartridge belt among them, nor was Louis ever to see one worn, for when they got them from their enemies they threw them away, preferring to keep their ammunition in their pockets or in these sashes. Most of them were young, or at best middle-aged, but Louis saw one old man whose years were marked less by his lined face than by the old-fashioned little pieces of wood which fastened his waistcoat in lieu of buttons.
Some of the insurgents were at their prayers, some polishing their weapons, though few had weapons of any distinction to polish. There were deadly scythe-blades lashed to poles, many pitchforks, clubs in plenty, even pointed sticks—fowling-pieces of all descriptions, but hardly a musket. Two young men were armed with old bayonets, still rusty, fastened to what appeared to be broom handles; one or two had brought hoes, and over the shoulder of a peasant who knelt with his back to the observer hung a large sickle. But every man had his rosary round his neck or dangling from a buttonhole, and on almost every breast was pinned or sewn the symbol of the Sacred Heart.
The rustic levy did not look likely material, and the young officer of the Maison du Roi with difficulty restrained himself from shrugging his shoulders as he walked along to the actual cross-roads. Here, round a rude Calvary, some fifty peasants were telling their beads. He pulled off his hat and passed on. Down the Chantonnay road, along which they had marched the day before, the breeze was lightly raising little swirls of March dust. And away in the distance was a larger cloud. Louis screwed up his eyes, shading them from the sun; then he sprang up the nearest bank. Yes, it was a rider, and one who came on so fast that the beat of his hoofs had been audible but a few moments before he was upon the watcher. Louis jumped down and held up his hand, and the man, seeing that he had to do with a gentleman, pulled up.