“To-morrow morning, my friends, I shall surrender. All of those who will accompany me will follow over upon the hither side of this line which I have marked. I make no compulsion. Those others of you who will not come must pass to the farther side.” And so saying he walked over to the side of the line toward the Spanish camp.
It was a supreme moment. That mark in the sand which the winds and seas could sweep away at will seemed the dividing line between life and death, and none knew which side to choose. Not even a whisper came from the men, and the droning of the surf as it rolled in on the beach seemed ominous and loud in the stillness.
After a period of suspense which seemed interminable an old man with a gray beard, bowing his head as though in submission to a will over which he had no control, gathered his cloak about him and walked to where stood the Admiral. Bordelais followed. Then Arlac and three seamen passed to the opposite side. Bachasse, dutiful as ever, followed his captain, together with Ottigny and others to the number of ten. But many more moved to the opposite side. It was like a game. For, until the matter was settled, no man spoke. They came from the crowd in twos and threes, gravely until they reached their companions, when some of them patted the others upon the back, saying quietly, but with good cheer,
“We sink or swim together, mes gars!”
“There will at least be a fine fight, eh?”
“We are not yet ready for the sheep-market, mon Amiral!”
“There is still good wine to be drunk in San Augustin, and we’ve good use for our windpipes.”