Less fortunate is the sequel of Rannou Colbert's adventure. He was a bellringer at Quimper Cathedral before the war. Exempt from military service, he joined the Colonial Infantry, a corps of paid professional soldiers, entirely distinct from conscripts. Originally equivalent to our marines, these regiments no longer serve aboard ship, but garrison the overseas possessions of France. The company in which Colbert was serving fought by the side of our Ghurkas at the Dardanelles. There Private J. Threadgold, of the 7th Royal Fusiliers, made Colbert's acquaintance. Our men exchanged some of their bully-beef ration with the French against cigarettes, and Colbert understood enough English to act as interpreter in many small international bargains. Colbert's name is scratched on a silver match-box in Threadgold's possession.
On the night that Threadgold was wounded an attack had been made on our trenches by the Turks. The enemy was beaten off. Early the next morning a party of the Turks crawled between our sentries in the Indian lines and slew two Ghurkas. Only one of the enemy was wounded, and he was taken prisoner. From him it was learnt that the attacking party was eighteen strong. That day the Ghurkas became tremendously excited. They sharpened their curved knives and talked closely together. They were plotting, and it was spread along the line from mouth to mouth that an adventure was afoot. That same evening after sunset exactly eighteen Ghurkas crept from the entrenchments, and they were joined by a man from the French regiment of Colonial Infantry, Rannou Colbert. The party wound their way through the scrub towards the Turkish trenches. They were gone an hour; then, chattering and gesticulating in intense joy, they all returned in safety except one man. They had killed eighteen Turks. The one man missing was Rannou Colbert, who had been taken prisoner.
No more was heard of Colbert until some months later, when a poignant little history appeared in the Matin. It is unknown whether Colbert escaped from the Turks, or whether he was an exchanged prisoner. During his imprisonment he was, for some reason, not allowed to write home, and as his name was not furnished by the Turkish authorities to the French he was posted as missing.
At Bordeaux, whence he arrived from Lemnos, he landed without money, and consequently could not telegraph to his wife. During the whole of the journey to Quimper, however, he relished keenly the thought of the pleasure he would see on her face when she saw him. Of his two children, too, he thought, anticipating gleefully the welcome they would give him. He sailed on a coasting vessel, one of those that bring the red wine from Bordeaux to Brittany. Into the River Odet at last they came, and its banks became narrower and steeper until Quimper hove in sight, the twin towers of St. Corenten showing warm and venerable in the waning light. His home was in the Rue Kéréron, a mediæval street of old mansions. Trembling with excitement, Colbert lifted the latch. There was nobody in the passage, but from the kitchen he heard the merry laugh of a happy family circle. He recognized Babette's laugh—and another man's. Listening, he distinguished the latter as that of his friend, Maurice, a potter who turned lumps of clay into Quimper faience.
It is a sad little story, the rest of it. Her husband being given up as dead, Babette, with scarcely sufficient money to buy bread for her children, had married Maurice. Rannou did not chide her; in the circumstances he considered she had done the obvious thing. She was broken-hearted and so was he. That night he left for Concarneau. He saw that his wife and Maurice had sufficient money to live on; and he, a cripple, did not wish to burden her. He determined to earn what he could and live his own life.
He managed to secure a berth at Concarneau, where he had relations, and was employed on the quays, checking the giant mackerel unloaded from the tunny-boats. Some time later, hearing that Maurice had fallen out of work, Rannou sent to his old home as much as he could spare from his scanty earnings. Truly the ways of men are passing strange! One day, perhaps, Maurice will die; and Rannou will return to Quimper and to the Babette who loves him still.
FOOTNOTE:
[13] Australian slang for "chum."