Nicky-Nan, Reservist | Page 2

a'most as sardines in a tin; and, as I've heard th' Old Doctor used to tell,
every female capable o' spawnin' up to two million. . . . No; your mind
can't seize it. But ye might be fitted to grasp that if th' Almighty hadn'
ordained other fish an' birds as well as us men to prey upon 'em, in five

years' time no boat'd be able to sail th' Atlantic; in ten years ye could
walk over from Polpier to Newfoundland stankin' 'pon rotten pilchards
all the way. Don't reckon yourselves wiser than Natur', my billies. . . .
As for steam trawlin', simmee, I han't heard so much open grievin' over
it since Government started loans for motors. Come to think--hey?--
there ben't no such tearin' difference between motors an' steam--not on
principle. And as for reggilations, I've a doo respect for County Council
till it sets up to reggilate Providence, when I falls back on th' Lord's text
to Noey that, boy an' man, I've never known fail. _While th' earth
remaineth, seed-time and harvest shall not cease._ And again,"
continued Un' Benny Rowett, "Behold, I say unto you, _Lift up your
eyes and look on the fields, for they are white already to harvest_."
If pressed in argument he would entrench himself behind the wonderful
plenty of john-doreys: "Which," he would say, "is the mysteriousest
fish in the sea and the holiest. Take a john-dorey or two, and the
pilchards be never far behind. 'Tis well beknown as the fish St Peter
took when Our Lord told 'en to cast a hook; an' be shot if he didn' come
to hook with a piece o' silver in his mouth! You can see Peter's
thumb-mark upon him to this day: and, if you ask me, he's better eatin'
than a sole, let alone you can carve en with a spoon--though improved
if stuffed, with a shreddin' o' mint. Iss, baked o' course. . . . Afore
August is out--mark my words--the pilchards'll be here."
"But shall we be here to take 'em?"
It was a dark, good-looking, serious youth who put the question: and all
the men at the end of the quay turned to stare at him. (For this
happened on the evening of Saturday, the 25th--St James's Day,--when
all the boats were laid up for the week-end.)
The men turned to young Seth Minards because, as a rule, he had a
wonderful gift of silence. He was known to be something of a scholar,
and religious too: but his religion did Dot declare itself outwardly, save
perhaps in a constant gentleness of manner. The essence of it lay in
spiritual withdrawal; the man retiring into his own heart, so to speak,
and finding there a Friend with whom to hold sweet and habitual
counsel. By consequence, young Seth Minards spoke rarely, but with

more than a double weight.
"What mean ye, my son?" demanded Un' Benny. "Tell us--you that
don't speak, as a rule, out of your turn."
"I think," answered Seth Minards slowly, "there is going to be War for
certain--a great War--and in a few days."
Three days later the postmistress, Mrs Pengelly (who kept a general
shop), put out two newspaper placards which set all the children at the
Council Schools, up the valley, playing at a game they called "English
and Germans"--an adaptation of the old "Prisoners' Base." No one
wanted to be a German: but, seeing that you cannot well conduct
warfare without an enemy, the weaker boys represented the Teutonic
cause under conscription, and afterwards joined in the cheers when it
was vanquished.
The Schools broke up on the last day of July; and the contest next day
became a naval one, among the row-boats lying inside the old pier.
This was ten times better fun; for a good half of the boys meant to enter
the Navy when they grew up. They knew what it meant, too. The great
battleships from Plymouth ran their speed-trials off Polpier: the
westward mile-mark stood on the Peak, right over the little haven; and
the smallest child has learnt to tell a Dreadnought in the offing, or
discern the difference between a first-class and a second-class cruiser.
The older boys knew most of the ships by name.
Throughout Saturday the children were--as their mother agreed--"fair
out of hand." But this may have been because the mothers themselves
were gossiping whilst their men slumbered. All Polpier women--even
the laziest--knit while they talk: and from nine o'clock onwards the
alley-ways that pass for streets were filled with women knitting hard
and talking at the top of their voices. The men and the cats dozed.
Down by the boats, up to noon the boys had things all their own way,
vying in feats of valour. But