As for the crew of six men and the boy, they were "Icelanders," the
valiant race of seafarers whose homes are at Paimpol and Treguier, and
who from father to son are destined for the cod fisheries.

They hardly ever had seen a summer in France. At the end of each winter
they, with other fishers, received the parting blessing in the harbour
of Paimpol. And for that fete-day an altar, always the same, and
imitating a rocky grotto, was erected on the quay; and over it, in the
midst of anchors, oars and nets, was enthroned the Virgin Mary, calm,
and beaming with affection, the patroness of sailors; she would be
brought from her chapel for the occasion, and had looked upon generation
after generation with her same lifeless eyes, blessing the happy for
whom the season would be lucky, and the others who never more would
return.

The Host, followed by a slow procession of wives, mothers, sweethearts,
and sisters, was borne round the harbour, where the boats bound for
Iceland, bedecked in all colours, saluted it on its way. The priest
halted before each, giving them his holy blessing; and then the fleet
started, leaving the country desolate of husbands, lovers, and sons;
and as the shores faded from their view, the crews sang together in low,
full voices, the hymns sacred to "the Star of the Ocean." And every year
saw the same ceremonies, and heard the same good-byes.

Then began the life out upon the open sea, in the solitude of three or
four rough companions, on the moving thin planks in the midst of the
seething waters of the northern seas.

Until now _La Marie_ followed the custom of many Icelanders, which
is merely to touch at Paimpol, and then to sail down to the Gulf of