THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
little rum to drink: two tins yesterday, one tin to-day, and, lastly—monsieur will pardon me—lastly, monsieur, this matter of the lady prisoner. Monsieur, they say—”
“Jacquard, it is enough,” he interrupted. “You need say no more. You may tell them that upon the Saucy Sally I command. If there is grumbling, let them come to me openly at the mast and not skulk like cats in the dark.”
“If monsieur will permit, I would think it better—”
“What! You, too, Jacquard? Why, ’tis a very honeycomb of faithlessness.”
“Monsieur, monsieur!” cried Jacquard in an agony of awkward anguish. “You know that it is not so, monsieur. It is not so; I am but giving my opinion. It would be wise to notice them. There is yet time to set the lady upon a vessel.”
“It shall not be, Jacquard. We sail straight forth into the broad ocean, and then by way of the wide passage of Porto Rico, west to Port Royal, in Jamaica. That is my plan. It is unalterable. If we happen upon Spanish prizes, so much the better. We shall take them. But
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