Norton, Andre - Novel 08 by Yankee Privateer (v1.0) Page A

her upswept mop of
dingy powdered hair making her hold her head at a disdainful angle. Fitz
decided that the narrow streets must preclude the use of coaches. When the
ladies of St. Malo went abroad, they did so on foot.
                   "Glass butterflies . . ." Fitz mused
aloud. "Anyway they looked like butterflies," he amended doubtfully
and craned his neck rudely to get another glimpse of the pyramid of hair.
                   " Do, do control
that overwhelming curiosity of yours. She might think you were smitten with her
charms and then we would have an indignant papa or suitor breathing down our
necks before we could gain the safety of our ship. Myself, I believe those
ornaments to be hummingbirds, without the added attraction of the honey. But if
you must gawk, we'd best give you something to gawk at." He glanced at the
bill the waiter had submitted and laid down the amount, waving aside Fitz's
demands to share.
                   St. Malo, for all its compactness and
smallness was a true treasure box of strange sights and sounds. Fitz had to be
dragged by main force from a gunsmith's shining display, and he, in turn, spent
precious minutes prying the surgeon out of the bookseller's. Though their destination
was the sailor's part of town, it was some little time before they reached it.
The sun was almost down and the quarter was awaking to its vigorous night life
when they entered it.
                   Truly the swarthy, brawny, half-fishermen half-pirates who strode the cobbles were of a different breed from the
shopkeepers. Fitz noticed the long-bladed knives handy in each sash belt and
the swaggering step which marked the arrogance of an undefeated fighting man.
Their own American uniforms attracted no little attention and many frank and
not altogether complimentary remarks flew back and forth around them.
                   Watts dutifully escorted his companion into such of the waterfront taverns as catered
to the officers—though Fitz could distinguish little difference between the Malouin
officers and the men they commanded, either in dress or deportment. In the
third tavern they came upon a select party from the Retaliation, consisting of
Matthews, who was looking about, as Watts described him, with the disapproving nose of a Massachusetts parson at a hunt ball, Biggs, eating
heartily of stew, and Ninnes, who stared rather moodily and seemed ill at ease.
Matthews hailed Watts with an air of relief, and Biggs welcomed
his junior with a grunt which Fitz took to be one of approval. He followed Watts ' lead and sat down at the table the others
had chosen.
                   "Cargo out yet?" Watts asked the sailing master.
                   "Nigh out. Th' Cap'n is talkin' th'
Frenchies into givin' us supplies. Wish he'd get some Christian rum outa 'em.
This swill's fit for hogs—not men." Matthews regarded the contents of the
thick glass before his place with marked distaste. "Rot out a man's guts,
it would "
                   Biggs came out of the stew dish for air and
emptied his glass in a single gulp. "It ain't so bad, Noll," he was
generous. "A mite on the weakish side, aye."
                   Ninnes drank without comment. He was paying
little attention to his tablemates, watching a group of men across the long
room. They were all Malouins and spending freely, as a row of empty bottles
under their table testified. The Breton chatter was beyond Fitz's powers of
translation, and he wondered why the lieutenant was so enthralled.
                   "... a den of
thieves . . ." Matthews was announcing sourly as the marine was drawn back
to the conversation.
                   "Could a privateering port be anything
else?" Watts baited him. "After all, some English
gentlemen could pay us the same compliment."
                   The Malouins were singing a tune that Fitz
found himself beating time to. One