The principal street is known as the waterfront. It runs parallel to the quays and is flanked by numerous cafés, shops, and marine stores.
Breaking it about half-way is a large square with a decrepit fountain and an uneven, cobble-stoned pavement. It was into this square that Ben and Dare stepped on their first visit ashore.
Ben, faced by several routes, stopped to consider his movements.
"We can't do better than walk a little way along the waterfront, and drop in on Madame Roquierre," he said. "It's a little early for the cafés, but madame is always on hand night and day."
Dare, to whom even the name of Madame Roquierre was unfamiliar, nodded agreement, and they sauntered on their way. The waterfront presented a very animated scene. Scores of sailors strolled up and down, proprietors of magasins and cafés stood outside their premises exchanging salutations with the passers-by and not omitting to call attention to the exclusive benefits patronage of themselves would bring, teams of oxen plodded slowly by, and gendarmes strolled on their rounds, keeping a vigilant eye on one and all.
Ben had little eyes for so familiar a scene, but to Dare every detail was foreign to anything in his previous experience and therefore worthy of interest and attention.
They eventually reached Madame Roquierre's café, a large square box of a building with a prevailing atmosphere of sour wine inside and out. The bar was empty except for an old manservant busy raising a cloud of dust. In response to Ben's inquiries after madame, he answered, "Elle est sortie."
Dare recognized the phrase and translated it for Ben's benefit.
"Out, is she?" said Ben. "Well, it's no matter; we can come back again." They returned to the waterfront.
"The madame," explained Ben, "is a wise old bird. She knows everyone and everything in St. Pierre. She's kept that there grogshop of hers for forty years and more. Although it's ten years since I've been here, I'm willin' to bet she can remember me. Aye, that's so. You might think I wouldn't want to be remembered as a bos'n of the cap'n's. But you'd be wrong. Madame ain't the one to blab, and when I tells her that I'm named Wheeler an' that I wants everybody who knows me to forget they've seen me before, she'll catch on as quick as anything. Nothin' can't surprise her. She's seen too much in her time. I'm countin' to hear a bit from her about this end of the smuggling game. And maybe she'll be able to give us a few names. We'll go to her fer our dinner and supper—she keeps a good kitchen, as I knows of old. It ain't convenient to eat aboard all the time."