“Monsieur, there is nothing upon the surface; from outward view ’tis placid as a pond. But I know. I have ears upon all sides of my head. ’Tis Yan Gratz. You’ve set his value too low. Gratz will not forget the leopard spots upon him. Like the leopard, he will bite, and as stealthily he will crawl.”
“Pardieu, Jacquard, is it so?” Bras-de-Fer lifted his brows. “And what is the grievance now?”
Jacquard scratched his great nose in perplexity before he replied.
“It is the discipline,” he began, slowly—“the discipline which has wearied them; they have 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 we shall seek none. And as for the lady, she shall be set ashore upon Jamaica, and not upon any passing ship.”
Jacquard, whose jaw had dropped, and whose face had been growing longer and longer during this recital, burst forth at last.