grizzled head.
'Captain, may I name to you Captain Jules Papin,' Lt. Urquhart gravely and punctiliously announced. 'Capitaine Papin, permettei-moi de vous presenter notre Capitaine de Vaisseau, Alan Lewrie, de le fregate Sauvage.'
'Capitaine Papin,' Lewrie said, doffing his hat. 'Bon matin, m'sieur.' 'Hawh!' the Frenchman growled back, scratching at his unshaven grey week's worth of stubble. 'Bon, mon cul! Ou est le rum? Have rum?'
'Ah, hum' was Urquhart's stricken comment, his face reddening.
'Aspinall,' Lewrie called over his shoulder. 'A bottle o' rum and glasses for our guest. 'You speak a little Anglais, Capitaine?'
' Un peu, mais oui,' the grizzled, fish-scale-speckled old man gravelled back. 'Mus' parler tongue of thief an' invader, if I cannot bataille… fight, hein} 'Ow you t'ink ze pauvre homme make living if keep from ze fish, hein} Firs', cutter nous arrete… stop us, jus' in river, zat damn' Argosy. Zen, mort de ma view, is Erato brig, zen, et voild, maintenant you' damn fregatel Zut alors, I he full ze fish by now!'
'Rum's up, sir,' Aspinall said, appearing with a new bottle of Jamaica 's best, and a pair of glasses. He poured for Papin first, and began to pour for Lewrie, but the Frenchman eagerly tossed the contents of his glass back like the experienced toper he looked to be, and gulped it all down his gullet in one swallow, making Papin wheeze, wince, then grin and shake his head in appreciation of raw, un-watered rum. And he thrust his glass out for a refill!
'I am delighted to hear that my… our other ships are alert and doing their proper duty, Capitaine,' Lewrie told the Frenchman as he took a cautious sip of his own rum, stifling a wince and a belch as the fiery spirit slid down his throat and hit his already-unsettled innards. Hair o' the dog mine arse! Lewrie thought.
'What you wish?' Papin impatiently snapped, after his glass was replenished. 'Fish? Quel dommage, M'sieur Capitaine, I have none, for you'pirates do not give me peace to fish! Langoustes et crevettes? A lobster or… shrimp? Small boats close inshore have zose, not moil Champagne, wine, eau-de-vie, ze brandy? Argosy an' Erato. Zey buy all I had, avant vous. Damn you' language! Before you, I say! You wish? Take you' damn' big frigate to shoal waters, run agroun', an' break you' backl'
'Wouldn't dream of it, mon vieux,' Lewrie casually shrugged off. 'Mister Urquhart, his boat clean of arms and contraband?'
'Completely, sir,' Urquhart gravely replied. 'Nothing but clasp knives. for sailors' work aboard, and no goods beyond their dinners and such, either, sir.'
'Very well, then,' Lewrie said, turning back to Papin. 'Sir, I will trouble you no longer. You are free to go about your fishing.'
'No good zat do, now, zis late in morning, pawh!' Papin growled, looking at Aspinall and the rum bottle, and his newly emptied glass in expectation of a 'stirrup cup,' and licking his lips.
'Sorry 'bout that,' Lewrie allowed. 'Convey Capitaine Papin to his boat, um… Vappilation des votre bateau, Capitaine?' he asked, making Papin wince again, this time over Lewrie's lack of grammar, and his outlandish accent. 'The Marie Doux, is it? Sweet Marie? Thankee. I shall know you and your boat in future. Perhaps…'
Lewrie gave the man a sly look, nodded to Aspinall to pour him a third glass of rum, and posed the question.
'I would appreciate an occasional bottle or two of good wine… perhaps a case at a time, as would my wardroom officers, I'm certain, Capitaine Papin,' he posed. 'And, as you say, lobsters and shrimp, a parcel of mussels or clams, are not your normal catch, but you could, are you reasonable, obtain such from the smaller boats to sell me. A decent brandy, hmm? American corn whisky, if you could get it, haw!' Lewrie concluded with a scoffing laugh at such an out-of-the- ordinary wish, as if asking for a slice of cheese off the moon.
'Ze 'Merican whisky, ze… bourbon, m'sieur}' Papin said with almost a wink, slyly scratching at his week's worth of grey stubble as if considering such a request, and what he might charge for it. 'Mais oui, Capitaine Le… Luur… m'sieur. Ze 'Merican ships still come to Bordeaux… get pas' you' blockade, all ze time, hawn! You wish ze whisky, peut-etre ze 'Mericans sell d moi. Ze res', is tres easy to sell you. Non ze bank note! Mus' 'ave silver coin.'
'Uhm… chickens?' Midshipman Mayhall muttered nearby. 'Eggs?' 'Ze lad wish ze fresh omelette, oui}' Papin asked with a greasy laugh of his own. 'Difficile, m 'sieurs, for ze gendarmerie punish ze smuggler 'oo trade with you 'Bloodies.' See ze livestock be loaded on boat, et voild, I am lose my boat, and be in ze prison. Peut-etre, ze small parcels, hein} Non ze cow and sheep, hawn hawn hawn!'
'Lots of American ships up-river, are there, sir?' Lewrie asked, trying to sound off-handed and not too interested.
'Ze few, Capitaine,' Papin replied, a sly smile on his face, and a brow cocked as if they were getting to the main trading points. 'You wishing to know when zey sail, hein} Ze… information}' he added in a much softer, conspiratorial voice. 'Peut-etre you wish to know of ze forts, ze navire de guerre} Warships?'
'Hmm,' Lewrie replied in like voice, daring another sip of his rum, finding it easier on his stomach this time, and taking another. 'That might prove… useful. For such, of course, one must expect to be rewarded.'
'Oh, mais oui, Capitaine Lurr… m'sieur, hawn hawn!' Papin chuckled, in the fashion of a pimp or tout who'd just landed a customer to enter his brothel. 'I 'ave nozzing to tell you now, but…!'
'Oh, but surely our ships will meet again, Capitaine Papin… soon,' Lewrie said to that, a smug and satisfied grin on his face as they all but clasped hands and shook on the bargain. 'Care for another glass of rum, sir?'
'Give me ze bottle,' Papin insisted. 'I curse you.'
'Eh, what?' Lewrie asked, suddenly befuddled.
'Mes hommes see us,' Papin said with a shrug as he accepted the re-corked bottle and tucked it into the large cross-wise pocket of his rough smock. 'Zut alors, I curse you, I look like patriot. Zey will non mind I sell food an' drink, but ze information? Non!'
'Ah,' Lewrie said with a nod. That was all he had time for, for Papin suddenly went into a ranting screech, like to pull his hair out, stamping about the quarterdeck, hocking up a glob of spit as he cried 'Jamais!' or 'Never!'… along with a rich store of invective about the English, poverty, Lewrie's doubtful ancestry, the piratical Royal Navy, syphilitic kings and queens, the Battles of Agincourt and Crecy, the burning of Joan of Arc at the stake, that thieving foutre Henry the Fifth, the English language, Anglican Protestant heretics, invaders and chicken thieves, and the filthy English habit of bathing too often! He concluded with a dramatic, arms-akimbo, aggressive stance so he could hock up another large glob of spit, and shout 'Pawh!'
'Does this mean we won't get any fresh cheese?' Mayhall asked in a wee voice, which quite destroyed the spirit of the thing.
