“Monsieur, the _Saucy Sally_ is no proper ship for you.” He moved his head with a curious solemnity from side to side. “No place for you--we go a long voyage, monsieur,” and he broke off abruptly. “But tell me how came you in such straits as these?” Then Monsieur Mornay told Jacquard briefly of the fight in the Fleece Tavern and of their escape, and after this Cornbury learned how Jacquard had been the Chevalier Mornay’s cockswain upon the _Dieu Merci_ in the Marine of France. But through it all Jacquard preserved a solemn and puzzled expression, which struggled curiously with his look of delight at the sight of Mornay. At last, unable longer to contain himself, he glanced stealthily around to where the men were swinging their hammocks, and said, in a kind of shouting whisper: “Monsieur, you cannot stay upon the _Saucy Sally_. To-morrow, before we leave the Channel, you must get ashore.” Mornay looked curiously at the man. “Why, Jacquard! You, too? Your _Sally_ is none so hospitable a lass, after all. Upon my faith, ’tis too bad in an old shipmate. I had but just coaxed myself into a desire to stay, and--here--” Jacquard’s face was a study in perplexities. He drew the fugitives to a small room, or closet. When the door was shut he sat down, his mouth and face writhing with the import of the information he could not bring himself to convey. “Ods-life, man,” growled Cornbury, “have ye the twitches? Speak out!” “Monsieur le Chevalier,” said Jacquard, “’tis no cruise for you. We go to the Havana and Maracaibo and--” He hesitated again. “Out with it before ye get in irons. Ye hang in the wind like a fluttering maid.” “Well, monsieur, we are a _flibustier_--no more, no less,” he growled. “_Voilà_, you have it. I had hoped--” To his surprise, Monsieur Mornay broke into a wild laugh. “You, Jacquard--honest Jacquard--a _farbon_, a _pirato_?” “Well, not just that, monsieur--a _flibustier_,” he said, sulkily. “There is a difference. Besides, the times were bad. I went to the Spanish Main--” “And became a _boucanier_--” “Monsieur, listen. We are not a common _pirato_. No, monsieur. This ship is owned by a person high in authority, and Captain Billee Winch bears a warrant from the King. Under this we make a judicious war upon the ships of Spain and none other. We have taken their ships in honest warfare, with much mercy and compassion.” “A very prodigy of virtue. Your _Sally_ is too trim a maiden to be altogether honest, eh?” Mornay paused a moment, looking at his old shipmate, then burst into a loud laugh. “Bah, Jacquard! sail with you I will, whether or no. I am at odds with the world. From to-night, I, too, am a _flibustier_. If I cannot go in the cabin, aft, I will go in the forecastle; if not as master, as man. _Pardieu_, as the very lowest and blackest devil of you all--” “You, monsieur--you!”