After her arrival, none of us
caught a glimpse of Mistress Hortense except of a Sunday at noon, but
of her presence there was proof enough. Did voices grow loud in the
mess-room? A hand was raised. Some one pointed to the far door, and
the voices fell. Did a fellow's tales slip an oath or two? There was
a hush. Some one's thumb jerked significantly shoulderwise to the
door, and the story-teller leashed his oats for a more convenient
season.
"Oh, lordy," taunts an English prisoner out on parole one day, "any
angels from kingdom come that you Frenchies keep meek as lambs?"
Allemand, not being able to explain, knocked the fellow flat.
It would scarce have been human nature had not some of the ruffians
uttered slurs on the origin of such an one as Hortense found in so
strange a case. The mind that feedeth on carrion ever goeth with the
large mouth, and for the cleansing of such natures I wot there is no
better physic than our crew gave those gossips. What the sailors did I
say not. Enough that broken heads were bound by our chirurgeon for the
rest of the week.
That same chirurgeon advised a walk outside the fort walls for Mistress
Hillary's health. By the goodness of Providence, the duty of escorting
her fell to me.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241