Chapter 19: Captain Margaret Maynard

Gibraltar, September 1808

Harriet Carter walked through the rooms of their rented house one more time, making sure that they had not forgotten anything. The furnishings would stay in place as per agreement with the owner of the house, against a compensation of thirty-two pounds. This was fine for Harriet, since it freed her of the need to sell the items separately. Seeing nothing left behind, Harriet went downstairs.

Jenny was holding Richard on her arm who had woken only a short while ago and was still sleepy. Emily was holding on to Jenny’s skirt, looking a bit forlorn, whilst Lucy was giving instructions to the three porters with their wheelbarrows.

“Why don’t you put Richard on his feet, Jenny?” Harriet suggested. “He is getting too big for you.”

“I don’t mind, milady,” Jenny smiled back. “Richard and I are great friends, eh, little man?”

One thumb in his mouth, Richard nodded solemnly, causing smiles all around. Harriet looked down at Emily.

“Hand?” she asked.

Smiling shyly, Emily let go of Jenny’s skirt and took Harriet’s hand. It took them but ten or fifteen minutes to reach the harbour and the pier where the post packet lay moored. Captain Josiah Porter awaited his ranking passengers at the gangplank and guided them to their allotted cabins in person. Those were not much to talk about, being merely seven by six feet, with two cots, a little over two feet wide, with some nets rigged overhead for storage. Quite a difference from Asia’s sleeping cabins, but then again, the Primrose would have fit into Asia’s hull seven times over.

Whilst most of their belongings were stored away through a hatch under the passageway, Harriet and Jenny, with the children, settled into one cabin, whilst Lucy arranged her dunnage in another.

They were not yet finished when Captain Porter led his next passenger down. Margaret Maynard, too, had decided to leave Gibraltar, her husband having come to the same conclusion as Tony. She would share the cabin with Lucy. That was not the only reason either. Some members of Gibraltar’s society, as it was, had not been very kind to a commoner girl who had married an eminently eligible man, the son of an earl, no less. She had to bear some snide remarks, and she had decided that she’d had enough.

Surprisingly, given their history, Harriet and Lucy had been her foremost company over the last weeks, and Harriet in particular had not shied from defending her former school mate. Unfortunately, this had also precipitated a frosty atmosphere for Harriet herself and therefore, she was more than happy to turn her back to the colony.

Later that morning, three more passengers arrived. The man was of the cloth, and he was at least sixty years old. With him were two very young women, girls really, wearing very plain dresses and looking about with apprehension. Harriet thought them to be the old priest’s daughters or even granddaughters. The priest stared at Harriet, waiting for her to curtsey and introduce herself, but Harriet stood unflinching. Captain Porter resolved the dilemma.

“Ladies, this is the Reverend Pettigrew, Mrs. Pettigrew, and her sister, Miss Holland.”

Harriet had a hard time to suppress her surprise and disgust at this news. Neither woman was even twenty, and one of them married to that austere old man. A terrible thought.

“Reverend,” Porter continued hastily, “may I introduce Lady Carter, wife of Captain Sir Anthony Carter of Asia and daughter of Admiral Sir Richard Lambert. To her right is Mrs. Maynard, Admiral Maynard’s wife. Mrs. Wilkes and Mrs. Johnsen.”

Pettigrew’s head jerked forward by an inch, in a movement that upon benevolent interpretation might be called a bow. In response, Harriet just nodded negligently. Two could play that game.

“We shall assemble in the day cabin at noon for a service,” Pettigrew announced haughtily. “I suggest that you Ladies dress more modestly for that occasion.”

Lucy giggled, Jenny snorted disdainfully, and Margaret Maynard lifted her eyebrows in mild surprise. Harriet gave Pettigrew a cold look.

“Reverend, in the interest of a harmonious voyage, I suggest that you mind your station. I am not partial to the tone of voice you are employing whilst addressing me and my friends. As for the service you plan, a short Grace before the meal should suffice.”

“I remind you that as a man of the cloth and...”

“You will address me as “milady”, Mister Pettigrew,” Harriet shot back. If possible, her voice got even colder. “I have heard of you, Mister Pettigrew, from more than one source, and the circumstances under which you had to give up your parish are well known to me.”

Harriet had just remembered where she had heard the name before. It was some gossip at Dalrymple’s table, but apparently, Pettigrew attempted to spread God’s word to the young daughter of one of the merchants, and when they were found, they were both stark naked. A disgusting thought for Harriet, who until meeting the old lecher had assumed the priest in question to be a young man.

Pettigrew goggled at her in impotent rage, whilst his young wife and her sister looked down in shame. Harriet felt with them, and her dislike for the man increased.

“Well, a good day, Mister Pettigrew,” she said, turning to return to her cabin.

Jenny closed the door to their night cabin behind them.

“M’lady, is that the Reverend we’ve been hearing stories about?”

Harriet nodded with a face that showed her disgust.

“But he’s an old man!” Jenny expostulated.

“Yes, from how we heard the story, I assumed he would be a young and good looking priest, perhaps on his first posting. That despicable man is using his position to coerce young women. I should wager that his wife did not marry him of her free will.”

Jenny shuddered. “Her sister, m’lady, do you think he uses her, too?”

The thought had not come to Harriet yet, but it caused a blush of anger.

“Why, you are right in your suspicion. Just remember how cowed they look.”

“M’lady, if he dares to touch me, I’ll geld him.”

Harriet looked at the young woman with a weak smile. She knew that Jenny’s words were no idle threat. Already once, Jenny had shown the quickness of her knife. She gave Jenny a grim nod.

“You do that, my dear Jenny. I shall keep my pistol ready and primed, too.”

The atmosphere at the table was frosty. Whenever one of the women tried to speak to the Reverend’s wife or her sister, Pettigrew answered for them. They were too cowed to speak up. Harriet thought she saw bruises on the younger girl’s wrists, and neither of them dared to look up. It hurt Harriet that she had no handle to do something.

After lunch, she stood on the deck, watching the preparations of the crew. Jenny joined her after a few moments.

“M’lady, should I throw him overboard once we’re at sea?” she whispered angrily.

“Jenny, Jenny, there is nothing we can do. The older one is married to that hateful old man, and he owns her.”

“Yes, but we could try to help the younger sister, milady,” Jenny maintained.

“How? Without being able to talk to her in private, how can we make an offer? Besides, she may be here out of her free will. Who knows what family background they have. Perhaps, the older sister wanted to be a priest’s wife?”

“She does not ... Oh, well, you are of course right, m’lady. As long as he leaves us in peace...”

“He better. Oh, there’s the Captain.” Harriet approached the skipper. “Are we set for weighing anchor tomorrow, Captain?”

“Yes, milady. The last passengers will board soon. I trust your accommodations are acceptable?”

“Very, my dear Captain. This is a well-built little ship, and the cabins are more than adequate.”

The Captain bowed with a smile of satisfaction, and Harriet smirked a little. It was easy enough to make the man happy. For the next hour, she watched the activity on the quay, but then she tired and decided to go below. She heard but did not see the last passengers as they came aboard, but she met them at dinner. Mister Albert Edson and his wife Abigail were returning to England after escaping to Gibraltar from Lisbon. Mister Edson was a shipping agent, and he had been a cargo master before. They fit in with Harriet and her group, and they had a lively conversation during supper.

The Primrose weighed anchor at sunrise, and when the women came on deck, they were already clearing the Bay of Algeciras. It was a pleasant morning until Pettigrew came on deck, calling all hands and passengers to join him for a morning prayer. Captain Porter made short work of this, claiming that the handling of the ship required all hands and asking all passengers to leave the deck. That meant another confrontation in the main cabin, because Pettigrew insisted on leading a lengthy prayer there. It was Mister Edson who ended it, reminding Pettigrew that he was neither the ship’s chaplain nor currently leading a parish, and thus in no position to represent the Church of England. The look Pettigrew cast at his fellow passengers was murderous.

With his swift packet, Captain Porter endeavoured to sail rather close to the Spanish coast line, passing Tarifa in sight and heading straight for Cap Sagres. The small ship was lively in the fresh breeze but none of Harriet’s group felt any discomfort. By contrast, the lively motion incapacitated the Reverend Pettigrew, and his wife or her sister were seen frequently as they emptied slop jars over the side. The first time, the younger sister went to the windward side for this purpose, and Jenny was barely able to thwart this potentially disastrous undertaking.

Elspeth Holland was a shy girl, even in the absence of her domineering brother-in-law, but Jenny was able to extract some information from her. She and her older sister Catrina had been orphaned four years ago. No relations could be identified and the parish priest, William Pettigrew, declared himself their guardian. As soon as Catrina turned sixteen, he pressured her into marriage. That had been two years ago, and now Elspeth would turn sixteen, and she would be married to the old lecher’s cousin, a parish priest in the Midlands. Jenny could see that the young girl was despairing but also too cowed to put up any resistance. She admitted that disobedience precipitated severe beatings at the hands of the Reverend.

During Elspeth’s next stay on deck, Harriet intercepted her, briefed by Jenny about the girl’s predicament.

“Is the Reverend still unwell?” she asked the flustered girl.

“Y—yes, milady, mightily,” the intimidated girl answered.

“That is fortunate,” Harriet stated blithely.

“B—beg y—your pardon, milady?”

“I said that is fortunate, for it affords me with the opportunity to speak to you unimpeded.”

“Milady?”

“I hear that you will be married to the Reverend’s cousin and that you are unhappy about that prospect.”

The girl hung her head.

“He’s so old, and right ugly, milady.”

“Do you know letters and numbers, my girl?”

“Y—yes, quite well, milady.”

“Did a Justice of the Peace commit you to the Reverend’s guardianship, or did he just take you and your sister in?”

“He said we were sheep of his flock, and he was our shepherd. There was no Justice in the village or anywhere near.”

“I see. Listen and listen well, Elspeth Holland. You do not have to marry the Reverend’s cousin. If you want, you can find work in my household. You’ll have a room and board, and two shillings a week, even more once you learn your duties. Think about it.”

“But what about Catrina? He’ll beat her if I try to leave.”

“I’m afraid there is not much we can do to help her. How can you help her anyway if you are married to the Reverend’s cousin? You’ll be gone, too. Think about it. Talk secretly to your sister. Then, before we arrive in Portsmouth, let me know your mind.”

The girl looked at Harriet with big eyes, but then she nodded.

“I’ll talk to my sister, milady.”

Over the next two days, Captain Porter gave the Portuguese coast a wide berth, and he rounded Cap Finisterre with fifty miles distance. Beyond Cap Finisterre, there were the Spanish ports of La Coruña and Ferrol, both homes of privateers and regular Spanish Navy, and it was better to keep a distance. The Primrose altered course to NNE in the morning of September 3, preparing to cross the expanse of the Bay of Biscay and heading for Ouessant.

By mid afternoon, the masthead sang out a foreign sail, bearing SSE, a square rigged ship of three masts. Captain Porter climbed into the mizzen top with his brass telescope to study the sail, and when he climbed down, he ordered another reef shaken out. Harriet was standing on deck with Lucy, Margaret and Jenny, and she approached the captain.

“Is it an enemy?”

“Hard to say, milady. Suspicious she is, at the least. Looks like one of those corvettes the French keep building, pocket frigates no less, and awfully seaworthy.”

“But this is a fast ship, isn’t it?” Margaret asked with a touch of worry.

“Primrose is fast, but in this fresh breeze the bigger ship has an advantage. They can cut us off from our course, too. Anyway, come the night, we can change course and show them a clean pair of heels. If need be, we can always head for Cork in Ireland.”

Over the next hours, the foreign sail became visible from the deck, and Captain Porter pressed his lips together whenever he saw it. Harriet became worried, too, but not overly. If this was a French Navy ship or a privateer, she and the other women would be set free, even if the Primrose was caught. Yet, to wait for weeks for the exchange in her current state was not a tempting prospect.

By nightfall, Captain Porter ordered lights out in the ship, and the women settled into their cabins in the darkness. They could not sleep yet and kept talking in the dark. Perhaps two hours later when the western sky was completely dark, they felt the Primrose go about, but to starboard. Harriet realised what Captain Porter planned. He wanted to cross the wake of the pursuer in the dark and sail along the Spanish coast whilst the foreign ship would watch the sea to the North-west.

Suddenly, Harriet saw light filtering through the bulkhead to the adjoining cabin. That was Pettigrew’s cabin. Why was he lighting a lamp? Quickly, Harriet stood and found a night gown in the dark. Outside her cabin, she knocked on Pettigrew’s cabin door.

“Do not disturb us!” she heard. “We are in prayer.”

“Extinguish the lamp!” Harriet cried sharply. “You are betraying our position to the enemy!”

“How can I read the prayers without light? The Lord will protect us, never worry.”

“You pompous fool!” she stormed, pressing against the door, but it was locked.

In the dark, she heard Captain Porter.

“What is the problem, milady?”

“That fool Pettigrew has lighted a lamp for his blasted prayers!” Harriet fumed.

In no time at all, Porter threw his weight against Pettigrew’s cabin door and it sprang open. Inside, Harriet could see an oil lamp burning brightly, and the port side window facing the pursuer was without curtains.

“You God-damned fool!” Porter raged. “I ordered lights out.”

“Do not blaspheme, Captain!” Pettigrew thundered. “I have missed prayers for days, and no enemy will keep me from proclaiming my faith!”

More men came running, attracted by the ruckus.

“Throw this old fool into the brig!” Porter ordered.

Two sturdy mates dragged the protesting priest away whilst Porter reached for the lamp to douse it.

“Do you think they saw us?” Harriet asked calmly.

“I don’t know,” Porter answered in the dark. “Blast this old fool and his bible thumping!”

“Could we perhaps change course again?”

“That would not help. Now they will know where to look for us. We’ll find out come the morning.”

Indeed, they found out. When the first light illuminated the eastern sky, the foreign ship was standing only two miles away, following them in hot pursuit. Now they were trapped in the Bay of Biscay. Porter let loose a string of oaths. There was only one hope left, to head for the Gironde estuary where they might find British blockade ships. That would take another day though, and it was doubtful if they could keep the distance for such a long time.

The foreign ship hoisted its flag when the sun rose over the horizon, and it was indeed the Tricolour. Through the glass, Captain Porter counted eleven gun ports to each side. Before they even had breakfast, it was clear that the race would not last long. With the wind from the quarter, the square rigged ship was decidedly faster than the two-masted brig. Captain Porter gave orders to throw the cargo, or what cargo there was, in the desperate hope to gain more speed and perhaps find a British ship before the French caught up.

The steward served a quick breakfast and even doled out extra food to the passengers, to tide them over the first day of the impending captivity. Meanwhile, Captain Porter assembled the official mail bags and weighed them down with sixpounder shot. When the French corvette drew nearer and nearer and finally fired a shot over the Primrose’s bows, he dropped the mail and the signal books over the side.

Meanwhile, Harriet and Margaret organised the female passengers. Together with Jenny, Harriet fashioned a hiding place for pistol and powder horn underneath her voluminous skirts, whilst Jenny hid a pair of double edged knives under her own skirt. It was all well to entrust themselves to the chivalry of the French officers, but it could not hurt to have an ace or two up their sleeves, or rather, their garters.

Captain Porter then hove to, realising that he could not expose his passengers to gun fire, and soon, four boats were heading for the Primrose. The female passengers were in their cabins when they heard the French boats bump into the side of the ship, and it took some time before there was a knock on the cabin door. Captain Porter stood there with a French officer, and Lucy made big eyes.

“Monsieur Bourdichon!” she exclaimed.

It was indeed the former second lieutenant of Aigle who had been wounded when the Clyde frigate overwhelmed the damaged battleship.

“Mizz Goutriche?” Bourdichon asked, equally surprised and still unable to pronounce ‘Gutteridge’.

“Mrs. Wilkes now. My husband is the Mister Wilkes who extracted the splinter from your leg.”

“But of corrze!” Bourdichon exclaimed, bowing and kissing Lucy’s hand. “I know I owe your ‘uzzband my life. I wazz exchanged under cartel, last year, after my wound was ‘ealed.”

“This is Lady Carter, the wife of Captain Sir Anthony Carter,” Lucy introduced. “And here is Mrs. Maynard, wife of Admiral Maynard. Mrs. Johnsen is the wife of one of Captain Carter’s officers.”

Bourdichon bowed deeply, kissing more hands.

“Let me express ze ‘ope zat we can avoid any ‘ardships for you. I am ‘onoured to provide you wizz my protection.”

Porter cleared his throat.

“They will sail the Primrose to San Sebastian, miladies. I am sure they will convey you back to British territory as soon as possible. Myself, I must bid farewell. My mates and I shall be confined to the corvette, to discourage any attempts to overpower the prize crew.”

“Zis izz indeed ze case, Mesdames,” Bourdichon smiled. “I trust you vill not be too inconvenienced.”

A scar-faced sailor with a red head scarf arrived behind Porter and pushed him away roughly.

“Let’s go, Cap’n. The boat’s a-waitin’ fer ye.”

“Doucement, Edwards!” Bourdichon commanded sharply.

The sailor worried Harriet. He was obviously British, a renegade fighting for the French. Perhaps a prisoner of war who could not stand the incarceration any more. Harriet thought it more likely though that the man had changed sides voluntarily. Bourdichon then explained the rules. Twice a day, they would be allowed to catch some fresh air on deck. Apart from that, they were to stay in their cabins, to ‘avoid disturbances’, as Bourdichon put it. Harriet’s heart sank a little when she realised that months would pass, perhaps her child would be born, before she would see Tony again. With a deep breath, she chased the ghosts away.

That afternoon, when they were allowed on deck, Harriet saw the scar faced renegade again. He was manning the wheel and eying the women with a sneer. When they were sent down again, he spoke up.

“So you’re real ladies, eh? Admiral’s wife, eh? Captain’s wife, too, eh?” He lifted his shirt and turned, showing them the criss-cross of scars that constituted the skin of his back. “I’ve a lot o’ love fer captains an’ their wives. See you later, me doves!”

Harriet forced herself to stare back at him steadily.

“You try anything, and even your French friends won’t protect you. They’ll hand you over to the Royal Navy for sure.”

He grinned and spat.

“Them Frenchies’ll do that, no doubt, but then, when will I ever get such prime rumps in me hands again? Might be worth it.”

Jenny appeared at Harriet’s side.

“I’ll tear your piss-poor bollocks off, you swine, if you ever come near me.”

It was not so much the threat but the icy tone in which it was delivered and the casual use of swear words which made the renegade’s eyes fly open.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe ici?” Bourdichon asked sharply, appearing from out of nowhere. (What’s going on?)

“Rien, désolé, le patron,” the renegade answered contritely, but Harriet saw hatred in his eyes. (Nothing, sorry, Master!)

“This man has been making improper comments and he threatened to accost us,” Margaret Maynard said.

“Laissez les dames seules, compris!” Bourdichon snarled. “Do not worry. ‘e will leave you alone.”

They left the deck then. After dinner which they took in the main cabin, Harriet and her friends with the children retired to one cabin, reasoning that there was safety in numbers. Harriet renewed the priming in her pistol, and Jenny pushed one of her knives into her sleeve for easy access. To everybody’s surprise, Margaret Maynard produced a belaying pin which she had procured for herself whilst they were on deck. Lucy had no weapons, but she removed all but one underskirt assuring her friends that her unimpeded knee was a sufficient weapon for her. Remembering how Lucy had once dealt with Rupert Palmer’s advances, Harriet believed it.

They agreed on keeping watches. Two women and the children would sleep, whilst the others kept watch. They would rotate every four bells until the morning. Jenny and Margaret volunteered for the first watch, meaning that Harriet and Lucy could lie down and find some sleep. Nothing happened during the first two hours, and nothing during Harriet and Lucy’s watch. Harriet had barely dozed off, shortly after midnight, when a ruckus erupted in the cabin next door where Pettigrew slept with his wife and sister in law.

In the flicckering light of the tallow lamp, Harriet readied her pistol and positioned herself at the door. They heard Pettigrew as he screamed.

“Vade retro, Satanas! You vile traitor, leave my pure wife in peace lest the pit of hell will open under you to swallow you whole!”

“Pit o’ hell? Shut yer face, ye old goat! Yore li’l wenches’ll get a taste of a real man. Piss off, ye lubber!”

“Over my dead body, you foul fiend!” Pettigrew exclaimed. And then, “Aarrgh!”

“As you wish, Reverend,” the renegade Edwards laughed.

“Arrêtez immédiatement!” they heard Mister Bourdichon’s command. “Imbecile!” (Stop it immediately! Idiot!)

“Edjit? Who’s an edjit? I’ve had it with ye, ye bloody fop!”

The sounds of a struggle now sounded from next door. Obviously, the renegade and Bourdichon were fighting. The French lieutenant was their best chance, Harriet knew.

“Jenny, we must help him!” she hissed.

She opened the cabin door and peeked out. Nobody was in sight, but she saw the shadows of the fighters cast by the light from Pettigrew’s cabin. Just as Harriet looked into the reverend’s cabin, Bourdichon groaned in pain and sank onto the deck. Without thinking, Harriet raised her pistol and fired it at the blood-covered renegade. With a curse, the man sank to the deck, too, blood spouting from his left chest.

Jenny at Harriet’s side was thinking on her feet. Quickly, she pulled the pistol from Bourdichon’s waistband and put in on the deck next to his right hand. On first impression, it looked like Bourdichon had shot the renegade. Then she pushed Harriet back into the cabin.

With trembling hands, Harriet reloaded the empty barrel of her pistol, whilst excited voices could be heard outside and hysterical screams sounded from the next door cabin. Suddenly, Margaret stood, facing each of the women in turn.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy spending an eternity in San Sebastian. There was a prize crew of seven, including the lieutenant. Two are down already. Two are next door and expecting no danger from us feeble women.”

Harriet nodded slowly. “They left our crew locked up, so we’d have hands enough to handle the sails. Can we navigate the ship to England?”

“I know I can shoot the latitude and lay a course,” Margaret said. “My father taught me.”

“I know a few things, too,” Harriet added. “How shall we do it then?”

“I have my belaying pin. We can go out and pretend to be hysteric. Then I’ll sneak up behind one of them and put him down. You have your pistol to force the other into submission. If he tries to fight, shoot him. There will be only three left, and one of them always has to stay at the wheel.”

“Let’s do it then!” Jenny hissed, readying her knives. “Don’t shoot, m’lady, if you can help it. Let’s do it with cold steel!”

Margaret counted to three, and then the women spilled from the cabin whilst Lucy stayed behind to watch over the children. In the barely lit walkway they met with two of the prize crew who were trying to make sense of what they had found. Inside Pettigrew’s cabin, the two sisters were crying over the body of the Reverend, and now three more females started a ruckus. Jenny grabbed both arms of one of the sailors and let loose a stream of gibberish, jerking at the man’s arms and pulling him around. Now he had his back to Margaret, and she swung her belaying pin ruthlessly. The man barely uttered a sigh as he slumped down on the deck.

His partner looked up in alarm, but it was too late. Harriet had already trained her pistol on him and he froze. A second later, the belaying pin sent him into the dream land as well. Using the men’s scarfs and other pieces of clothing, the two sailors were bound and gagged.

Just then, Bourdichon began to move and groan and the women froze.

“Let’s get him into the empty cabin. Lucy can look after him,” Harriet suggested.

“Let me get Mrs. Edson to help,” Jenny whispered, and within seconds a frightened but determined Mrs. Edson helped them to drag the wounded lieutenant into a cabin and onto a cot. They left Lucy with him whilst Mrs. Edson promised to watch over the children.

“All right, time for the next step,” Margaret announced. “We need to free the crew. I suppose they are in the hold. I’ll go for’rard with the lamp. You, Harriet, follow me with your pistol.”

It helped that each of the three women knew their way around ships. Whilst Jenny remained behind to guard the cabins with two of the pistols they had found on the Frenchmen, Harriet and Margaret moved forward until they reached the locked grating that covered the hold. Margaret held the lamp over the opening.

“Primroses?” she whispered.

“Aye! Who’s there?”

“Mrs. Maynard. We have overwhelmed four of the prize crew. There are only three left. We need your help.”

“God almighty! There’s a hasp to larboard of the grating, Ma’am. Can you open it?”

Margaret did, and with the help of the men below, they opened the grating. Eight men emerged, the entire crew of the Primrose minus the mates.

“Listen, you men. There are three Frenchmen left by our reckoning. They’re likely keeping watch on deck, and they carry pistols and cutlasses. We have five pistols among us. Who of you knows how to shoot?”

Two hands went up, and Harriet handed them two pistols. One of the men sneaked up the hatchway and peered over the sill. He came back.

“One man at th’wheel, an’ another beside ‘im.

“Two of you rush the man at the wheel!” Harriet instructed them. “Another two go for the second man. Now, where is the third Frenchman?”

“On the forecastle, most likely, m’lady, keeping watch there,” one of the shadowy figures whispered.

Just then, one of the men at the wheel called out in French.

“Maillard, ce qui se passe?” (Maillard, what goes on?)

Of course, no reply came forth.

“Maillard!”

No answer.

“Merde, il est avec les femmes!” (Shit, he’s with the women!)

They heard steps on the deck. One of the French sailors was coming.

“Ola, laisse un peu de cul pour nous!” he laughed. (Hey, leave a piece of ass for us!)”