"'tain't the craft wot crowds the most canvas as makes the best weather, mate, and at my years a man looks less to raking masts an' a gay figur'-head than to good tonnage and wholesome breadth of beam. Now, look ye here, mates—wot say ye to this here craft?—her with the red ensign at the main, as is layin' to, like, with her fore-sheet to windward and her helm one turn down?"
While he spoke, he pointed to our old acquaintance, Célandine, who was cheapening fancy articles at a store that spread its goods out under an awning far into the middle of the modest street. The Quadroon was, as usual, gorgeously dressed, wearing the scarlet turban that covered her still black hair majestically, as a queen carries her diadem. Like the coloured race in general, she seemed to have renewed her youth under a tropical sun, and at a short distance, particularly in the eyes of Bottle-Jack, appeared a fine-looking woman, with pretensions to the remains of beauty still.
The three seamen, of course, ranged up alongside for careful criticism, but Célandine's attention was by no means to be distracted from the delightful business of shopping she had on hand. Shawls, scarfs, fans, gloves, tawdry jewels, and perfumery, lay heaped in dazzling profusion on a shelf before her, and the African blood danced in her veins with childish glee at the tempting sight. The storekeeper, a French Creole, with sharp features, sallow complexion, and restless, down-looking black eyes, taking advantage of her eagerness, asked three times its value for every article he pointed out; but Célandine, though profuse, was not inexperienced, and dearly loved, moreover, the feminine amusement of driving a bargain. Much expostulation therefore, contradiction, wrangling, and confusion of tongues was the result.
The encounter seemed at the warmest, and the French Creole, notwithstanding his villainous countenance and unscrupulous assertions, was decidedly getting the worst of it, when Slap-Jack's quick eye detected amongst the wares exposed for sale certain silks and other stuffs which had formed part of 'The Bashful Maid's' cargo, and had, indeed, been wrested by the strong hand from a Portuguese trader, after a brisk chase and a running fight, which cost
