Jean leaned forward on the railing as he watched the masts of the ships docked at Port St Joe slip below the horizon. The crew of the trim sloop was finishing their departure tasks and was slipping into the familiar routine of sailing across the open sea. Jean allowed himself to relax and his thoughts drifted to a spring day a quarter of a century ago.
“He is wearing a skirt!” the young boy exclaimed.
“Quiet”, Jean whispered, “they will hear us.”
The two lads again looked through the window overlooking the room that Brother Xavier used as an office. Jean studied the figure that was talking to the abbot. He concluded from the sound of his voice the stranger was indeed a man. The dark beard confirmed his theory. The man’s clothes were a startling contrast to the drab robes of the monks who lived in the abbey. The Scot had removed his blue cap and was holding it in his left hand. His right hung at his side in a tension that indicated alertness. While he spoke to the monk, his eyes continued to survey the room for any hidden dangers. He was armed with a cutlass, a brace of pistols and a dirk in his stocking.
Their conversation at an end, Ruiseart MacTamhais removed a pouch of gold coins from his sporran and placed it on the table that served as the abbot’s desk. He bowed, and then turned on his left heel. After striding across the room to the door, he departed.
Jean looked up at the full sails of the ‘Highland Trader’ and smiled about the memory of his first ‘meeting’ with the man who had summoned him to New Orleans.