Marinus tries a "pint"

After arriving in Martinique and finding adequate lodgings, Marinus set about the task of getting a hold of a ship from which he could begin his work. After an unproductive day of touring the dock and yards he returned his room at the seaside inn where he was staying. Upon opening the door, he spied a sealed letter bearing unfamiliar arms. It was a short response to one of his letters from a Commodore Jack McBain. In it was an invitation to a place called "The Albatross". Encouraged by the prospect of having found employment, Marinus set out to find this place mentioned in the letter.

Asking around on the docks and getting more than his fair share of suspicious squints and stares, he was pointed in the direction of the tavern he sought. Marinus was confident that he had created enough of a stir to attract the attention of the sender of the mysterious reply.

When he arrived he found The Albatross to be every bit as rough an establishment as he envisioned. He pushed through the door and while his eyes adjusted to the dim light his nostrils were assailed by a swirling miasma of aromas with which he was unfamiliar. Through the noise and the dim, he found his way up to the bar. There he found himself in the presence of a wizened but jovial man who looked at him expectantly.

“Bonjour cher ami, a glass of Château Lafite, s’il vous plaît.”

The barkeep mumbled something unintelligible to Marinus and then shuffled down the bar, presumably to fetch his drink.

A few seconds later he retuned, slammed down a mug of foamy amber liquid, and ambled off the attend to the other patrons.

While Marinus sat in silent consideration over what exactly his mug contained his thoughts drifted to his brother and sister. He had given them a tidy sum and sent them to New Orleans. They were both bright enterprising individuals, and he had no doubt that they would be fine. As for his own situation he wasn’t quite so confident.

Not sure exactly where he was, or what his next move would be, his lifted the mug to his lips and took a long sip of the bitter substance within.

Sits down next to the Frenchman, though unknowing he was of the same society. He looks at the bartender saying.

" Wine, red fer me."

Then he turns his attention to the man sipping at his ale and asks.

"And who are ye ere'?"

Quietly takes his glass of a deep red liquid and sips at it while watching the man for his reply....

Marinus, lost in thought hears a voice off to his side, not really hearing the words but recognizing the interrogatory tone, he turns to see who it is that is addressing him.

Looking him over with a careful eye, he responds carefully. At the same time Marinus leans back in his chair and begins to pull at the fingers of the deerskin gauntlet on his right hand.

"So Monsieur, who is asking?"

looks hard into Marinus eyes for what must be several minutes but then finally speaks

"Ask a question, get a question eh? Well, ahm Malcolm Thatcher o the Highland Confederacy. Now ye ave my name, now what bae yers?"

Picks his drink back up and takes a depp draught of it and murmer to himself

"French wine, little better than water"

And shouts to the bartender that had until recently been serving veterans to the far side of the bar

"Bring mae yer strongest ale!"

And turns back to the man....

Marinus took quick exception to the comments of the man on the quality of French wines and murmered sharply under his breath, "Notre vin est fait pour le palais de raffinage."*

Composing himself he continued,

"It brings me much happiness to meet another captain of the Confederation."

He said without much inflection.

"How is it that you pass the time between drinks?"


((Our wines are made for the refined palate*))

Takes a mug of dark liquor and takes a deep draught, wincing a little by baring his teeth and squinching his eyes at the potency.

"Yer o tha Confederacy as well? Ah see....but how does one else pass the time between drinks? Ee talks, like ahm ta ye!"

Sits the mug back on the table after taking another draught of it and passing the emptied mug to the bartender, shortly followed by a large belch

"Escuse meh..."

Like two ships circling one another with neither gaining the advantage, the two men talked. Marinus wasn't about to share anything with a some stranger, especially he thought, such a plebian philistine, but the man was more cleaver than he appeared, Marinus thought. He felt a bit like a mouse caught in a cat's paw. Bred and raised in higher social circles, he couldn't even concieve of what most people called "friendly conversation."

He's got you cornered, and he's not going to let you go until he gets what he wants, so go ahead and give him something. Time to change tack, press him back.

"What I meant, how is it you put bread on your table, how do you earn your keep?"

Notices the man slightly uncomfortable and quailing for some reason.

"Earn my keep? Ifn ye mean buissiness, ahm personally a large plantation owner...sugar, beans, maize, hemp, almost anythin ye can name...I recently moved inta tha provisioning buissiness for o what I ear, the shipbuilders ere are searching fer ship provisioning fer long journies...."

Finishes off a shot of liquor real quick and those that might have seen all the drinks he'd had would think that he was ready to fall over, but never the less he sat on a stool next to Marinus, as if he'd not had a drop.Malcolm calls to the bartender:

"Two glasses o wine please, yer finest red!"

And flips a gold doubloon into the bartenders hand and turns back to Marinus.

"Es something bothering ye mate?"