166 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



But if he could have a trifle now to get a bottle 

 of wine for the men to drink Monsieur's health in 

 . . . ! For an imperceptible second I hesitated. 

 At home, it had been my invariable rule that the 

 men could drink what they pleased after they 

 had put me ashore, but on board it was always 

 ginger beer, cold tea or water. The Englishman, 

 who rules over so large a slice of the world in spite, 

 not because, of such virile tastes, is apt to grow 

 quarrelsome over strong cordials, his thirst grow- 

 ing with opportunity, and I never yet had any 

 use for a drunken man in a small boat. For a 

 moment, then, I demurred, but, just as Gitouche 

 was turning away hurt, I relented, arid my con- 

 fidence was not abused. The small bottle of thin 

 red wine, of which each of his crew had one, half 

 emptied, at starting, could not have done much 

 harm beyond bringing swift remorse to a stomach 

 unused to such ordeals. Nor was the actual 

 remuneration for four hours of the services of 

 a crew of three excessive. Gitouche eventually 

 asked eight francs and got twelve. Henceforth 

 I was treated on that boat with as much ceremony 

 as if I had been one of the Grand Dukes out of 

 season. 



Making my way down to the harbour after 

 lunch, I found Gitouche standing at the foot of 

 the greasy steps, ready to hand me into a long 

 and roomy boat, in which two merry vagabonds 



