By this time the crew had settled down to the regular routine of ship-life, and Carew was, on the whole, well satisfied with the men. The savagery of the big Basque would occasionally assert itself, and he was ever ready to pick a quarrel with his mates. The only one on board whom El Toro respected and feared was Carew himself; for he felt that the Englishman combined a physical courage, at least equal to his own, with a superior education; and the man who possesses these two qualities can always master a merely brute nature. El Toro did not conceal his contempt for Baptiste, who excelled him in mental ability alone; and again, he could not converse ten minutes with the little Galician without an altercation arising; for the latter, who had all the pluck of his big comrade, was fond of wagging his sharp tongue, and could not refrain from malicious banter, despite the long sheath-knife which was always so ready to the Basque's right hand.
Carew, who had quickly gauged the character of his companions, took El Toro on his own watch, leaving El Chico to the French mate. Thus, as watch and watch was observed in the regular ship fashion—that is, one watch relieving the other every four hours—the cantankerous Basque had but few opportunities of associating with the other men.
But during the fortnight of calm the discipline of the yacht had been relaxed. As there was no need for it, the usual watches had not been set; and, after they had completed the small amount of necessary work each day, the men were allowed to employ the rest of the time much as they liked. A prolonged calm on the line is trying even to the most amiable tempers; so that it is not to be wondered at that, on one occasion, El Toro, being modest as to his own powers of repartee, preferred to reply to a chaffing remark of El Chico's with a practical retort in the shape of a vicious stab, which might easily have diminished the ship's company by one had not the quick-eyed little man, leaping nimbly backwards, escaped with a slight scratch on his arm.
For this offence Carew, knowing his man and how best to punish him, informed the Basque that a fine of a fortnight's pay had been entered against his name in the log-book.
It was nearly midday, and the heat of the still, moist air was intense. The French mate lay reclined under an awning on the after-deck, rolling up cigarette after cigarette, and smoking them with half-shut eyes as he dreamily meditated.
In the bows, under an awning extemporised out of an old sail, were squatting the two Spaniards, playing at monte with a very dirty pack of cards. Now and then would be heard the sonorous oaths of the Basque, as he savagely reviled his bad luck, or the triumphant chuckle of El Chico, whom fortune was favouring. These two had been gambling almost incessantly during the calm, for the money they were to receive from Carew on their arrival at Buenos Ayres. The Galician had already succeeded in winning El Toro's pay for many weeks in advance. Neither of the men could read or write, but they kept a tally of their debts of honour—over which there was much wrangling—by cutting notches on a beam in the forecastle.
A few minutes before noon Carew came on deck, sextant in hand, and the mate rose to his feet lazily. Carew's face was now bronzed by the tropical sun, and was fuller than it had been two months back. The haggard expression, the restless anxiety of his eye, had gone. He looked like a man with the easiest of consciences.
He glanced at the two card-players forward. "Have you taken the precaution I ordered?" he asked the mate.
"I have, captain; here they are," and Baptiste produced two formidable knives from his pocket.