BOOK II
PEARL FISHING IN CANNIBAL ISLES
“Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land—good night!”
—Byron.
CHAPTER I
THE STOWAWAY
The Zingara had been two days and nights at sea. Whatever might be her fate eventually, she had made a glorious start. The soft and balmy spring wind blew steadily from the west, no higher a breeze than that which a sailor loves, and no heavier a sea.
The waters around were of the darkest blue, and though now and then a white cap might appear on a wave-top, it seemed more in frolic than in anger.
With the wind well on the quarter, and the sails kept well full, though pretty close to it, the bonnie barque went bounding on, and that so merrily, too, that not only was there sunshine glittering on the rippling waves, but apparently sunshine in the heart of every man or boy on board.
The men kept walking briskly up and down from the main-mast to the fo’cas’le, laughing and talking, but never in a loud key, for Antonio, though certainly no martinet, was a strict disciplinarian, and liked to see duty carried on with almost man-o’-war regularity and coolness.
It was the mate’s watch this morning. He was a sturdy, broad-shouldered, and fair-haired young Cornishman; and always did a sunny smile beam over his face when talking to one, unless, of course, when carrying on duty: then he stood no nonsense.