The hideous sign of understanding that the woman expressed in her dumb way would have convinced any body without the trouble of uttering a word.
“Bueno!” said Captain Brand; “that will do for to-day.”
Rising as he spoke, he stepped to a cabinet, slipped a large handful of doubloons in his trowsers pocket, put on his hat, and walked out.
The sea-breeze swept over the island with its full strength, making 145 the lofty cocoa-nuts bow their tufted tops, the palm-trees rustle their broad flat leaves and clash the stems together. The mangroves bent, too, before the wind, and the sand eddied up in tiny whirls amid the great expanse of cactus, while the vessels swung with taut cables to their anchors. Even Captain Brand’s hat nearly was blown off his dry light hair as he joined his compadre, Don Ignaçio, at the landing; and the sandy dust blinded––though only for a moment––that one-eyed individual’s optic, and put out his cigarette as they struggled against the influence of the breeze. But yet they walked on in the direction of the sheds, and as they passed through the court-yard, where the men were lounging about in yawning groups or sitting under the piazza, playing cards––getting up and touching their hats as their chief passed––Señor Pedillo accosted him thus:
“Capitano, the people are thirsty, and desire a barrel of wine.”
“Not a drop, Señor Pedillo––not so much as would wet the bill of a musquito! To-morrow at daylight let all hands be called, for we have work to do, and we must be quick to do it.”
Pedillo slunk away, abashed by the positive tone of his commander; and Captain Brand, with his companion, passed on to the domicile of the padre and doctor. Pausing at the open door of the shed, they looked in. The padre was lying flat on his back on his narrow bed, with his mouth wide open, and snoring like a key-bugle with leaky stops; while his beads and crucifix––misplaced emblems in contact with drunkenness and debauchery––were reposing on his ample chest. The doctor was sitting beside his own couch, whispering words of childish comfort to the little boy, whose pale cheeks and brown curls reposed on the pillow of the bed. The poor child’s thin, limp fingers rested like the petals of a drooping lily in the dark, bony hand of his friend, and his dim hazel eyes were turned sadly toward him.
“Holloa, amigos!” shouted Captain Brand, in a hearty voice. “We are losing the glorious sea-breeze. Vamanos! let us take a stroll to the Tiger’s Trap.”
Hereupon Captain Brand entered the room, and gave the padre a violent tweak of the nose, at the same time puffing a volume of cigar-smoke into his beastly mouth, which combined effort brought the holy father to life in a trice, choking and sputtering, as he arose, a jargon of paternosters, which an indifferent hearer might have mistaken for a volley of execrations, so savagely were they uttered.
“Take a sip of Geneva, my padre. There it is on the table. Ah! do you call half a bottle a sip? Well! Come, doctor, let us be moving.”