This matter satisfactorily settled, I retired below with the young officer who had had charge of the boat which effected our removal from the raft. His name, he informed me, was Silvio Hermoso Villacampa y Albuquerque; he was second lieutenant of the ship; and being very nearly my size and build he had very kindly proffered me the use of a suit of his clothing with which to replace my own drenched garments. He was a very pleasant, chatty young fellow, remarkably free and unreserved in his manner—for a Spaniard—and whilst I was shifting my rig, and subsequently partaking of some refreshments which had been laid out for me upon the ward-room table, I learned from him a great deal about the ship and her skipper, one item of my acquired information being the fact that the Santa Catalina was undoubtedly the identical vessel which I had been despatched to look out for. I learned that Don Felix, though a good enough man in the main, was not very greatly respected by his officers, who found him very deficient in seamanship, and suspected him of being also somewhat wanting in courage. He was new to the ship, it seemed, this being his first voyage in her; and young Albuquerque more than hinted his suspicion that Don Felix owed his command a great deal more to influence than to merit. My meal ended, I returned to the deck, and was then introduced in due form to each of the quarter-deck officers in succession, more than one of whom were polite enough to compliment me upon my Spanish.
When I had time to look about a bit I was greatly surprised to notice that no preparations were going forward to replace the spars lost by the ship during the hurricane; and upon my noticing it to the first lieutenant he replied, with rather a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, that it was Captain Calderon’s intention to put into Cumana to refit, and also to land us Englishmen.
This was by no means pleasant news for me. I was in hopes we should have been carried across the Atlantic, which would have afforded us at least a chance of recapture by one of our own men-of-war; moreover Inez and her father were on board, and though I augured ill from the studied coolness of the latter’s reception of me, I thought I should never have a better opportunity than that afforded by an Atlantic voyage for ingratiating myself with him and forwarding my love affairs. I thought matters over a little, and at length hit upon a plan which I thought might serve to render our visit to Cumana unnecessary, at least so far as the spars were concerned. I knew that a quick passage was regarded by the authorities as of the most vital importance, for my friend the second lieutenant had told me so; I therefore awaited my opportunity, and, taking advantage of a moment when Don Felix and several of his officers were chatting with me, I suddenly changed the topic of conversation by thanking the captain for the arrangements he had made for the comfort of myself and my men, which I begged he would allow me to acknowledge in the only way I then could, namely by assisting his crew to replace the lost spars of the ship, which I assured him we could and would do, unaided if necessary, before noon next day. He flushed up a little, stammered something unintelligible, and finally declined the assistance rather curtly.
I saw no more of Don Luis or his daughter until after the commencement of the first watch that evening, when the former joined me and proposed a little private chat on the poop.
I of course acceded to the proposal at once and followed my stately friend to the poop, fully expecting to be severely reproached for having presumed to entangle the affections of his daughter.
I quite looked for an exhibition of righteous anger; but in this I was agreeably disappointed. Whatever Don Luis’ feeling might have been he remained, outwardly at least, perfectly calm, speaking throughout our short interview in a low, sonorous, and steady voice.
“Since meeting you so unexpectedly on the quarter-deck this afternoon,” he commenced, “I have had a private conversation with my daughter, which has resulted in a full and complete explanation by her of the singular scene I then witnessed, and of all that has led up to it. I will not reproach you with anything that is past, because I feel that it is really I who am more to blame than anybody else for it. I have never thought it necessary to provide my daughter with any staid female companion—any duenna—to watch and control her actions; she has been allowed to run wild about the place from her infancy, and to have her own way in everything. I ought to have remembered this, and to have provided against all that has happened, before I ventured to introduce two young men beneath my roof. However, there is no very great harm done, so far—a few love-letters, and so on, but nothing serious. Now, young sir, I wish you to understand me clearly; I am quite willing to forget everything that has happened—but so must you. I am fully aware that, so long as we all remain on board the same ship, it will be quite impossible that you and my daughter should avoid meeting more or less; and after the scene of this afternoon on the quarter-deck I do not choose to excite comment and curiosity by forbidding your speaking to each other. But let me remind you that I am a parent, and that I possess rights which no gentleman will for a moment dream of infringing or disputing; in virtue of these, therefore, I must insist that, henceforward, you never presume to address my daughter in the language of love. Nay, do not look so angry, my young friend; I meant not to speak quite so harshly, but I was and am most anxious you should understand that there must be an end to all this business.”
“May I venture to ask your grounds for insisting so strongly on what will inevitably wreck the happiness of one if not of two persons!” I demanded, not quite as respectfully as I ought, I am afraid.
“Assuredly,” answered Don Luis; “it is the difference in position—the difference of rank—which exists between yourself and my daughter. In every other respect I have not a fault to find. You are a fine, gallant young fellow—your fame has reached even to La Guayra, I may tell you—I believe you to be perfectly honourable, honest, and straightforward, and I feel sure that you will advance rapidly in your profession; but, my dear young friend, you are not noble; and you are consequently quite ineligible—”
“Not noble—ineligible!” I interrupted. “Have you forgotten that I am an officer of the British navy? Or is it that you are unaware of the fact that every wearer of our uniform—”