“Muchisimos gracias for your honoured invitation, excellencies,” said our friend, again bowing awkwardly, as he slid into a seat at the head of the table, leaving Courtenay and me to stow ourselves on the lockers, one on each side of him. “I am gratified to learn from Francisco that you rested soundly during the night I was afraid the motion of the felucca would prove disagreeable to you. We have had a fine breeze from the eastward all night, and La Guayra is now nearly a hundred miles astern of us.”
“That is good news,” I remarked. “But why should you have anticipated any evil results to us from the motion of the craft? Are you not aware that we are pretty well seasoned sailors?”
“No,” said our companion; “I was not aware of it. When I urged the captain-general to send naval officers I understood him to say that he had none available for the service, but that he would send two officers of marines. I did not like his proposal, and I am very glad to find that he has thought better of it. What can a soldier—even though he be a marine—know about soundings, and bearings, and sea-marks? And the entrance to the place is very difficult indeed, as you will see, gentlemen, when we come to it.”
“What in the world is the man talking about?” thought I, glancing across the table at Courtenay to see what he thought of it. That irrepressible young gentleman elevated his eyebrows inquiringly, tipped me a wink of preternatural significance with his left eye—our host was sitting on Courtenay’s starboard hand—and then devoted himself most assiduously to the red snapper off which he was breakfasting.
“How long do you reckon it will take us to make the run?” I asked, with the view of maintaining the conversation rather than because of my comprehension of it.
“Well,” said our picturesque friend, “let me reckon. To-day is Thursday. If this breeze holds steady we ought to be off Cape Irois about daybreak next Wednesday morning. Then, unless the wind heads us, we may hope to weather Cape Maysi about sunset the same day; after which we may expect to have the breeze well on our starboard quarter, which will enable us to complete the run in good time to pass through the Barcos Channel and reach our anchorage before nightfall on the following Friday evening.”
“Ah!” remarked Courtenay, as coolly as though he fully understood the whole drift of this singular conversation, “a little over a week, if the weather remains favourable. When you say that the entrance is difficult, do you refer to the Barcos Channel more particularly or to—?”
“Oh no!” was the reply; “that is easy enough—for a small vessel of light draught, that is to say—although there are one or two awkward places there which I will point out to you; but it is the entrance to the lagoon itself which will give you the most trouble.”
“Precisely; that is what we have been given to understand,” said Courtenay, addressing himself to us both. “I presume you have a chart of the place?”
“No,” said our friend; “the place has never yet been surveyed, and Giuseppe will not permit anyone to sound anywhere within the entrance to the lagoon. I told the captain-general this when he asked me the same question. Did he not mention this to you?”