"Why!" exclaimed Sir George, "what know you of him? Yet--yet," and he spoke slowly, "you know the Indies, Tom--and the monks are not always what they might be. Did you chance to know him, since you sent to demand an interview?"
"I thought so," said the inscrutable old sea dog quietly, "wherefore I sent asking him for a meeting. Yet, as our beloved friends the French say, the cowl does not always make the monk. Hey? And, if 'tis the man I think, 'twas not always the cowl and gown that adorned his person--rather, instead, the belt and pistols, buff jerkin, scarlet sash, long serviceable rapier handy, and--have at you, ha! one, two and through you. Hey!"
And as he spoke he made a feint of lunging at his brother admiral with a quill that lay to his hand.
CHAPTER XIII.
"DANGERS WORSE THAN SHOT OR STEEL--OR DEATH."
Now I return to the beach at Viana, on which I stood after having quitted the fleet--yet still, ere I go on, I must put you in the way of knowing how it comes about that for companion I have Señor Juan Belmonte, who at this moment is making his way into what proved to be a very filthy town in search of lodgings for us for the night. And this is how it came about:
When it was decided finally that I should part from the British squadron on the day they cleared out--they intending to anchor over night outside of Vigo bay and to send forward some frigates scouting ere going on their way to England--I made mention to Belmonte that such was my intention. Also I asked him--I finding of him in his cabin, where he was reading a Spanish book of love verses--what he meant to do with himself, since, if he did not leave the ship when, or before, I did, he would be forced to accept Sir George's invitation to proceed to England with him.
"Oh, my friend!" he said, with ever the soft, gentle smile upon his handsome features, "my friend and conqueror"--for so he had taken to terming me--"I want no terrible journey to England in these great fierce ships of war. Tell me, tell me, amígo mio, what you are going to do yourself. Your plans! Your plans!"
"My plans," I said, seeing no reason why I should not divulge them to him, since it was impossible he could do me any hurt, even if so inclined, which I thought not very likely, "are simple ones. I go ashore at Viana, find a horse--one will carry me part of the journey, then I can get another--and so, by God's will, get to the end, to my destination."
"But the destination. The destination. Where is it? Tell me that."