Thus they sped on their course, hugging the belief that they had taken the most effectual means of silencing an enemy, and feeling secure in the reflection that, as the sea was not likely to give up its dead, they were not likely to be confronted with Hilton Riddell again.
Meanwhile the latter was receiving every care and attention on board the “Halcyon.” Captain Pereiro was greatly delighted to observe the gradual recovery of the prey he had rescued from the ocean, all the more so as he had already convinced himself that Hilton had been the victim of foul play. The blow on the head had been a terrible one—so terrible, indeed, that it threatened to kill him, many symptoms of concussion of the brain showing themselves. Thus it was weeks before poor Hilton recovered his wonted vigour, and, under God, it was due to the unremitting care and attention with which Captain Pereiro nursed him that he was enabled to evade death. Pedro, too, being of a generous disposition, grudged no pains in the preparation of dainties likely to stimulate the invalid’s for some time languishing appetite. Had Hilton been their patron saint himself, he could not have been treated with more care and tenderness, and his returning consciousness of what he had been saved from invested them, in turn, with every saint-like attribute.
Short, stout, of stolid feature; black-haired, rough-bearded, and carelessly shaven; with dark eyes, whose kindly light was almost obscured by bushy, overhanging eyebrows; of the swarthiest complexion; with big, coarse hands, and a rough gait, and with all the eccentricities of his appearance accentuated by a sublime indifference to the advantages of becoming attire, Captain Pereiro was not one to strike the casual observer with enthusiastic admiration. The steward, Pedro, did not come in a bad second as far as personal appearance went, except that he was taller, thinner, and more pronouncedly ungainly. But ask Hilton Riddell to this day to name the two finest fellows on earth, and he will at once utter a verdict in favour of the captain and steward of the Portuguese barque “Halcyon.”
It was at first a source of wonderment to his rescuers how he had kept afloat so long, until they discovered that much of his apparent bulk was caused by a life-saving waistcoat with which he had had the forethought to provide himself.
“This man is English, and he comes from London. So much I can make out from his speech, but no more,” said the captain, when talking things over with the mate of his ship, who, though not taking an active part in the nursing of the foundling, yet felt a considerable interest in his progress towards recovery. “He is a beautiful man, as beautiful as the fabled gods must have been; but I burn with curiosity to know how he has been thrown on to our hands. He has met with foul play, that is sure, and he has been among people whom he knew to be his enemies. That is also sure. It is also evident that he was to some extent prepared for the risk he ran, and that his enemies were ignorant of the fact. Otherwise he would not have worn this waistcoat, ready for inflation, under his shirt, or his enemies, after thinking they had killed him by the blows on the head, would have removed the wonderful garment which ensured his floating on the surface of the water.”
“But,” objected the mate, “he may have been wrecked, and the wound on his head may have been caused by a blow from floating wreckage.”
“No, that is not so, for when I took a marlingspike, and pretended to hit my own head with it, at the same time pointing to his, he nodded vigorously, as much as to say that his wound was inflicted purposely. I am sure he has a strange history, and, for the first time in my life, I wish I knew how to talk English.”
“If he could talk Portuguese it would do just as well.”
“Yes; but he doesn’t talk Portuguese, so there’s an end of it. I will go below again now, and see how he is getting on.”
Captain Pereiro found his patient very much better, and anxious to know where he was, how he came there, and whither he was being taken. But his eager questions, and the captain’s willing answers, only resulted in their becoming more hopelessly befogged with each other. Neither could elicit or communicate anything satisfactory. At last the captain was seized with a bright idea, which induced him to rush to the chart-room as quickly as his unwieldy body would let him, leaving Hilton wondering what was the matter with him. Presently he returned with a triumphant look on his face, bearing in his hands a large roll, which he laid carefully on the locker for a while. Then he assisted Hilton into a sitting position, piling behind him a pair of sea boots, some oilskins, a camp stool, and sundry other things, upon which substantial foundation he arranged various pillows in the dexterous manner which had become habitual to him. Having thus made the patient as comfortable as possible, he produced the roll from the top of the locker and unfolded what proved to be a large chart.