Greaves was so much better of the pain in his side that he sat at breakfast and took a chair upon the deck afterward. He called me to his cabin, while we were heading for the island, and asked me to look at his ribs. There was a little discoloration, such as might attend a bruise—no more. I pressed the bones, but he did not wince. I dug somewhat deep in the soft part just under the liver, but he uttered no sound. The pain was very nearly gone, he told me; yet he looked pale, and his eyes wanted their former light and old activity of glance.
I was busy in bringing the brig to a stand while Greaves was at breakfast, and on passing the skylight and looking down, I saw the lady Aurora seated at table with him. When he came on deck after breakfast, she followed; Jimmy placed chairs and she was about to sit, but catching sight of me she approached, bowing low, with a fine arch smile, and her hand extended. I supposed she meant merely to shake me by the hand, but on grasping my fingers she retained them, and I felt a foolish blush upon my face, as she drew me to the binnacle stand, at which she pointed, saying, “compass.” She then led me to the side, and projecting her glittering hand over the rail, said “sea.” Then, looking aloft, she laughed and shook her head, and cried:
“No sar, señor.”
“Star,” said I.
“Si—star—gracias,” she exclaimed.
“Had you not better mind your eye?” exclaimed Greaves, as we approached him. “Somebody’s told her the value of your share in the chinks below. She’s no clipper, but she’s got a devilish fine bow and run, and you’d find her bends sweetly good, I’ll warrant you, were you to careen her and clear her sides. By Isten! Fielding, she’ll be forging ahead and taking you in tow if you don’t mind your helm.”
I made no reply. I did not greatly relish Greaves’ humor. The girl’s ignorance of our tongue was an appeal to our respect. But then I was twenty-four—an age of sensibility. Greaves was an older man, and though I love his memory, I must say the sea had a little blunted some of the finer points of feeling in him.
Madam Aurora took the chair which Jimmy had placed, and she and Greaves sat together, but in silence. Some business of the brig occupied my attention. Presently Greaves told me to go below and breakfast.
“I will look after the ship,” said he.
I went below and made a good breakfast. There was a dish of terrapin; the Dutch sailor Wirtz, the burly, carroty man, with the deep roaring voice—but all our Dutchmen had deep voices—had somewhere learnt the art of cooking terrapin. He had stayed in the brig to dress this delicious meat, and Frank Hals, the cook, had gone ashore in his place in the longboat. I fared sumptuously, washing the delicate morsels down with some of the Casada’s cocoa, which had been prepared for the pot by Thomas Teach, who professed to have learnt what he knew under this head in two voyages he had made to the Dutch Spice Islands.