“Another twenty minutes, master.”
“Heave the log, Fielding, and let’s get the pace at the start.”
All expression of pain was now passed out of his face; likewise had his natural, fresh color returned to him. The triumph of this time had kindled his eyes anew, and there were pride and content in the looks which he cast around his brig and over the rail at the island. And I think if ever there was a man who had a right to feel satisfied with himself and his work, Greaves, at this time, was he; for, truly, something more than talent had gone to the discovery of the dollars in the caverned ship. Mere accident it was that had disclosed the vessel, but it needed the genius of a great adventurer to light upon the dollars, to note all the particulars of the Spanish manifest, to hold the secret behind his teeth till he got home, to inspire such an old hunks as Bartholomew Tulp with confidence enough to shed his blood, or, in other words, to disburse his money, in the furtherance of this enterprise of recovery.
I called a couple of men aft and hove the log. What is the log? It is a reel round which are wound many fathoms of line; at the end of the line is attached a piece of wood, sometimes a canvas bag, designed to grip the water when it is hove overboard. The line is spaced into knots, and the running of it is timed by a glass of sand. This log is one of the oldest contrivances we have at sea. With it the early navigators groped their way about the world. It found them New Holland and the Indies, and both Americas. It was their longitude and often their latitude. It was their chronometer and sextant. We use it still, and cannot better it. A simple and noble old contrivance is the log. May the mariner never lose faith in it! Crutched by the log on one side, and the lead on the other, he may hobble round the globe in safety, defiant of shoals, regardless of fogs.
I hove the log, and made the speed seven knots.
“A good start!” exclaimed Greaves, rising and coming slowly to the rail, and looking over. He walked without inconvenience or pain, and stood with a thoughtful face, gazing at the satin-white sheets of foam sliding past. Madam Aurora left Galloon and came to my side, but Galloon followed her—never went there to sea a friendlier, a more affectionate dog. The men were hauling in the dripping log line and reeling it up. The lady with a smile said with a very good accent, “How do you call it?” I laughed as I pronounced the word log. Oh, what should it convey to the imagination of a Spanish maiden?
She understood, however, for what purpose it had been used, and with eloquent gestures inquired the speed. I held up my fingers.
“Quien lo hubiera creído?” cried she.
“She is not grumbling, I hope,” called Greaves from the rail, and he slowly approached us.
The lady looked for a little while very earnestly at the captain, with a world of meaning in her beautiful eyes—meaning so eloquent in desire of expression, that it was pathetic to witness the arrest of speech in her gaze and face. She then with grace and dignity motioned round the sea.