We had swept the island out of sight before we left the dinner table. When I came on deck the horizon had closed somewhat upon us. The ocean was a weak blue, and ran with a frosty sparkle into a sort of film or thickness that went all round the sea. The breeze had freshened, and it whipped the waters into little billows, with yearning and snapping heads of foam, and it was pouring its increasing volume into the lofty height and wide expanse of canvas under which the brig was thrusting along in a staggering, rushing way, the glass-smooth curve of brine at the bow breaking abreast of the gangway with a twelve-knot flash of the foam into the throbbing race of the long wake.
We kept her so throughout the afternoon until six o’clock, when the evening began to darken eastward; we then took in the lower and topgallant studding sails, but left her to drag the fore topmast studding sails if she could not carry it, for this was wind to make the most of; we could not, to our impatience, come up with the Horn too soon; many parallels were there for our keel to cut before we should find ourselves abreast of that headland; degrees of latitude lying like hurdles for the brig to take along that mighty and majestic course of ocean.
That same night of the day of our departure from the island, Greaves came out of the cabin and walked the deck with me. He had been amusing himself for an hour below with the company of the Señorita Aurora. From time to time I had watched them through the skylight. He smoked a cigar; a glass of grog stood at his elbow, some wine and ship’s biscuit before the lady. He held a pencil, and from time to time wrote, looking up at her; and she would bend over the paper, read, give him a dignified nod, take the pencil, and herself write.
But it seemed to me that she forced herself to endure this tuition. She held herself as much away from him as the obligation of writing and extending her hand and receiving the paper permitted. This went on till about nine o’clock. The lady then withdrew, and Greaves came on deck as I have said.
“This is fine sailing,” said he.
“Ay, indeed. I would part with some of those dollars below for a month of it.”
“I have been teaching the girl English, and have picked up some Spanish words from her. She is an apt scholar; her mind is as swift as the light in her eyes. It is clever of her to wish to learn English. We can’t be always sending for that fellow Antonio. She seemed astonished when I talked of three months, but she knows—she must know—that the run might occupy a vessel more than three months. What change would the skipper of the craft she sailed out of Acapulco in be willing to give out of four months, ay, and perhaps five, in a passage to Cadiz?”
“She, perhaps, thought of herself as being without clothes when you talked of three months, and so cried out.”
“Well, it is clever of her to wish to learn English. Here she is, and here she’s likely to remain until we send her ashore in the Downs.”
“But why?”