I re-entered the cabin and seated myself.
“The captain is bad,” said the lady Aurora.
I answered with a sorrowful nod. She clasped her hands and looked at me across the table anxiously, and said:
“He die.”
“Qué hacer?” (What is to be done?) I answered, for by this time I had picked up a number of phrases from her.
She slightly shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, and, pointing upward, exclaimed in Spanish:
“It is as God wills.”
Then, again fixing her fine eyes, full of fire and feeling, upon me, she, by nods and gestures, contrived to make me understand this question:
“Suppose the captain dies, how is the brig to get to England?”
I smiled and pointed to myself, and made her gather that, while I was on board, the brig was pretty sure, in some fashion or other, to head on a true course for England.