“Did not I tell you I should be better presently? The machinery’s sound, and, when that’s so, nature is your one artist to make it the right time of day with ye.”
I conversed a little with him. Yan Bol stood by. I told him about the whaler. He motioned with a trembling white hand, and said he had heard all about it from Yan Bol. Presently he wandered somewhat in his speech, and rose falteringly, sending a sort of blind, groping look round the decks; but he was too feeble to hold his body erect, and the swing of the brig, as she reeled to a sea, flung him roughly back upon his chair.
“Let me take you below,” said I.
He looked at me as though he did not know me and talked to himself. I motioned to Bol with my head, and we each took an arm, and tenderly—and I say that there was a tenderness in Yan Bol’s handling of the poor fellow that gave me such an opinion of his heart as helped me for a little while like a fresh spirit in that time of my distress, anxiety, and fear—very tenderly I say, we partly carried, partly supported, the captain into the cabin, whence he went, leaning on Jimmy, to his berth, looking behind him somewhat wildly at us who stood watching him, and talking without any sense that I could collect.
“Mr. Fielding,” said Yan Bol as we regained the deck, “der captain vhas a deadt man.”
“I wondered to find him out of his berth.”
“He vhas von minute talking like ash you or me, und der next he vhas grazy mit fancies. I likes to know how dot vhas mit der brain. Von minute he oxes me questions about der vhaler, as you might; der next he looks at me und say, ‘Vhas your name Yan Bol?’ ‘It vhas,’ I answered. ‘Vhat vhas der natural figure of der Toyfell?’ he oxes. ‘Dot vhas a question for der minister,’ says I. ‘Last night’ he says, ‘dere vhas a full moon, und I saw a reflection like she might be a bat’s upon der brightness of der moon. Dot reflection sailed slowly across. I ox you,’ says he, ‘vhas dot der reflection of der Toyfell—dot, you must know, is Brince of der vinds?’ I keeps mine own counsel, und valks a leedle, und pretends dot der brig vants looking after; und vhen I comes back he oxes me anoder question dot vhas no longer grazy, but like ash you might ox. Now, how vhas dot, Mr. Fielding?”
“I am as ignorant as you,” said I; “but his end is at hand. He will not long talk sensibly or crazily. God help him and bless us all! It is a heavy blow to befall this little brig—‘tis a heavier blow to befall the poor gentleman who has shown us how to fill our pockets with dollars; whose own share would make him a happy and prosperous man for life.”
“Dot vhas so,” said Bol; and our conversation ended.
Seeing that Greaves’ mind was loosened, I no longer expected him to realize the near approach of death. I ceased, therefore, to be surprised that he did not speak to me about his condition. Sometimes I would ask myself whether it was not my duty, as his friend, to touch upon the subject of his state at some favorable moment when his faculties were strong enough for coherent discourse. He was dying. He must soon die. He could not live to round the Horn. How would he wish the money he had earned by this venture to be disposed of? Thirty thousand pounds was a large fortune. I knew that he was fatherless and motherless, but no more of him did I know than that. I had never heard him speak of his relations; indeed, throughout he had been silent on the subject of his parentage and beginnings, though he had never wanted in candor when he talked of his first going to sea, his struggles and failures and sufferings in the vocation.