“Why do you not scheme to release us?”
“Scheme to release us? Shall I blow up the brig? That will make an end.”
“It would not be the Señorita Aurora, but the Cavalier Fielding and his Spanish dollars which would hinder that,” said she.
“If, by jumping overboard and swimming, I could put you in the way of reaching Madrid, I’d do so,” said I; “but it’s a long swim hereabouts to anywhere.”
“You would not jump overboard and leave your dollars,” said she. “If you were the gallant and respectable gentleman I have long supposed you, you would think of nothing but my deliverance. Why am I to be carried away to the extreme ends of the world? What is to become of me when your odious Hollanders and Englishmen have wrecked this brig?” and here she sank upon the table and sobbed.
“What am I to do?” I cried, not greatly moved by her tears; indeed, I was too angry with her to be affected by her sobs. I had used her very kindly; I had never failed in such rough sea courtesy as my profession permitted me the poor art of; I did not like her sneers at my love for my dollars; and I less liked the pinch or two of tart truth that acidulated her language. “What am I to do?” I cried. “Bol will not tranship you. He’ll speak no more vessels now the two Spaniards are gone. I can’t sneak you away in a boat. Let any land but that of Amsterdam Island heave into view and the sailors will slit my throat. Why do you lie sobbing upon that table, madam? Pray, hold up your head and listen to me. What was your scheme, pray? A hideous one, indeed; and one that would not profit us either. It would fail, were we devils enough to attempt it: and then God help you and me! Many are the saints, but none would then be powerful enough to serve you.”
She raised her head. The fire in her eyes was by no means dimmed by her tears. Her sobbing and posture had reddened her cheeks.
“The navigation of this brig is in your hands. Wreck her!” she exclaimed.
“And be drowned?”
“Wreck her in such a way that we shall not be drowned.”