“It is for the captain, not for me, to tell you that,” said I.
“Vhen shall he speak?” said Bol.
“In good time, I warrant you.”
“I vhas villing to agree dot vhere we sailed to should be der captain’s secret for a leedle time; but now ve hov been somevhiles at sea, und still she vhas a secret, und I belief dot der men did not suppose dot she vouldt be a secret so long. Dere vhas no cargo. Nothing vhas consigned. Derefore, if ve vhas boun’ anywhere it vhas to a port to call for orders. Und after——”
“The captain will not keep the crew in ignorance much longer,” said I.
“But you can tell us, Mr. Fielding, vhere ve vhas boun’ to?”
“I know where we are bound to.”
“Dot vhas strange! You come on board as a shipwreckt man, vhich vhas quite right; und you take Heer Van Laar’s place, vhich vhas also quite right; and of all der crew, excepting der captain, you alone know vhere der brig vhas boun’ to! Mr. Fielding, oxcuse me, I mean no offense, but I say again dot vhas dom’d strange.”
There was jealousy here which I witnessed, understood, and, to a degree, sympathized with. Here was I, a stranger to the brig—a stranger, I mean, in the sense of not having formed one of her company when she sailed from Amsterdam; here was I, not only installed in the room of Van Laar, and, for all I knew, regarded by the crew as the cause of that man’s expulsion from the ship, but in possession of knowledge withheld from all hands. This might excite a feeling against me among the men, which would be unfortunate. The voyage had opened with so much promise that I had resolved to spare no effort to make a jolly jaunt of it to the uttermost end of the traverse, whether that end was to be called the Downs, or Amsterdam. Preserving my temper, and speaking in the kindliest voice I could command, I said to the big figure alongside of me:
“Yan Bol, I do not wonder you are surprised that I should know what is hidden from you. You are an officer of this ship as well as I.”