"It blows heavily."
"No, Don Lazarillo," said I.
"I thank the Virgin I am not seasick. Yet, the sight of those mountains," said he, pointing over the side with a yellow, jeweled hand, "makes me sensible that my stomach is of the most delicate."
"By this time you should have grown accustomed to the motion of a ship."
"Yes, it is so. Might not this dark day prove fatal to us?" Here he struck his fists together to denote a collision between vessels.
I shook my head and touched my eyes and pointed to the men forward, touching my eyes again that he might gather it was the custom of English sailors in thick weather to keep a look-out.
"How long to Cuba?" he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Is Don Christoval still resolved to go to Cuba?" said I.
"Yes," he cried in Spanish, in the most passionate way that can be imagined, while an expression of dark suspicion entered his eyes. "You know the way to Cuba?"
"Oh yes," I answered smiling.