IV

played on his face, which seemed not unkind when he spoke. “I have come to do you no harm. I have sailed free,” he said, “but was never worse than a contrabandista . I am one of Columbus’s crew,” he continued. “I am the pilot of the Pinta come to aid you. Lie quiet, señor captain,” he added, “and I will guide your ship tonight. You have a calentura , but you will be all right tomorrow.” I thought what a very devil he was to carry sail. Again, as if he read my mind, he exclaimed: “Yonder is the Pinta ahead; we must overtake her. Give her sail; give her sail! Vale, vale, muy vale! ” Biting off a large quid of black twist, he said: “You did wrong, captain, to mix cheese with plums. White cheese is never safe unless you know whence it comes. Quien sabe , it may have been from leche de Capra and becoming capricious⁠—”

“Avast, there!” I cried. “I have no mind for moralizing.”

I made shift to spread a mattress and lie on that instead of the hard floor, my eyes all the while fastened on my strange guest, who, remarking again that I would have “only pains and calentura,” chuckled as he chanted a wild song:

High are the waves, fierce, gleaming, High is the tempest roar! High the seabird screaming! High the Azore!

I suppose I was now on the mend, for I was peevish, and complained: “I detest your jingle. Your Azore should be at roost, and would have been were it a respectable bird!” I begged he would tie a rope-yarn on the rest of the song, if there was any more of it. I was still in agony. Great seas were boarding the Spray , but in my fevered brain I thought they were boats falling on deck, that careless draymen were throwing from wagons on the pier to which I imagined the Spray was now moored, and without fenders to breast her off. “You’ll smash your boats!” I called out again and again, as the seas crashed on the cabin over my head. “You’ll smash your boats, but you can’t hurt the Spray . She is strong!” I cried.