I laid it down as a rule from which there was to be no departure, that Ramon and I were neither to sleep at the same time nor be in the cabin together, and that when we had anything particular to say we should say it in Quipai.  As it happened, he knew a little English; I had taught my wife my mother-tongue, and Ramon, by dint of hearing it spoken, and with a little instruction from me and from her, had become so far proficient in the language that he could understand the greater part of what was said.  This, however, was not known to Kidd and Yawl; I told him not to let them know; but whenever opportunity occurred to listen to their conversation, and report it to me.  I thought that if they meditated evil against us I might in this way obtain timely information of their designs; and I considered that, in the circumstances (our lives being, as I believed, in jeopardy), the expedient was quite justifiable.

We sailed at sunset and got well away, and the clear sky and resplendent stars, the calm sea and the fair soft wind augured well for a prosperous voyage.  Yet my heart was sad and my spirits were low.  The parting with our poor Indians had been very trying, and I could not help asking myself whether I had acted quite rightly in deserting them, whether it would not have been nobler (though perhaps not so worldly wise) to throw in my lot with theirs and try to recreate the oasis, as Angela had suggested.  I also doubted whether I was acting the part of a prudent man in embarking my wife, my fortune, and myself on a wretched little sloop (which would probably founder in the first storm), under the control of two men of whom I knew no good, and who, as I feared, might play us false?

But whether I had acted wisely or unwisely, there was no going back now, and as I did not want Angela to perceive that I was either dubious or downcast, I pulled myself together, put on a cheerful countenance, and spoke hopefully of our prospects.

She was with us on deck, Kidd being at the helm.

“I have no very precise idea how far we maybe from Callao,” I said, “but if this wind lasts we should be there in five or six days at the outside.  Don’t you think so, Kidd?”

“May be.  You still think of going to Callao, then?”

“Still think of going to Callao!  I am determined to go to Callao.  Why do you ask?  Did not I distinctly say so before we started?”

“I thought you had maybe changed your mind.  And Callao won’t be easy to make.  Neither Yawl nor me has ever been there; we don’t know the bearings, and we have no compass, and I don’t know much about the stars in these latitudes.”

“But I do, and better still, I have a compass.”

“A compass!  Do you hear that, Bill Yawl?  Mr. Fortescue has got a compass.  Go to Callao!  Why, we can go a’most anywhere.  Where have you got it, sir—­in the cabin?”

“Yes, Abbe Balthazar and I made it, ever so long since.  It is only rudely fashioned, and has never been adjusted, but I dare say it will answer the purpose as well as another.”