The morning breeze, the roseate dawnlight, the lapping wave which kissed his cabin-side, the sea-birds’ cry,—all these were separate and distinct joys and sensations which he recognised with a thankfulness too deep for words. When the Japanese steward shortly afterwards, bowing with Oriental humility, proposed to conduct him to a bath-room, and, at the same time, displayed a complete Spanish military uniform, he began to feel once more a resemblance to the man that he used to be, as also a newborn desire to learn how and by whom this change in his affairs had been brought about. Change? Yes! the change from a living grave—a hopeless, despairing existence—doomed to vegetate on the accursed isle till death released him from a state of mental torture all but unendurable. Weekly to witness the long-hoped-for, prayed-for opening of the prison gate for a fellow-victim. But only by the warder Death, or through a merciful alternative—the utter dethronement of reason.
The purifying process complete, and the costume of the hidalgo donned, from which not even the sombrero, with sweeping feather, was absent, his island garments were made into a bundle, loaded with a ringbolt, and cast into the deep. His attendant then informed him that the Captain hoped to have the pleasure of meeting Don Carlos Alvarez at breakfast, at his convenience. Feeling partly like an actor in private theatricals, partly like a man in a dream, he followed Manuel to the smaller cuddy, where fruit and coffee, with a most appetising breakfast, were already set forth.
‘I have the honour to salute Don Carlos Alvarez, who has joined my vessel at Santa Cruz and desires a passage to Norfolk Island. Is it not so?’ said the Captain, speaking in Spanish, with formal and impressive courtesy.
‘A vuestro disposición, Señor Capitan!’ answered the passenger in the same language. And, indeed, as he surveyed himself in one of the mirrors which, in massive silver frames, ornamented the apartment, he found it difficult to believe that he was not the haughty hidalgo with whom the tales of the Spanish main had made all students familiar.
‘I have to thank you,’ he continued, still speaking in more or less pure Castilian, ‘for my life—for the recovery of my liberty, and all things that men hold most dear. Believe me, I await only the time when I may translate my feelings into deeds, to prove them true. But I would further beg you to add to my obligation, heavy as it is, the reasons for your thus interesting yourself in the affairs of a stranger.’