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--" [Illustration: The apparition at the wheel.] "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 sea-bird screaming! High the Azore! I suppose I was now on the mend, for I was peevish, and complained: "I detest your jingle.