I began to whistle, and drew on paper with the pencil I had calculated with. He again eyed me sideways and went out. I believe it was on the fifth day of the heavy weather that Teach had paid me this visit. Next morning, while I was breakfasting with the Spanish lady, Jimmy--the boy as I call him, though he was a great, hulking, strong, sprawling lad as you know; half an idiot in many directions, but quick and even intelligent in some--this lad came into the cabin and said that Bol asked to speak to me. I would not have the Dutchman below, neither would I leave my breakfast; so I bid the lad say I’d be on deck by and by. Down he comes a minute later with a bit of dirty folded paper in his hand. “Master,” says he, “Mister Bol didn’t know you was at breakfast. Will you read this, and tell him, when you go on deck, if it’s to your satisfaction?” The dirty piece of paper was like to the sheets that had been used for the Round Robin. It was the fly-leaf of some old book, yellow with age and pockmarked with brine. A Dutch scrawl in faint ink half covered it. The precious document ran thus: Meester Fielding, dis vhas a bondt. All handts agree. Suppose dere vhas fifteen ton silver--vell, two tons vhas yours if you sail der brick true und does her duty by oos ash we does by him. Dot being right ve all makes our marks and sines her names ash oonder. If you goes wrong dis bondt vhas tore-sop, und vot vhas las’ wrote stans for noting. Dere vhas no more paper. Then followed the crosses and names of the men, as in the Round Robin. I burst into a laugh. Heartsick as I was, this stroke of farce, happening in the great tragic occasion of that time, proved too much for me. I put the paper in my pocket. “At what do you laugh?” said the lady Aurora. “At a piece of Dutch humor,” said I, laughing again. She looked eagerly, and wished to know if the crew had done anything to please me--anything to lighten my anxiety. “They have given me two tons of silver,” said I with a sneer, pointing down that she might understand me. She shrugged her shoulders, and asked no more questions about the crew’s bond. I reckoned she saw in my face as much as she was interested to hear. I observed her fine eyes fixed upon the stand of muskets and cutlasses and watched her; not speculating on her thoughts, merely observing her face. I beheld no marks of anxiety in her handsome features, of such passions of uneasiness and continued distress as you would look for in a woman situated as she was. The glass in poor Greaves’ cabin had assured me that what had befallen us had not sweetened or colored my own visage. I was growing long of face; yellowing daily, and my eyes had sunk. This Spanish girl, on the other hand, was still bright and spirited with all the health she had regained aboard us. I watched her while she looked at the weapons; she turned her face slowly upon mine, and our eyes met.