On
deck Gill, the officer of the watch, had everything well in
hand: in the cabin below Killick had arranged cushions in
the Oriental manner under Professor Graham’s direction,
and had lit the hubblebubble laid in for the purpose at
Valetta — tobacco-smoke rose from the cabin-skylight, and
the afterguard breathed it in greedily.
The caique upset all natural calculations by suddenly
darting round to the larboard mainchains at the last
moment; but the Navy, accustomed to the wild vagaries
of foreigners, dealt with the situation directly, facing about
and providing a mirror-image of the proper ceremonies,
bringing the old gentleman aboard without a feather of
the splendid aigrette in his turban being ruffled.
He was led to the cabin, where Jack welcomed him,
Graham acting as the interpreter: his only function was
to invite Captain Aubrey to dine with the Bey, and to
apologize for the lateness of the invitation — the Bey
had been hunting in the marshes and the news of the
frigate’s arrival had not reached him for a great while:
he was desolated; he lay in ashes.
‘What was the Bey hunting?’ asked Jack, who was
interested in these things and who in any case felt that
some polite conversation might compensate for Killick’s
lukewarm version of sherbet and the plain Navy twist in
the hubblebubble, neither of which seemed quite to the
company’s taste.
‘Jews,’ said Graham, relaying the question and the
answer.
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