“I have heard of a rich Greek merchant captain who has been in Venice some time,” observed Pasquale carelessly.  “He will be looking out for a crew before long.”

“Is Captain Aristarchi going to sea at last?” asked the man who had not spoken yet.  “Or do you mean some other captain?”

“That is the name, I believe,” said Pasquale.  “It was an outlandish name like that.  Do you ever see him about the docks?  I saw him once, a piece of man, I tell you, with bones like a bull and a face like a bear.”

“He is not often seen,” answered the man who had spoken last.  “That is his ship; over there, between the ‘trabacolo’ and the dismasted hulk.”

“I see her,” returned Pasquale at once.  “A thorough Greek she is, too, by her looks, but well kept enough if she is only, waiting for a cargo, with two or three hands on board.”

The men laughed a little at Pasquale’s ignorance concerning the vessel.

“She has a full crew,” said one.  “She is always ready for sea at any moment, with provisions and water.  No one can understand what the captain means, nor why he is here, nor why he is willing to pay twenty men for doing nothing.”

“Does the captain live on board of her?” inquired Pasquale indifferently.

“Not he!  He is amusing himself in Venice.  He has hired a house by the month, not far from the Baker’s Bridge, and there he has been living for a long time.”

“He must be very rich,” observed Pasquale, who had found out what he wished to know, but was too wise to let the conversation drop too abruptly.  “From what you say, however, he needs no more hands on his vessel,” he added.

“It is not for us,” answered the man.  “We will ship with a captain we know, and with shipmates from our own country, who are Christians and understand the compass.”

This he said because all sea-going vessels did not carry a compass in those days.

“And until we can pick up a ship we like,” added the other man, “we will live on bread and water, and if we can catch a fish now and then in the canal, so much the better.”

Pasquale cast off the bit of line that moored his skiff, shipped his single oar, and with a parting word to the men, he pushed off.

“You are quite right!” he said.  “Eh!  A roast fish is a savoury thing.”

They nodded to him and again became intent on their pastime.  Pasquale rowed faster than before, and he passed close under the stern of the Greek vessel.  The mate was leaning over the taffrail under the poop awning.  He was dressed in baggy garments of spotless white, his big blue cap was stuck far back on his head, and his strong brown arms were bare to the elbow.  He looked as broad as he was long.

“Is the captain on board, sir?” asked Pasquale, at a venture, but looking at the mate with interest.

He expected that he would answer the question in the negative, by sticking out his jaw and throwing his head a little backward.  To his surprise the mate returned his gaze a moment, and then stood upright.