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I had never before contemplated the life of a sailor, and the inconstancy of the voyage disheartened me, for there was not a moment when our ship was still or we could be at peace. The calm seas which we met at the outset of the journey were interrupted by unwelcome and intemperate gusts of wind, and strange currents pulled the ship in directions in which we had not meant to travel. The nights were filled with the fearsome sounds of dragging, moaning and creaking, deep in the hull. Horses neighed below, pigs moved amidst the straw, and rats scuttled past us as we cleaned cannon, arranged sails, and washed down the deck.

But after we had passed Las Islas Canarias we found calm seas and winds in our favour. We sailed as on a river of fresh water, taking much delight in fishing for the glittering dorado that we ate each evening. Pedro ran upon the deck, and even on one occasion swam in the sea, the sailors cheering his adventure, until he lost his confidence and required rescue. Of course it fell to me, as his new owner, to dive in and save him. I dared not think how many fathoms deep the ocean ran beneath us and I was nearly drowned bringing him back on board. But my act of mercy only served to make the hound love me all the more, and I found his dogged devotion so all-encompassing that I believed that I would never enjoy a moment alone for the rest of my life.

He was a permanent reminder of Isabella, to whom all thoughts returned, like doves at nightfall. Each evening I lay on my hammock with her portrait in my hand and Pedro asleep at my feet, dreaming of the nights that I would one day spend with my beloved rather than her accursed dog. Even in the daytime I found myself quite lost in the memory of her beauty, and I was reprimanded that I should concentrate on my tasks and become more of a man and less of a dreamer.

I steeled myself to concentrate on my duties, but was surprised to find that all seamen were expected to sew. Although this seemed an effeminate occupation, it was taken extremely seriously, and I discovered that the neatest hem-stitchers were even given extra rations, the task of patching and making sails being considered so vital to the success of our endeavours. I was detailed to pick old rope apart and then re-use it to make ladders, or ratlines, by which our men were able to scramble to points aloft. I subsequently found myself spending many hours on deck involved in their construction, proving so adept at the task that I was soon promoted to making lanyards and shroud stays.