Mister Meeks was just on his way to let the captain's eat in private, as every other proper lady would ask, but couldn't go any further when she asked him what sounded like a request for permission to ask him something. 
[i]Why was he here? What drove him here? What made him different?[/i]

Unlike most of the men, including the captain, he had a conscience. A quartermaster's role was to provide the men their needs and meet their interests. Earlier, he did reconsider of asking the head of the island to depose, but he hesitant...for now. He heard stories of better captains, like Edward Teach, Benjamin Hornigold, James Flint, Jack Rackham, Charles Vane; the list goes on and on. As far as Meeks knew, they were "better men". Low, whatever he was, was [i]not[/i] a man. That, he could see clearly. 

Looking at the girl, who sat upon a blanket laid out on the sand, he thought of an answer, almost heistating to say something. But after a moment of thinking, he decided to ignore her first question, instead responding to the other one. "Every man is different. Every [i]pirate[/i] is different. They each have a drive; a goal. Strengths; weaknesses. Everywhere I look, I see a man, who's served from one terrible captain, to another. They seek easy power to avoid this embarrassment; to feel strong, by serving under a strong captain. That was I initially thought after aligning with Ned Low", he paused. "But, if one has a conscience, you'll find yourself only serving the devil", he added. "I try to protect my men from it, but the wrath of our captain wasn't to be underestimated", and that was his answer. 

Hoping it was good enough, he lifted the tent flap, and made his leave.