 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Caitlyn Sticco Madison, Wisconsin, 2007. Captain Blood by Raphael Sabatini. CHAPTER IX. THE REBEL'S CONVICT There were, when the purple gloom of the tropical night descended upon the Caribbean, not more than ten men on guard aboard the Cinco Yagas, so confident, and with good reason, were the Spaniards of the complete subjection of the Islanders. And when I say that there were ten men on guard, I state rather the purpose for which they were left aboard than the duty which they fulfilled. As a matter of fact, whilst the main body of the Spaniards feasted and rioted ashore, the Spanish gunner and his crew, who had so nobly done their duty and ensured the easy victory of the day, were feasting on the gun-deck upon the wine and the fresh meats fetched out to them from shore. Above, two sentinels only kept vigil, at stem and stern, nor were they as vigilant as they should have been, or else they must have observed the two wearies that under cover of the darkness came gliding from the wharf with well-greased rollocks to bring up in silence under the great ship's quarter. From the gallery aft still hung the ladder by which Don Diego had descended to the boat that had taken him ashore. The sentry on guard in the stern, coming presently round this gallery, was suddenly confronted by the black shadow of a man standing before him at the head of the ladder. "'Was there?' he asked, but without alarm, supposing it was one of his fellows. "'It is I,' softly answered Peter Blood, in the fluent castian of which he was master. "'Is it you, Pedro?' the Spaniard came a step nearer. "'Peter is my name, but I doubt I'll not be the Peter you're expecting.' "'How?' quote the sentry, checking. "'This way,' said Mr. Blood. The wooden taff rail was a low one, and the Spaniard was taken completely by surprise. Save for the splash he made as he struck the water, narrowly missing one of the crowded boats that waited under the counter, not a sound announced his misadventure. Armed as he was, with corset-lit, criss-arts, and head-piece, he sank to trouble them no more. "'Whist!' hissed Mr. Blood to his wading rubble's convict. "'Come on now, and without noise!' Within five minutes they had swarmed aboard, the entire twenty of them overflowing from that narrow gallery and crouching on the quarter-deck itself. Lights showed ahead. Under the great lantern in the prow they saw the black figure of the other sentry pacing on the forecastle. From below sounds reached them of the orgy on the gun-deck. A rich male voice was singing an obscene ballad to which the others chanted in chorus, "'Iesto son las usos de castilla e de Leon!' From what I have seen to-day I can well believe it,' said Mr. Blood, and whispered, forward after me. Crouching low they glided, noiseless as shadows to the quarter-deck rail, and then slipped without sound down into the waist. Two-thirds of them were armed with muskets, some of which they had found in the overseer's house, and others supplied from the secret horde that Mr. Blood had so laboriously assembled against the day of escape. The remainder were equipped with knives and cutlasses. In the vessel's waist they hung awhile, until Mr. Blood had satisfied himself that no other sentinel showed above decks, but that inconvenient fellow in the prow. Their first attention must be for him. Mr. Blood himself crept forward with two companions, leaving the others in charge of that Nathaniel Hagthorpe whose sometime commission in the king's navy gave him the best title to this office. Mr. Blood's absence was brief. When he rejoined his comrades there was no watch above the Spaniard's decks. Meanwhile the revelers below continued to make merry at their ease in the conviction of complete security. The garrison of Barbados was overpowered and disarmed, and their companions were ashore in complete possessions of the town, glunning themselves hideously upon the fruits of victory. What then was there to fear? Even when their quarters were invaded and they found themselves surrounded by a score of wild, hairy, half-naked men who, save that they appeared once to have been white, looked like a horde of savages, the Spaniards could not believe their eyes. Who could have dreamed that a handful of forgotten plantation slaves would have dared to take so much upon themselves? The half-drunk Spaniards, their laughter suddenly quenched, the song perishing on their lips, stared, stricken, and bewildered at the leveled muskets by which they were check-mated. And then, from out of this uncouth pack of savages that beset them, stepped a slim tall fellow, with light-blue eyes and a tawny face, eyes which glinted the light of a wicked humour. He addressed them in the purest castilian. You'll save yourselves pain and trouble by regarding yourselves my prisoners, and suffering yourselves to be quietly bestowed out of harm's way." "'Name of God!' swore the gunner, who did no justice at all to an amazement beyond expression. "'If you please,' said Mr. Blood, and thereupon these gentlemen of Spain, were induced without further trouble beyond a musket-prod or two to drop through a scuttle to the deck below. After that the rebels' convict refreshed themselves with the good things in the consumption of which they had interrupted the Spaniards. To taste palatable Christian food after months of salt-fish and maize-dumblings was in itself a feast to these unfortunates. But there were no excesses. Mr. Blood saw to that, although it required all the firmness of which he was capable. Dispositions were to be made without delay against that which must follow before they could abandon themselves fully to the enjoyment of their victory. This, after all, was no more than a preliminary skirmish, although it was one that afforded them the key to the situation. It remained to dispose so that the utmost profit might be drawn from it. Those dispositions occupied some very considerable portion of the night, but at least they were complete before the sun peeped over the shoulder of Mount Hillerbay to shed his light upon the day of some surprises. It was soon after sunrise that the rebel convict who paced the quarter-deck in Spanish corset-lit and head-piece, a Spanish musket on his shoulder, announced the approach of a boat. It was Don Diego de Espinoza y Valdas coming aboard with four great treasure chests, containing each twenty-five thousand pieces of eight the ransom delivered to him at dawn by Governor Steed. He was accompanied by his son, Don Esteban, and six men who took the oars. Aboard the frigate all was quiet and orderly as it should be. She rode at anchor, her laur-board to the shore, and the main ladder on her starboard side. Round this came the boat with Don Diego and his treasure. Mr. Blood had disposed effectively. It was not for nothing that he had served under De Reuter. The swings were waiting, and the windless manned. Below a gun-crew held itself in readiness under the command of Ogle, who, as I have said, had been a gunner in the Royal Navy before he went in for politics, and followed the fortunes of the Duke of Monmouth. He was a sturdy, resolute fellow who inspired confidence by the very confidence he displayed in himself. Don Diego mounted the ladder and stepped upon the deck, alone, and entirely unsuspicious. What should the poor man suspect? Before he could even look round and survey this guard drawn up to him, a tap over the head with a capstan bar efficiently handled by Hagdorp put him to sleep without the least fuss. He was carried away to his cabin, whilst the treasure chests, handled by the men he had left in the boat, were being hauled to the deck. That being satisfactorily accomplished, Don Esteban and the fellows who manned the boat came up the ladder one by one to be handled with the same quiet efficiency. Peter Blood had a genius for these things, and almost, I suspect, an eye for the dramatic. Dramatic, certainly, was the spectacle now offered to the survivors of the raid. With Colonel Bishop at their head, and gout-ridden Governor Steed sitting on the ruins of a wall beside him, they glumly watched the departure of the eight boats containing the weary Spanish Ruffians who had glutted themselves with rapine murder and violences unspeakable. They looked on, between relief at this departure of their remorseless enemies, and despair at the wild ravages which, temporarily at least, had wrecked the prosperity and happiness of their little colony. The boats pulled away from the shore, with loads of laughing, jeering Spaniards who were still flinging taunts across the water at their surviving victims. They had come midway between the wharf and the ship, when suddenly the air was shaken by the boom of a gun. A round shot struck the water within a fathom of the foremost boat, sending a shower of spray over its occupants. They paused at their oars, astounded into silence for a moment. Then speech burst from them like an explosion. Angrily voluble they anathematized this dangerous carelessness on the part of their gunner, who should know better than to fire a salute from a cannon loaded with shot. They were still cursing him, when a second shot, better aimed than the first, came to crumple one of the boats into splinters, flinging its crew dead and living into the water. But if it silenced these, it gave tongue still more angry, vehement, and bewildered to the crews of the other seven boats. From each the suspended oars stood out, poised over the water, whilst on their feet in the excitement the Spaniard screamed oaves at the ship, begging heaven and hell to inform them what Madman had been let loose among her guns. Plump into their middle came a third shot, smashing a second boat with fearful execution. Followed again a moment of awful silence. And then among these Spanish pirates all was gibbering and jabbering and splashing at oars as they attempted to pull in every direction at once. Some were forgoing ashore, others for heading straight to the vessel and there discovering what might be a miss. That something was very gravely a miss, there could be no further doubt, particularly as whilst they discussed and fumed and cursed, two more shots came over the water to account for yet a third of their boats. The resolute ogle was making excellent practice and fully justifying his claims to know something of gunnery. In their consternation the Spaniards had simplified his task by huddling their boats together. After the fourth shot opinion was no longer divided amongst them, as with one accord they went about or attempted to do so, for before they had accomplished it two more of their boats had been sunk. The three boats that remained without concerning themselves with their more unfortunate fellows who were struggling in the water headed back for the wharf at speed. If the Spaniards understood nothing of all this, the forlorn islanders ashore understood still less, until to help their wits they saw the flag of Spain come down from the main mast of the Cinco Yagas and the flag of England soar into its empty place. Even then some bewilderment persisted and it was with fearful eyes that they observed the return of their enemies who might vent upon them the ferocity aroused by these extraordinary events. Ogle, however, continued to give proof that his knowledge of gunnery was not of yesterday. After the fleeing Spaniards went his shots the last of their boats flew into splinters as it touched the wharf and its remains were buried under a shower of loosened masonry. That was the end of this pirate crew which not ten minutes ago had been laughingly counting up the pieces of eight that would fall to the portion for each for his share in that act of villainy. Close upon three score survivors contrived to reach the shore. Whether they had cause for congratulation I am unable to say in the absence of any records in which their fate may be traced. That lack of records is in itself eloquent. We know that they were made fast as they landed and considering the offence they had given I am not disposed to doubt that they had every reason to regret the survival. The mystery of the succor that had come at the eleventh hour to wreak vengeance upon the Spaniards and to preserve for the island the extortionate ransom of a hundred thousand pieces of eight remained yet to be probed. That the Cinco Yagas was now in friendly hands could no longer be doubted after the proofs it had given. But who, the people of Bridgetown asked one another, were the men in possession of her and once had they come? The only possible assumption ran the truth very closely. A resolute party of islanders must have got aboard during the night and seized the ship. It remained to ascertain the precise identity of these mysterious saviours and do them fitting honour. Upon this errand, Governor Steed's condition not permitting him to go in person, went Colonel Bishop, as the Governor's deputy, attended by two officers. As he stepped from the ladder into the vessel's waist, the Colonel beheld there, beside the main hatch, the four treasure chests, the contents of one of which had been contributed almost entirely by himself. It was a gladsome spectacle, and his eyes sparkled in beholding it. Ranged on either side, a thwart the deck, stood a score of men in two well-ordered files, with breasts and backs of steel, polished Spanish morians on their heads, overshadowing their faces, and muskets ordered at their sides. Colonel Bishop could not be expected to recognise, at a glance in these upright, furbished, soldierly figures, the ragged, unkempt scarecrows that but yesterday had been toiling in his plantations. Still less could he be expected to recognise at once the courtly gentleman who advanced to greet him, a lean, graceful gentleman, dressed in the Spanish fashion, all in black with silver lace, a gold-hilted sword dangling beside him from a gold-embroidered baldrick, a broad caster with a sweeping plume set above carefully curled ringlets of deepest black. Be welcome aboard the Cinco-Yagas, Colonel Darling. A voice, vaguely familiar, addressed the planter. We've made the best of the Spaniard's wardrobe in honour of this visit, though it was scarcely yourself we had dared hope to expect. You find yourself among friends. Old friends of yours all. The Colonel stared in stupefaction. Mr. Blood tricked out in all this splendour, indulging therein his natural taste, his face carefully shaven, his hair as carefully dressed seemed transformed into a younger man. The fact is he looked no more than the thirty-three years he had counted to his age. Peter, blood! It was an ejaculation of amazement. Satisfaction followed swiftly. Was it you then? Myself it was. Myself and these. My good friends and yours. Mr. Blood tossed back the fine lace from his wrist to wave a hand toward the file of men standing to attention there. The Colonel looked more closely. Gads, my life! he crowed on a note of foolish jubilation. And it was with these fellows that you took the Spaniard and turned the tables on those dogs. Odds, wounds! It was heroic! Heroic is it! But, Dad, it's epic! He began to perceive the breadth and depth of my genius. Colonel Bishop sat himself down on the hatch-coming, took off his broad hat, and mopped his brow. You amaze me, he gasped. On my soul you amaze me, to have recovered the treasure, and to have seized this fine ship and all shall hold. It will be something to set against the other losses we have suffered. As Gads, my life, you deserve well for this. I am entirely of your opinion. Damn! you all deserve well, and damn you shall find me grateful. That's as it should be, said Mr. Blood. The question is how well we deserve, and how grateful shall we find you? Colonel Bishop considered him. There was a shadow of surprise in his face. Why, his Excellency shall write home an account of your exploit, and maybe some portion of your sentences shall be remitted. The generosity of King James as well known sneered Nathaniel Hagthorpe, who was standing by, and amongst the ranged rebels convict, someone ventured to laugh. Colonel Bishop started up. He was pervaded by the first paying of uneasiness. It occurred to him that all here might not be as friendly as appeared. And there's another matter, Mr. Blood resumed. There's a matter of a floggin' that's due to me. You're a man of your word in such matters, Colonel, if not perhaps in others, and you said I think that you'd not leave a square inch of skin on my back. The planter waved the matter aside. Almost it seemed to offend him. Tush, tush! After this splendid deed of yours, do you suppose I can be thinking of such things? I'm glad you feel like that about it, but I'm thinking it's mighty lucky for me the Spaniards didn't come to-day instead of yesterday, or it's in the same plight as Jeremy Pitt I'd be this minute. In that case, where was the genius that would have turned the tables on these rascally Spaniards? Why speak of it now? Mr. Blood resumed. You'll please to understand that I must, Colonel, darling. You've worked a deal of wickedness and cruelty in your time, and I want this to be a lesson to you, a lesson that you'll remember, for the sake of others who may come after us. There's Jeremy up there in the roundhouse with a back that's every colour of the rainbow, and the poor lad will not be himself again for a month. And if it hadn't been for the Spaniards, maybe it's dead he'd be by now, and maybe myself with him. Hagthor lounged forward. He was a fairly tall, vigorous man with a clear cut attractive face, which in itself announced his breeding. Why will you be wasting words on the hog, wondered that some-time officer of the Royal Navy, fling him overboard and have done with him? The Colonel's eyes bulged in his head. What the devil do you mean, he blustered? It's the lucky man you are entirely, Colonel, though you don't guess the sorcery or good fortune. And now another intervened. The brawny, one-eyed Wolverstone, less mercifully disposed than his more gentlemanly fellow convicts. String him up from the art-army, cried, his deep voice harsh and angry, and more than one of the slaves standing to their arms made echo. Colonel Bishop trembled. Mr. Blood turned. He was quite calm. If you please, Wolverstone, said he, I conduct affairs in my own way. This is the pact. You'll please to remember it. His eyes looked along the ranks, making it plain that he addressed them all. I desire that Colonel Bishop should have his life. One reason is that I require him as a hostage. If you insist on hanging him, you'll have to hang me with him, or in the alternative I'll go ashore. He paused. There was no answer. But they stood hang-dog, and half-mutinous before him, save Hagthorpe, who shrugged and smiled wearily. Mr. Blood resumed. You'll please to understand that aboard a ship there is one captain. So he swung again to the startled Colonel. Though I promise you your life, I must, as you've heard, keep you aboard as a hostage for the good behaviour of Governor Steed and what's left of the fort until we put to sea. Until you! Horror prevented Colonel Bishop from echoing the remainder of that incredible speech. Just so, said Peter Blood, and he turned to the officers who had accompanied the Colonel. The boat is waiting, gentlemen. You'll have heard what I said. Convey it with my compliments to his Excellency. But sir, one of them began. There is no more to be said, gentlemen. My name is Blood, Captain Blood, if you please, of this ship, the Cinco Yagas, taken as a prize of war from Don Diego de Espinoza Yveldes, who is my prisoner aboard. You are to understand that I have turned the tables on more than the Spaniards. There's the ladder. You'll find it more convenient than being heaved over the side, which is what'll happen if you linger. They went, though not without some hustling, regardless of the bellowings of Colonel Bishop, whose monstrous rage was fanned by terror at finding himself at the mercy of these men, of whose cause to hate him, he was very fully conscious. A half-dozen of them, apart from Jeremy Pitt, who was utterly incapacitated for the present, possessed a superficial knowledge of seamanship. Hagthorpe, although he had been a fighting officer, untrained in navigation, knew how to handle a ship, and under his directions they set about getting under way. The anchor catted, and the mainsail unfurled, they stood out for the open before a gentle breeze, without interference from the fort. As they were returning close to the headland east of the bay, Peter Blood returned to the Colonel, who, under guard and panic-stricken, had dejectedly resumed his seat on the comings of the main batch. Can you swim, Colonel? Colonel Bishop looked up. His great face was yellow, and seemed in that moment of a preternatural flabbiness, his beady eyes were beadier than ever. As your doctor now, I prescribe a swim to cool the excessive heat of your humours. Blood delivered the explanation pleasantly, and receiving still no answer from the Colonel continued, It's a mercy for you, I'm not my nature, as bloodthirsty as some of my friends here, and it's the devil's own labour I've had to prevail upon them not to be vindictive. I doubt if you're worth the pains I've taken for you. He was lying. He had no doubt at all. He had followed his own wishes and instincts, and he would certainly have strung the Colonel up and accounted it a meritous deed. It was the thought of Arabella Bishop that had urged him to mercy, and had led him to oppose the natural vindictiveness of his fellow slaves until he had been in danger of precipitating a mutiny. It was entirely to the fact that the Colonel was her uncle, although he did not even begin to suspect such a cause, that he owed such mercy as was now being shown him. You'll have a chance to swim for it, Peter Blood continued. It's not above a quarter of a mile to the headland yonder, and with ordinary luck you should manage it. If you're fat enough to float, come on, now don't be hesitating, or it's a long voyage you'll be going with us, and the devil knows what may happen to you. We are not loved any more than you deserve. Colonel Bishop mastered himself, and rose. A merciless despot, who had never known the need for restraint in all these years. He was doomed by ironic fate to practice restraint in the very moment when his feelings had reached their most violent intensity. Peter Blood gave an order. A plank was run over the gun-whale, and lashed down. If you please, Colonel," said he, with a graceful flourish of invitation. The Colonel looked at him, and there was hell in his glance. Then, taking his resolve, and putting the best face upon it, since no other could help him here, he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his fine coat of biscuit-coloured taffeters, and climbed upon the plank. A moment he paused, studied by a hand that clutched the rat-lines, looking down in terror at the green water rushing past some five and twenty feet below. "'Just take a little walk, Colonel Darling,' said a smooth mocking voice behind him. Still clinging Colonel Bishop looked round in hesitation, and saw the bulwarks lined with swarthy faces, the faces of men that as lately as yesterday would have turned pale under his frown, faces that were now all wickedly aggrin. For a moment rage stamped out his fear. He cursed them aloud venomously, and incoherently, then loosened his hold and stepped out upon the plank. Three steps he took before he lost his balance, and went tumbling into the green depths below. When he came to the surface again, gasping for air, the Cinco-Yagas was already some furlongs to leeward, but the roaring cheer of the mocking valediction from the rebel's convict reached him across the water to drive the iron of impotent rage deeper into his soul. CHAPTER X Don Diego Don Diego de Espinoza Valdes awoke, and with languid eyes and aching head he looked round the cabin, which was flooded with sunlight from the square windows astern. Then he uttered a moan and closed his eyes again, impelled to this by the monstrous ache in his head. Lying thus, he attempted to think, to locate himself in time and space, but between the pain in his head and the confusion in his mind he found coherent thought impossible. An indefinite sense of alarm drove him to open his eyes again, and once more to consider his surroundings. There could be no doubt that he lay in the great cabin of his own ship, the Cinco-Yagas, so his vague disquiet must be surely ill-founded. And yet stirrings of memory coming now to the assistance of reflection compelled him uneasily to insist that here something was not as it should be. The low position of the sun, flooding the cabin with golden light from those square ports astern, suggested to him at first that it was early morning on the assumption that the vessel was headed westward. Then the alternative occurred to him. They might be sailing eastward, in which case the time of day would be late afternoon, that they were sailing he could feel from the gentle forward heave of the vessel under him. But how did they come to be sailing, and he, the master, not know whether their course lay east or west, not be able to recollect whether they were bound? His mind went back over the adventure of yesterday. If of yesterday it was, he was clear on the matter of the easily successful raid upon the island of Barbados. Every detail stood vividly in his memory, up to the moment at which, returning aboard, he had stepped on to his own deck again. There memory abruptly and inexplicably ceased. He was beginning to torture his mind with conjecture. When the door opened, and to Don Diego's increasing mystification, he beheld his best suit of clothes step into the cabin. It was a singularly elegant and characteristically Spanish suit of black taffetas with silver lace that had been made for him a year ago and cadiz, and he knew each detail of it so well that it was impossible he could now be mistaken. The suit paused to close the door, then advanced towards the couch on which Don Diego was extended, and inside the suit came a tall, slender gentleman of about Don Diego's own height and shape. Seeing the wide, startled eyes of the Spaniard upon him, the gentleman lengthened his stride. Awake, eh? he said in Spanish. The recumbent man looked bewildered into a pair of light blue eyes that regarded him out of a tawny, sardonic face set in a cluster of black ringlets, but he was too bewildered to make any answer. The stranger's fingers touched the top of Don Diego's head, whereupon Don Diego winced and cried out in pain. Under, eh? said the stranger, he took Don Diego's wrist between thumb and second finger, and then, at last, the intrigued Spaniard spoke. Are you a doctor? Among other things. The swarthy gentleman continued his study of the patient's pulse. Firm and regular, he announced at last, and dropped the wrist. You've taken no great harm. Don Diego struggled up into a sitting position on the red velvet couch. Who the devil are you, he asked? And what the devil are you doing in my clothes and aboard my ship? The long black eyebrows went up, a faint smile curled the lips of the long mouth. You are still delirious, I fear. This is not your ship. This is my ship, and these are my clothes. Your ship, quote the other, aghast, and still more aghast, he added, your clothes. But then, wildly, his eyes looked about him. They scanned the cabin once again, scrutinizing each familiar object. Am I mad, he asked at last? Surely this ship is the Cinco Yagas. The Cinco Yagas it is. Then the Spaniard broke off. His glands grew still more troubled. Velge me Dios, he cried, like a man in anguish. Will you tell me also that you are Don Diego de Espinoza? Oh, no! My name is Blood, Captain Peter Blood. This ship, like this handsome suit of clothes, is mine, by right of conquest. Just as you, Don Diego, are my prisoner. Startling as was the explanation, yet it proved soothing to Don Diego, being so much less startling than the things he was beginning to imagine. But are you not Spanish, then? You flatter my Castilian accent. I have the honour to be Irish. You are thinking that a miracle has happened? So it has. A miracle wrought by my genius, which is considerable. Succinctly now, Captain Blood dispelled the mystery by a relation of the facts. It was a narrative that painted red and white by turns the Spaniard's countenance. He put a hand to the back of his head, and there discovered, in confirmation of the story, a lump as large as a pigeon's egg. Lastly, he stared wild-eyed at the sardonic, Captain Blood. And my son! What of my son! he cried out. He was in the boat that brought me aboard. Your son is safe. He and the boat's crew, together with your gunner and his men, are snugly in irons under hatches. Don Diego sank back on the couch, his glittering dark eyes fixed upon the tawny face above him. He composed himself. After all, he possessed the stoicism proper to his desperate trade. The dice had fallen against him in this venture. The tables had been turned upon him in the very moment of success. He accepted the situation with the fortitude of a fatalist. With the utmost calm he inquired, and now, Sr. Capitan, and now, said Captain Blood to give him the title, he had assumed. Being a humane man, I am sorry to find that you're not dead from the tap we gave you, for it means that you'll be put to the trouble of dying all over again. Ah! Don Diego drew a deep breath. But—is that necessary? he asked, without apparent perturbation. Captain Blood's blue eyes approved his bearing. Ask yourself, said he. Tell me, as an experienced and bloody pirate, what in my place would you do, yourself? Ah! But there's a difference, Don Diego sat up to argue the matter. It lies in the fact that you boast yourself a humane man. Captain Blood perched himself on the edge of the long oak table. But I am not a fool, said he, and I'll not allow a natural Irish sentimentality to stand in the way at my doing what is necessary and proper. You and your ten surviving scoundrels are a menace on this ship. More than that, she is none so well found in water and provisions. True, we are fortunately a small number, but you and your party inconveniently increase it. So that on every hand, you see, prudence suggests to us that we should deny ourselves the pleasure of your company, and steal in our soft hearts to the inevitable, invite you to be so obliging as to step over the side. I see, said the Spaniard pensively. He swung his legs from the couch, and sat now upon the edge of it, his elbows on his knees. He had taken the measure of his man, and met him with a mocker vanity and suave detachment that matched his own. I confess, he admitted, that there is much force in what you say. You take a load from my mind, said Captain Blood. I would not appear unnecessarily harsh, especially since I and my friends owe you so very much. For whatever it may have been to the others, to us, your raid on Barberos was most opportune. I am glad, therefore, that you agree that I have no choice. But, my friend, I did not agree so much. Well, if there is any alternative that you can suggest, I shall be most happy to hear it. Don Diego stroked his pointed black beard. Can you give me, until morning, for reflection, my head aches so dammably, that I am incapable of thought. And this, you will admit, is a matter that our serious thought. Captain Blood stood up. From a shelf he took a half-hour glass, reversed it, so that the bulb containing the red sand was uppermost, and stood it on the table. I am sorry to press you in such a manner, Don Diego, but one glass is all that I can give you. If by the time these sands have run out, you can propose no acceptable alternative, I shall most reluctantly be driven to ask you to go over the side with your friends. Captain Blood bowed, went out, and locked the door. Elbows on his knees and face in his hands Don Diego sat watching the rusty sands as they filtered from upper to the lower bulb, and what time he watched the lines in his lean brown face grew deeper. Punctually, as the last grains ran out, the door reopened. The Spaniard sighed and sat upright to face the returning Captain Blood with the answer for which he came. I have thought of an alternative, Sir Captain, but it depends upon your charity. It is that you put us ashore on one of the islands of this pestilent archipegalo, and leave us to shift for ourselves. Captain Blood pursed his lips. It has its difficulties, said he slowly. I feared it would be so. Don Diego sighed again and stood up. Let us say no more. The light blue eyes played over him like points of steel. You are not afraid to die, Don Diego. The Spaniard threw back his head a frown between his eyes. The question is offensive, Sir. Then let me put it in another way, perhaps more happily. You do not desire to live? Ah! That I can answer. I do desire to live, and even more do I desire that my son may live, but the desire shall not make a coward of me for your amusement, Master Mocker. It was the first sign he had shown of the least heat or resentment. Captain Blood did not answer directly. As before, he perched himself on the corner of the table. What should be willing, Sir, to earn life and liberty for yourself, your son, and the other Spaniards who are on board? To earn it, said Don Diego, and the watchful blue eyes did not miss the quiver that ran through him. To earn it, do you say? Why, if the service you would propose is one that cannot hurt my honour, could I be guilty of that? protested the Captain. I realised that even a pirate has his honour. And forthwith he propounded his offer. If you will look from those windows, Don Diego, you'll must see what appears to be a cloud on the horizon. That is the island of Barbados, well astern. All day we have been sailing east before the wind, with but one intent, to set as great a distance between Barbados and ourselves as possible. But now, almost out of sight of the land, we are in a difficulty. The only man among us, schooled in the art and navigation, is fevered, delirious in fact, as a result of certain ill treatment he received ashore before we carried him away with us. I can handle a ship in action, and there are one or two men aboard who can assist me, but of the higher mysteries of seamanship, and of the art of finding a way over the trackless wastes of ocean. We know nothing. To hug the land, and to go blundering about what you so aptly called this pestulent archipegalo, is for us to court disaster, as you can perhaps conceive. And so it comes to this, we desire to make for the Dutch settlement of Curacao as straightly as possible. Will you pledge me your honour, if I release you upon parole, that you will navigate us thither? If so, we will release you and your surviving men upon arrival there." Don Diego bowed his head upon his breast, and strode away in thought to the stern windows. There he stood looking out upon the sunlit sea and the dead water in which the great ship's wake, his ship, which these English dogs had rested from him, his ship, which he was asked to bring safely into a port where she would be completely lost to him, and refitted perhaps to make war upon his kin. That was in one scale. In the other were the lives of sixteen men. Fourteen of them mattered little to him, but the remaining two were his own and his sons. He turned at length, and his back being to the light the captain could not see how pale his face had grown. High except, he said. He enjoyed the freedom of the ship that had been his and the navigation which he had undertaken was left entirely in his hands, and because those who manned her were new to the seas of the Spanish Maine, and because even the things that had happened in Bridgetown were not enough to teach them to regard every Spaniard as a treacherous, cruel dog to be slain at sight, they used him with a civility which his own swath urbanity invited. He took his meals in the great cabin with blood, and the three officers elected to support him, Hagthorpe, Wolverston, and Dyke. They found Don Diego unagreeable, even an amusing companion, and their friendly feeling towards him was fostered by his fortitude and brave equanimity in this adversity. That Don Diego was not playing fair, it was impossible to suspect. Moreover, there was no conceivable reason why he should not, and he had been of the utmost frankness with them. He had denounced their mistake in sailing before the wind upon leaving Barbados. They should have left the island to Leeward, heading into the Caribbean and away from the archipelago. As it was, they would now be forced to pass through this archipelago again, so as to make curacao, and this passage was not to be accomplished without some measure of risk to themselves. At any point between the islands, they might come upon an equal or superior craft. Whether she were Spanish or English would be equally bad for them, and being undermanned, they were in no case to fight. To lessen this risk as far as possible, Don Diego directed at first a southerly and then a westerly course, and so, taking a line midway between the islands of Tobago and Granada, they won safely through the danger zone, and came into the comparative security of the Caribbean Sea. If this wind holds, he told them that night at supper, after he had announced to them their position. We should reach curacao inside three days. For three days the wind held. Indeed, it freshened a little on the second, and yet, when the third night descended upon them, they had still made no landfall. The sink of yagas was plowing through a sea contained on every side by the blue bowl of heaven. Captain Blood uneasily mentioned it to Don Diego. It will be for tomorrow morning, he was answered, with calm conviction. By all the saints, it is always tomorrow morning with you Spaniards, and tomorrow never comes, my friend. But this tomorrow is coming, rest assured. However early you may be astir, you shall see land ahead, Don Pedro. Captain Blood passed on, content, and went to visit Jerry Pitt, his patient, to whose condition Don Diego owed his chance of life. For twenty-four hours now, that fever had left the sufferer, and under Peter Blood's dressings, his lacerated back was beginning to heal satisfactorily. So far, indeed, was he recovered, that he complained of his confinement, of the heat in his cabin. To indulge him, Captain Blood consented that he should take the air on deck, and so, as the last of the daylight was fading from the sky, Jeremy Pitt came forth upon the captain's arm. Seated on the hatch-comings, the summer set sure, gratefully filled his lungs with the cool night air, and professed himself revived thereby. Then, with the seamen's instinct, his eyes wandered to the darkling vault of heaven, spangled already, with a myriad golden points of light. A while he scanned it idly, vacantly. Then, his attention became sharply fixed. He looked round, and up at Captain Blood, who stood beside him. Do you know anything of astronomy, Peter? Quote he. Astronomy, is it? Faith now, I couldn't tell the belt of Orion from the girdle of Venus. Ah, and I suppose all the others of this lovely crew share your ignorance. It would be more amiable of you to suppose that they exceed it. Jeremy pointed ahead to a spot of light in the heavens over the starboard bow. That is the North Star, said he. Is it now? Glory be! I wonder you can pick it out from the rest. And the North Star head almost over your starboard bow means that we're steering a course north, northwest, or maybe north by west, for I doubt if we are standing more than ten degrees westward. And why shouldn't we? wondered Captain Blood. You told me, didn't you, that we came west of the archipelago between Tobago and Granada, steering for Curacao. If that were our present course, we should have the North Star up beam, out yonder. On the instant, Mr. Blood shed his laziness. He stiffened with apprehension, and was about to speak when a shaft of light clove from the gloom above their heads, coming from the door of the poop-cappin, which had just been opened. It closed again, and presently there was a step on the companion. Don Diego was approaching. Captain Blood's fingers pressed Jerry's shoulder with significance. Then he called the Don, and spoke to him in English as had become his custom when others were present. Will you settle a slight dispute for us, Don Diego? said he, lightly. We are arguing, Mr. Pitani, as to which is the North Star. So, the Spaniard's tone was easy. There was almost a suggestion that laughter lurked behind it, and the reason for this was yielded by his next sentence. But you tell me, Mr. Pitani, he is your navigant. For lack of a better, laughed the captain, good-humorily contemptuous. Now I am ready to wager him a hundred pieces of eight, that that is the North Star. And he flung out an arm towards a point of light in the heavens, straight a beam. He afterwards told Pit that had Don Diego confirmed him, he would have run him through upon that instant. Far from that, however, the Spaniard freely expressed his scorn. You have the assurance that is of ignorance, Don Pedro, and you lose. The North Star is this one, and he indicated it. You are sure? But my dear Don Pedro! The Spaniard's tone was one of amused protest. But is it possible that I mistake? Besides, is there not the compass? Come to the binocule and see there what course we make. His utter frankness and the easy manner of one who has nothing to conceal resulted once the doubt that had left so suddenly in the mind of Captain Blood. Pit was satisfied less easily. In that case, Don Diego, will you tell me, since Curacao is our destination, why our course is what it is? Again, there was no faintest hesitation on Don Diego's part. You have reason to ask, said he, and sighed. I had hope it would not be observed. I have been careless. O, of a carelessness very culpable, I neglect observation. Always it is my way. I make too sure. I count too much on dead reckoning. And so today I find when at last I take out the quadrant that we do come by a half degree too much south, so that Curacao is now almost due north. That is what caused the delay, but we will be there tomorrow. The explanation, so completely satisfactory, and so readily and candidly forthcoming, left no room for further doubt that Don Diego should have been false to his parole. And when presently Don Diego had withdrawn again, Captain Blood confessed to Pit that it was absurd to have suspected him. Whatever his antecedents, he had proved his quality when he announced himself ready to die sooner than enter into any undertaking that could hurt his honor or his country. New to the seas of the Spanish main, and to the ways of the adventurers who sailed it, Captain Blood still entertained illusions. But the next dawn was to shatter them rudely. And forever, coming on deck before the sun was up, he saw land ahead, as the Spaniard had promised them last night. Some 10 miles ahead it lay a long coastline filling the horizon east and west with a massive headland jutting forward straight before them. Staring at it, he frowned. He had not conceived that Curacao was of such considerable dimensions. Indeed, this looked less like an island than the main itself. Beating out of weather against the gentle landward breeze, he beheld a great ship on their starboard bow that he conceived to be some three or four miles off and, as well as he could judge her at that distance, of a tonnage equal, if not superior to their own. Even as he watched her, she altered her course and going about came heading towards them, close hauled. A dozen of his fellows were astir on the forecastle, looking eagerly ahead, and the sound of their voices and laughter reached him across the length of the stately Cinco Yacas. There, said a soft voice behind him in liquid Spanish, is the promised land, Don Pedro. It was something in that voice, a muffled note of exultation that awoke suspicion in him and made whole the half doubt he had been entertaining. He turned sharply to face Don Diego, so sharply that the sly smile was not effaced from the Spaniard's countenance before Captain Blood's eyes had flashed upon it. You find an old satisfaction in the sight of it, all things considered, said Mr. Blood. Of course, the Spaniard rubbed his hands, and Mr. Blood observed that they were unsteady, the satisfaction of a merino. Oro a traitor, which, Blood asked him quietly, and as the Spaniard fell back before him with suddenly altered countenance that confirmed his every suspicion, he flung an arm out in the direction of the distant shore. What land is that? he demanded. Will you have the effrontery to tell me that that is the coast of Curacao? He advanced upon Don Diego suddenly, and Don Diego, step by step, fell back. Shall I tell you what land it is? Shall I? His fierce assumption of knowledge seemed to dazzle and dare the Spaniard. For still, Don Diego made no answer, and then Captain Blood drew a bow at a venture. Or not quite at a venture. Such a coastline is that, if not of the main itself, and the main he knew it could not be, must belong to either Cuba or Hispaniola. Now knowing Cuba to lie farther north and west of the two, it followed, he reasoned swiftly, that if Don Diego meant betrayal, he would steer for the nearer of these Spanish territories. That land, you treacherous, force-worn Spanish dog, is the island of Hispaniola. Having said it, he closely watched the swarly face now overspread with pallor, to see the truth or falsehood of his guess reflected there. But now the retreating Spaniard had come to the middle of the quarter-deck, where the mizzen sail made a screen to shut them off from the eyes of the Englishmen below. His lips writhed in a snarling smile. Ah, pero inglés, you know too much, he said under his breath, and sprang for the captain's throat. Tight-locked in each other's arms, they swayed a moment, then together went down upon the deck. The Spaniard's feet jerked from under him by the right leg of Captain Blood. The Spaniard had depended upon his strength, which was considerable, but it proved no match for the steady muscles of the Irishmen, tempered of late by the vicissitudes of slavery. He had depended upon choking the life out of Blood, and so gaining the half hour that might be necessary to bring up that fine ship that was beating towards them. A Spanish ship perforce, since none other would be so boldly cruising in the Spanish waters off Hispaniola, but all that Don Diego had accomplished was to betray himself completely, and to no purpose. This he realized when he found himself upon his back, pinned down by Blood, who was kneeling on his chest, whilst the men summoned by their captain's shout came clattering up the companion. Well, I say a prayer for your dirty soul now, whilst I am in this position. Captain Blood was furiously mocking him, but the Spaniard, though defeated, now beyond hope for himself, forced his lips to smile and gave back mockery for mockery. Who will pray for your soul, I wonder, when that Galleon comes to lie bored and bored with you? That Galleon, echoed Captain Blood with sudden and awful realization that already it was too late to avoid the consequences of Don Diego's betrayal of them. That Galleon, Don Diego repeated and added with a deepening sneer, do you know what ship it is? I will tell you. It is the Incarnacion, the flagship of Don Miguel de Espinosa, the Lord Admiral of Castile, and Don Miguel is my brother. It is a very fortunate encounter. The Almighty, you see, watches over the destinies of Catholic Spain. There was no trace of humor or urbanity now in Captain Blood. His light eyes blazed. His face was set. He rose, relinquishing the Spaniard to his men. Make him fast. He bade them. Trust him, wrist and heel. But don't hurt him. Not so much as a hair of his precious head. The injunction was very necessary. Frenzied by the thought that they were likely to exchange the slavery from which they had so lately escaped, for a slavery still worse, they would have torn the Spaniard limb from limb upon the spot. And if they now obeyed their captain and were framed, it was only because the sudden, steely note in his voice, promised for Don Diego Valdez something far more exquisite than death. You scum. You dirty pirate. You man of honor. Captain Blood apostrophized his prisoner. But Don Diego looked up at him and laughed. You underrated me. He spoke English so that all might hear. I tell you that I was not fear death, and I show you that I was not fear it. You know understand. You just an English dog. Irish, if you please. Captain Blood corrected him. And your parole, you tyke of Spain. You think I give my parole to leave you sons of filth with this beautiful Spanish ship to go make war upon other Spaniards. Ha! Don Diego laughed in his throat. You fool. You can kill me. Pish. It is very well. I die with my work well done. In less than an hour, you will be the prisoners of Spain, and the Cinco Yagas will go belong to Spain again. Captain Blood regarded him steadily out of a face which, if impassive, had paled under its deep tan. About the prisoner, claimant, infuriated, ferocious, the rebels' convict surged, almost literally a thirst for his blood. Wait! Captain Blood imperiously commanded, and turning on his heel, he went aside to the rail. As he stood there deep in thought, he was joined by Hagthorpe, Wolverston, and Ogle the gunner. In silence they stared with him across the water at that other ship. She had veered a point away from the wind, and was running now on a line that must in the end converge with that of the Cinco Yagas. In less than half an hour, said Blood, presently, we shall have her a thwart our horse, sweeping our decks with their guns. We can fight, said the one-eyed giant with a noath. Fight, sneered Blood. Under man as we are, mustering a bear twenty men, in what case are we to fight? No, there would be only one way, to persuade her that all is well aboard, that we are Spaniards, so that she may leave us to continue on our course. And how is that possible? Hagthorpe asked. It isn't possible, said Blood. If it... And then he broke off, and stood musing, his eyes upon the green water. Ogul, with a bent for sarcasm, interposed a suggestion bitterly. We might send Don Diego de Espinosa in a boat, manned by his Spaniards, to assure his brother the Admiral that we are all loyal subjects of his Catholic majesty. The captain swung round, and for an instant looked as if he would have struck the gunner. Then his expression changed, the light of inspiration was in his glance. Bidad, you've said it. He doesn't fear death, this damned pirate, but his son may take a different view. Filial piety's mighty strong in Spain. He swung on his heel abruptly, and stroked back to the knot of men about his prisoner. Hier, he shouted to them, bring him below. And he led the way down to the waste, and thence by the booby-hatch, to the gloom of the tween-decks, where the air was rank with the smell of tar and spun yarn. Going aft, he threw open the door of the spacious wardroom, and went in, followed by a dozen of the hands with the pinion Spaniard. Every man aboard would have followed him, but for his sharp command to some of them to remain on deck with Hagthorpe. In the wardroom the three stern chasers were in position, loaded, their muzzles thrusting through the open ports, precisely as the Spanish gunners had left them. Hier, ogle, is work for you, said blood, and as the burly gunner came thrusting forward through the little throng of gaping men, blood pointed to the middle chaser. Have that gun hauled back, he ordered. When this was done, blood beckoned those who held Don Diego. Lashing him across the mouth of it, he bade them, and whilst assisted by another two they made haste to obey, he turned to the others. To the roundhouse, some of you, and fetch the Spanish prisoners. And you, Dyke, go up and bid them set the flag of Spain loft. Don Diego, with his body stretched in an arc across the cannon's mouth, legs and arms lashed to the carriage on either side of it, eyeballs rolling in his head, glared maniacally at Captain Blood. A man may not fear to die, and yet be appalled by the form in which death comes to him. From frothing lips he hurled blasphemies and insults at his tormentor. Foul barbarian, inhuman savage, accursed heretic, will it not content you to kill me in some Christian fashion? Captain Blood vouchsafed him a malignant smile, before he turned to meet the fifteen manacled Spanish prisoners who were thrust into his presence. Approaching, they had heard Don Diego's outcries. At close quarters, now they beheld with horror-stricken eyes his plight. From amongst them, a comely, olive-skinned stripling, distinguished in bearing and apparel from his companions, started forward with an anguished cry of, Father, writhing in the arms that made haste to seize and hold him, he called upon heaven and hell to avert this horror, and lastly addressed to Captain Blood an appeal for mercy that was at once fierce and piteous. Considering him, Captain Blood thought with satisfaction that he displayed the proper degree of filial piety. He afterwards confessed that for a moment he was in danger of weakening, that for a moment his mind rebelled against the pitiless thing it had planned, but to correct the sentiment, he evoked a memory of what these Spaniards had performed in Bridgetown. Again, he saw the white face of that child Mary trail, as she fled in horror before the jeering ruffian whom he had slain, and other things even more unspeakable seen on that dreadful evening rose now before the eyes of his memory to stiffen his faltering purpose. The Spaniards had shown themselves without mercy or sentiment or decency of any kind. Stuffed with religion, they were without a spark of that Christianity, the symbol of which was mounted on the main mast of the approaching ship. A moment ago, this cruel, vicious Don Diego had insulted the Almighty by his assumption that he kept a specially benevolent watch over the destinies of Catholic Spain. Don Diego should be taught his error. Recovering the cynicism in which he had approached his task, the cynicism essential to its proper performance, he commanded Ogle to kindle a match and remove the leaden apron from the touch-hole of the gun that bore Don Diego. Then, as the younger Espinoza broke into fresh intercessions, mingled with implications, he wheeled upon him sharply. Peace, he snapped. Peace and listen. It is no part of my intention to blow your father to hell as he deserves, or indeed to take his life at all. Having surprised the lad into silence by that promise, a promise surprising enough in all the circumstances, he proceeded to explain his aims in that faultless and elegant Castilian of which he was fortunately master, as fortunately for Don Diego as for himself. It is your father's treachery that has brought us into this plight and deliberately into risk of capture and death aboard that ship of Spain. Just as your father recognized his brother's flagship, so will his brother have recognized the single yagas. So far, then, all is well. But presently, the Incarnación will be sufficiently close to perceive that here all is not as it should be. Sooner or later, she must guess or discover what is wrong, and then she will open fire or lay us board and board. Now, we are in no case to fight, as your father knew when he ran us into this trap, but fight we will if we are driven to it. We make no tame surrender to the ferocity of Spain. He laid his hand on the breach of the gun that bore Don Diego. Understand this clearly. To the first shot from the Incarnación, this gun will fire the answer. I make myself clear, I hope. White-faced and trembling, young Espinosa stared into the pitiless blue eyes that so steadily regarded him. If it is clear, he faltered, breaking the utter silence in which all were standing. But, name of God, how should it be clear? How should I understand? Can you avert the fight? If you know a way, and if I, or these, can help you to it, if that is what you mean? In heaven's name, let me hear it. A fight would be averted if Don Diego de Espinosa were to go aboard his brother's ship, and by his presence and assurances inform the admiral that all is welled with the Cinco Yagas, that she is indeed still a ship of Spain as her flag now announces. But of course Don Diego cannot go in person, because he is otherwise engaged. He has a slight touch of fever, shall we say, that detains him in his cabin. But you, his son, may convey all this and some other matters, together with his homage to your uncle. You shall go in a boat, manned by six of these Spanish prisoners, and I, a distinguished Spaniard, delivered from captivity in Barbados by your recent raid, will accompany you to keep you in countenance. If I return alive, and without accident of any kind to hinder our free sailing hints, Don Diego shall have his life, and shall every one of you. But if there is the least misadventure, be it from treachery or ill fortune, I cannot which, the battle, as I have had the honor to explain, will be opened on our side by this gun, and your father will be the first victim of the conflict. He paused a moment. There was a hum of approval from his comrades, an anxious stirring among the Spanish prisoners. Young Espanosa stood before him, the color ebbing and flowing in his cheeks. He waited for some direction from his father. But none came. Don Diego's courage, it seemed, had sadly waned under that rude test. He hung limply in his fearful bonds, and was silent. Evidently he dared not encourage his son to defiance, and presumably was ashamed to urge him to yield. Thus he left decision entirely with the youth. Come, said blood, I have been clear enough, I think. What do you say? Don Esteban moistened his parched lips, and with the back of his hand, mopped the anguished sweat from his brow. His eyes gaived wildly a moment upon the shoulders of his father, as if beseeching guidance. But his father remained silent. Something like a sob escaped the boy. Hi, I accept, he answered at last, and swung to the Spaniards. And you? You will accept too, he insisted passionately. For Don Diego's sake, and for your own, for all our sakes. If you do not, this man will butcher us all without mercy. Since he yielded, and their leader himself counseled no resistance, why should they encompass their own destruction by a gesture of futile heroism? They answered without much hesitation that they would do as was required of them. Blood turned, and advanced to Don Diego. I am sorry to inconvenience him in this fashion, but for a second he checked, and frowned as his eyes intently observed the prisoner. Then, after that scarcely perceptible pause, he continued, but I do not think that you have anything beyond this inconvenience to apprehend, and you may depend upon me to shorten it as far as possible. Don Diego made him no answer. Peter Blood waited a moment, observing him, then he bowed, and stepped back. End of Chapter 11. The Cinco Yagas and the Incarnacion, after a proper exchange of signals, lay hoved to within a quarter of a mile of each other, and across the intervening space of gently heaving, sunlit waters, sped a boat from the former, manned by six Spanish seamen, and bearing in her stern sheets Don Esteban de Espinoza and Captain Peter Blood. She also bore two treasure chests containing fifty thousand pieces of eight. Gold has at all times been considered the best of testimonies of good faith, and Blood was determined that in all respects, appearances should be entirely on his side. His followers had accounted this a super-arrogation of pretense, but Blood's will in the matter had prevailed. He carried further a bulky package addressed to a grande of Spain, heavily sealed with the arms of Espinoza, another piece of evidence hastily manufactured in the cabin of the Cinco Yagas, and he was spending these last moments in completing his instructions to his young companion. Don Esteban expressed his last lingering uneasiness. But if you should betray yourself, he cried. It will be unfortunate for everybody. I advised your father to say a prayer for our success. I depend upon you to help me more materially. I will do my best. God knows I will do my best, the boy protested. Blood nodded thoughtfully, and no more was said until they bumped alongside the towering mass of the Incarnación. Up the ladder went Don Esteban, closely followed by Captain Blood. In the waist stood the admiral himself to receive them, a handsome, self-sufficient man, very tall and stiff, a little older and greyer than Don Diego, whom he closely resembled. He was supported by four officers and a friar in the black and white habit of Saint Dominic. Don Miguel opened his arms to his nephew, whose lingering panic he mistook for pleasurable excitement, and having enfolded him to his bosom, turned to greet Don Esteban's companion. Peter Blood bowed gracefully, entirely at his ease, so far as might be judged from appearances. I am, he announced, making a literal translation of his name. Don Pedro Sangre, an unfortunate gentleman of Lyon, lately delivered from captivity by Don Esteban's most gallant father. And in a few words he sketched the imagined conditions of his capture by, and deliverance from, those accursed heretics who held the island of Barberos. Ex hoc nunc et usc in siculum, replied Blood, the occasional papist, with lowered eyes. The admiral and his attending officers gave him a sympathetic hearing and a cordial welcome. Then came the dreaded question. But where is my brother? Why has he not come himself to greet me? It was young Espinosa who answered this. My father is afflicted at denying himself that honour and pleasure. But unfortunately, sir uncle, he is a little indisposed. Ho, nothing grave, merely sufficient to make him keep his cabin. It is a little fever, the result of a slight wound taken in the recent raid upon Barberos, which resulted in this gentleman's happy deliverance. Ne, nephew, ne! Don Miguel protested with ironic repudiation. I can have no knowledge of these things. I have the honour to represent upon the seas his Catholic Majesty, who is at peace with the King of England. Already you have told me more than it is good for me to know. I will endeavour to forget it, and I will ask you, sirs, he added, glancing at his officers, to forget it also. But he winked into the twinkling eyes of Captain Blood, then added matter that at once extinguished that twinkle. But since Diego cannot come to me, why? I will go across to him. For a moment Don Esteban's face was a mask of pallid fear. Then Blood was speaking in a lowered, confidential voice, that admirably blended suavity, impressiveness, and sly mockery. If you please, Don Miguel, but that is the very thing you must not do. The very thing Don Diego does not wish you to do. You must not see him until his wounds are healed. That is, his own wish. That is the real reason why he is not here. For the truth is that his wounds are not so grave as to have prevented his coming. It was his consideration of himself, and the false position in which you would be placed if you had direct word from him of what has happened. As your Excellency has said, there is peace between his Catholic Majesty and the King of England, and your brother Don Diego. He paused a moment. I am sure that I need say no more. What you hear from us is no more than a mere rumour. Your Excellency understands. His Excellency frowned thoughtfully. I understand. In part, said he. Captain Blood had a moment's uneasiness. Did the Spaniard doubt his bona fides? Yet in dress and speech he knew himself to be impeccably Spanish, and was not Don Esteban there to confirm him? He swept on to afford further confirmation before the admiral could say another word. And we have in the boat below two chests containing fifty thousand pieces of eight, which we are to deliver to your Excellency. His Excellency jumped. There was a sudden stir among his officers. They are the ransom extracted by Don Diego from the governor of... Not another word in the name of heaven, cried the admiral, in alarm. My brother wishes me to assume charge of this money, to carry it to Spain for him? Well, that is a family matter between my brother and myself. So it can be done. But I must not know... He broke off. Hum! A glass of malaga in my cabin, if you please. He invited them, whilst the chests are being hauled aboard. He gave his orders touching the embarkation of these chests, then led the way to his regally appointed cabin, his four officers and the friar, following by particular invitation. Seated at table there, with the tawny wine before them, and the servant who had poured it withdrawn, Don Miguel lapped, and stroked his pointed, grizzled beard. Virgin Santacima! That brother of mine has a mind that thinks of everything. Left to myself, I might have committed a fine indiscretion by venturing aboard his ship at such a moment. I might have seen things which, as admiral of Spain, it would be difficult for me to ignore. Both Esteban and Blood made haste to agree with him, and then Blood raised his glass and drank to the glory of Spain, and the damnation of the besotted James who occupied the throne of England. The latter part of his toast was at least sincere. The admiral laughed. Sir, sir, you need my brother here to curb your imprudences. You should remember that his Catholic Majesty and the King of England are very good friends. That is not a toast to propose in this cabin. But since it has been proposed, and by one who has such particular personal cause to hate these English hounds, why, we will honor it. But unofficially, they laughed, and drank the damnation of King James. Quite unofficially, but the more fervently on that account. Then Don Esteban, uneasy on the score of his father, and remembering that the agony of Don Diego was being protracted with every moment that they left him in his dreadful position, rose and announced that they must be returning. My father, he explained, is in haste to reach San Domingo. He desired me to stay no longer than necessary to embrace you. If you will give us leave, then, Sir Uncle. In the circumstances, Sir Uncle did not insist. As they returned to the ship's side, Blood's eyes anxiously scanned the line of seamen, leaning over the bulwarks in idle talk with the Spaniards in the cockboat that waited at the latter's foot. But their manner showed him that there was no ground for his anxiety. The boat's crew had been wisely reticent. The Admiral took leave of them, of Esteban affectionately, of Blood ceremoniously. I regret to lose you so soon, Don Pedro. I wish that you could have made a longer visit to the Incarnación. I am indeed unfortunate, said Captain Blood paletely. But I hope that we may meet again. That is to flatter me beyond all that I deserve. They reached the boat, and she cast off from the great ship. As they were pulling away, the Admiral waving to them from the taff rail, they heard the shrill whistle of the boson piping the hands to their stations, and before they had reached the Cinco Yagas, they beheld the Incarnación go about under sail. She dipped her flag to them, and from her poop, a gun fired a salute. Abort the Cinco Yagas, someone. It proved afterwards to be Hagthorpe, had the wit to reply in the same fashion. The comedy was ended. Yet there was something else to follow as an epilogue, a thing that added a grim, ironic flavor to the whole. As they stepped into the waste of the Cinco Yagas, Hagthorpe advanced to receive them. Blood observed the set, almost scared expression on his face. I see that you found it. He said quietly. Hagthorpe's eyes looked a question, but his mind dismissed whatever thought it held. Don Diego, he was beginning, and then stopped, and looked curiously at blood. Noting the pause and the look, Esteban bounded forward, his face livid. Have you broken faith, you curse? Has he come to harm? He cried, and the six Spaniards behind him grew clamorous with furious questionings. We do not break faith, said Hagthorpe firmly, so firmly that he quieted them. And in this case, there was not the need. Don Diego died in his bonds before ever you reach the Incarnacion. Peter Blood said nothing. Died, screamed Esteban. You killed him, you mean. Of what did he die? Hagthorpe looked at the boy. If I am a judge, he said. Don Diego died of fear. Don Esteban struck Hagthorpe across the face at that, and Hagthorpe would have struck back, but that blood got between, whilst his followers seized the lad. Let be, said Blood. You provoked the boy by your insult to his father. I was not concerned to insult, said Hagthorpe, nursing his cheek. It is what has happened. Come and look. I have seen, said Blood. He died before I left the Cinco Yagas. He was hanging dead in his bonds when I spoke to him before leaving. What are you saying? Cried Esteban. Blood looked at him gravely, yet for all his gravity he seemed almost to smile, though without mirth. If you had known that, eh? He asked at last. For a moment Don Esteban stared at him, wide-eyed, incredulous. I don't believe you, he said at last. Yet you may. I am a doctor, and I know death when I see it. Again there came a pause, whilst conviction sank into the lad's mind. If I had known that, he said at last in a thick voice, you would be hanging from the yard arm of the Incarnacion at this moment. I know, said Blood, I am considering it, the profit that a man may find in the ignorance of others. But you'll hang there yet, the boy raved. Captain Blood shrugged and turned on his heel, but he did not on that account disregard the words, nor did Hagthorpe, nor yet the others who overheard them, as they showed at a council held that night in the cabin. This council was meant to determine what should be done with their Spanish prisoners, considering that Cuercao now lay beyond their reach, as they were running short of water and provisions, and also that Pitt was hardly yet encased to undertake the navigation of the vessel. It had been decided that, going east of Hispaniola, and then sailing along its northern coast, they should make for Tortuga, that haven of the Buccaneers, in which lawless port they had at least no danger of recapture to apprehend. It was now a question whether they should convey the Spaniards thither with them, or turn them off in a boat to make the best of their way to the coast of Hispaniola, which was but ten miles off. This was the course urged by Blood himself. There's nothing else to be done, he insisted. In Tortuga they would be flayed alive. Which is less than the swine deserve, growled Wolverston. And you'll remember, Peter, put in Hagthorpe, that boy's threat to you this morning. If he escapes, and carries word of all this to his uncle, the admiral, the execution of that threat will become more than possible. It's as much for Peter Blood, that the argument should have left him unmoved. It is a little thing, perhaps, but in a narrative in which there is so much that tells against him, I cannot, since my story is in the nature of a brief for the defense, afford to slur a circumstance that is so strongly in his favor, a circumstance revealing that the cynicism attributed to him proceeded from his reason, and from a brooding over wrongs, rather than from any natural instincts. I care nothing for his threats. You should, said Wolverston. The wise thing would be to hang him, along all the rest. It is not human to be wise, said Blood. It is much more human to err, though perhaps exceptional to err on the side of mercy. We'll be exceptional. Oh, fa! I've no stomach for cold-blooded killing. At Daybreak, packed the Spaniards into a boat with a keg of water and a sack of dumplings, and let them go to the devil. That was the last word on the subject, and it prevailed by virtue of the authority they had vested in him, and of which he had taken so firm a grip. At Daybreak, Don Esteban and his followers were put off in a boat. Two days later, the Cinco Yagas sailed into the rock-bound bay of Cayona, which nature seemed to have designed for the stronghold of those who had appropriated it. End of Chapter 12 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Captain Blood by Raphael Sabatini Chapter 13 Tortuga It is time, fully to disclose the fact that the survival of the story of Captain Blood's exploits is due entirely to the industry of Jeremy Pitt, the Somersetshire shipmaster. In addition to his ability as a navigator, this amiable young man appears to have wielded an indefaggable pen and who have been inspired to indulge its fluency by the affection he very obviously bore to Peter Blood. He kept the log of the 40-gun frigate Arabella, on which he served as master or, as we should say today, navigating officer, as no log I have ever seen was ever kept. It runs into some twenty odd volumes of assorted sizes, some of which are missing altogether and others of which are so sadly depleted of leaves as to be of little use. But if at times in the laborious perusal of them they are preserved in the library of Mr. James Speak of Cumberton, I have invade against these lacunae, at others I have been equally troubled by the excessive prolixity of what remains and their difficulty of disintegrating from the confused whole the really essential parts. I have a suspicion that Eskamelling, though how or where I can make no surmise, must have obtained access to these records, and that he plucked from them the brilliant feathers of several exploits, to stick them into the tail of his own hero, Captain Morgan. But that is by the way. I mention it chiefly as a warning, for when presently I come to relate the affair of Maricabo, those of you who have read Eskamelling may be in danger of supposing that Henry Morgan really performed those things which here are voraciously attributed to Peter Blood. I think, however, that when you come to weigh the motives actuating both Blood and the Spanish Admiral in that affair, and when you consider how integrally the event is a part of Blood's history whilst merely a detached incident in Morgan's, you will reach my own conclusion as to which is the real plagiarist. The first of these logs of pits is taken up almost entirely with a retrospective narrative of the events up to the time of Blood's first coming to Tortuga. This and the Tanat collection of state trials are the chief, though not the only, sources of my history so far. Pit lays great stress upon the fact that it was the circumstances upon which I have dwelt and these alone that drove Peter Blood to seek an anchorage at Tortuga. He insists at considerable length and with a vehemence which in itself makes it plain that an opposite opinion was held in some quarters, that it was no part of the design of Blood or of any of his companions in misfortune to join hands with the buccaneers who under a semi-official French protection made of Tortuga a lair whence they could sally out to drive their merciless, piratical trade chiefly at the expense of Spain. It was, Pit tells us, Blood's original intention to make his way to France or Holland, but in the long weeks of waiting for a ship to convey him to one or the other of these countries, his resources dwindled and finally vanished. Also, his chronicler thinks that he detected signs of some secret trouble in his friend, and he attributes to this the abuses of the potent West Indian spirit of which Blood became guilty in those days of inaction, thereby sinking to the level of the wild adventurers with whom ashore he associated. I do not think that Pit is guilty in this merely of special pleading, that he is putting forward excuses for his hero. I think that in those days there was a good deal to oppress Peter Blood. There was the thought of Arabella Bishop, and that this thought loomed large in his mind we are not permitted to doubt. He was maddened by the tormenting lure of the unattainable. He desired Arabella, yet knew her beyond his reach irrevocably, and for all time. Also whilst he may have desired to go to France or Holland, he had no clear purpose to accomplish when he reached one or the other of these countries. He was, when all is said, an escaped slave, an outlaw in his own land, and a homeless outcast in any other. There remained the sea, which is free to all, and particularly alluring to those who feel themselves at war with humanity. And so, considering the adventurous spirit that once already had sent him a roving for the sheer love of it, considering that this spirit was heightened now by a recklessness begotten of his outlory, that his training and skill and militant seamanship clamorously supported the temptations that were put before him, can you wonder, or dare you blame him, that in the end he succumbed? And remember that these temptations proceeded not only from adventurous buccaneering acquaintances in the taverns of that evil haven of Tortuga, but even from Monsieur D'Orgeron, the governor of the island, who levied as his harbour dues a percentage of one-tenth of all spoils brought into the bay, and who profited further by commissions upon money which he was desired to convert into bills of exchange upon France. A trade that might have worn a repellent aspect when urged by greasy, half-drunken adventurers, buccane-hunters, lumbermen, beach-comers, English, French, and Dutch, became a dignified, almost official form of privateering when advocated by the courtly, middle-aged gentlemen who, in representing the French West India Company, seemed to represent France herself. Moreover, to a man not excluding Jeremy Pitt himself, in whose blood the coal of the sea was insistent and imperative, those who had escaped with Peter Blood from the Barbados plantations, and who consequently, like himself, knew not wither to turn, were all resolved upon joining the great brotherhood of the coast, as those rovers called themselves. And they united theirs to the other voices that were persuading Blood, demanding that he should continue now in the leadership which he had enjoyed since they had left Barbados, and swearing to follow him loyally wither soever he should lead them. And so, to condense all that Jeremy has recorded in the matter, Blood ended by yielding to external and internal pressure, abandoned himself to the stream of destiny. Fataviam in venerant is his own expression of it. If he resisted so long, it was, I think, the thought of Arabella Bishop that restrained him, that they should be destined never to meet again, did not weigh at first, or indeed ever. He conceived the scorn with which she would come to hear of his having turned pirate, and the scorn, though as yet no more than imagined, hurt him as if it were already a reality. And even when he conquered this, still the thought of her was ever present. He compromised with the conscience that her memory kept so disconcertingly active. He vowed that the thought of her should continue ever before him to help him keep his hands as clean as a man might in this desperate trade upon which he was embarking. And so, although he might entertain no delusive hope of ever winning her for his own, of ever even seeing her again, yet the memory of her was to abide in his soul as a bittersweet, purifying influence. The love that is never to be realized will often remain a man's guiding ideal. The resolve being taken, he went actively to work. Osheron, most accommodating of governors, advanced him money for the proper equipment of his ship, the Cinco Lagasse, which he renamed the Arabella. This, after some little hesitation, fearful of thus setting his heart upon his leave. But his Barbados friends accounted it merely an expression of the ever-ready irony in which their leader dwelt. To the score of followers he already possessed, he added three score more, picking his men with caution and discrimination, and he was an exceptional judge of men, from amongst the adventurers of Tortuga. With them all he entered into the articles usual among the brethren of the coast, under which each man was to be paid by a share in the prizes captured. In other respects, however, the articles were different. Abored the Arabella there was to be none of the ruffian indiscipline that normally prevailed in buccaneering vessels. Those who shipped with him undertook obedience and submission in all things to himself, and to the officers appointed by election. Any to whom this clause in the articles was distasteful might follow some other leader. Towards the end of December, when the hurricane season had blown itself out, he put to sea in his well-found well-man ship, and before he returned in the following May from a protracted and adventurous cruise, the fame of Captain Peter Blood had run like ripples before the breeze across the face of the Caribbean Sea. There was a fight in the windward passage at the outset with the Spanish galleon which had resulted in the gutting and finally the sinking of the Spaniard. There was a daring raid affected by means of several appropriated Paraguas upon a Spanish pearl fleet in the Rio de la Hacha, from which they had taken a particularly rich haul of pearls. There was an overland expedition to the goldfields of the Santa Maria on the main, the full tale of which is hardly credible, and there were lesser adventures through all of which the crew of the Arabella came with credit and profit if not entirely unscathed. And so it happened that before the Arabella came homing to Tortuga in the following May to refit and repair, for she was not without scars as you conceive, the fame of her and of Peter Blood her Captain had swept from the Bahamas to the windward Isles, from New Providence to Trinidad. An echo of it had reached Europe, and at the court of St. James angry representations were made by the Ambassador of Spain, to whom it was answered that it must not be supposed that this Captain Blood held any commission from the King of England, that he was, in fact, a prescribed rebel, an escaped slave, and any measures against him by his Catholic Majesty would receive the cordial approbation of King James II. Don Miguel de Espinoza, the Admiral of Spain in the West Indies, and his nephew Don Esteban, who sailed with him, did not lack the will to bring the adventurer to the yard arm. With them this business of capturing Blood, which was now an international affair, was also a family matter. Spain, through the mouth of Don Miguel, did not spare her threats. The report of them reached Tortuga, and with it the assurance that Don Miguel had behind him not only the authority of his own nation, but that of the English King as well. It was a brutal fulmin that inspired no terrors in Captain Blood, nor was he likely on account of it, to allow himself to run to rust in the security of Tortuga. For what he had suffered at the hands of Man, he had chosen to make Spain the scapegoat. Thus he accounted that he served a twofold purpose. He took compensation, and at the same time served, not indeed the Stuart King whom he despised, but England, and for that matter all the rest of civilized mankind, which cruel, treacherous, greedy, bigoted Castile sought to exclude from intercourse with the New World. One day, as he sat with Hagthorpe and Wolverstone over a pipe and a bottle of rum in the stifling reek of tar and stale tobacco of a waterside tavern, he was accosted by a splendid ruffian in a gold lace coat of dark blue satin, with a crimson sash a foot wide about the waist. C'est vous, Conapéle Soin, the fellow hailed him? Captain Blood looked up to consider the questioner before replying. The man was tall and built on lines of agile strength, with a swarthy aquiline face that was brutally handsome. A diamond of great price flamed on the indifferently clean hand resting on the pommel of his long rapier, and there were gold rings in his ears half concealed by long ringlets of oily chestnut hair. Captain Blood took the pipe stem from between his lips. My name, he said, is Peter Blood, the Spaniard's nomi for Don Pedro Sangra, and a Frenchman may call me La Song, if he pleases. Good! said the gaudy adventurer in English, and without further invitation he drew up a stool and sat down at the greasy table. My name, he informed the three men, two of whom at least were eyeing him as scants, it is Le Vacieux, you may have heard of me. They had indeed. He commanded a privateer of twenty guns that had dropped anchor in the bay a week ago, manned by a crew mainly composed of French boucan hunters from northern Hispaniola, men who had good cause to hate the Spaniard with an intensity exceeding that of the English. Le Vacieux had brought them back to Tortuga from an indifferently successful cruise. It would need more, however, than lack of success to abate the fellow's monstrous vanity, a roaring, quarrelsome, hard drinking, hard gaming scoundrel, his reputation as a buccaneer stood high among the wild brethren of the coast. He enjoyed also a reputation of another sort. There was about his gaudy, swaggering, raffishness, something that the women found singularly alluring. That he should boast openly of his bon fortune did not seem strange to Captain Blood. What he might have found strange was that there appeared to be some measure of justification for these boasts. It was current gossip that even Manmoselle d'Orgeron, the governor's daughter, had been caught in the snare of his wild attractiveness, and that Le Vacieux had gone the length of audacity of asking her hand in marriage of her father. Monsieur d'Orgeron had made him the only possible answer he had shown him the door. Le Vacieux had departed in a rage swearing that he would make Manmoselle his wife in the teeth of all the fathers in Christendom and that Monsieur d'Orgeron should bitterly rue the affront he had put upon him. This was the man who now thrust himself upon Captain Blood with a proposal of association, offering him not only his sword, but his ship and the men who sailed in her. A dozen years ago, as a lad of barely twenty, Le Vacieux had sailed with that monster of cruelty, Lola Naye, and his own subsequent exploits, for witness and a credit to the school in which he had been reared. I doubt if in his day there was a greater scoundrel among the brethren of the coast than this Le Vacieux, and yet, repulsive though he found him, Captain Blood could not deny that the fellow's proposals displayed boldness, imagination, and resource, and he was forced to admit that jointly they could undertake operations of a greater magnitude than was possible singly to either of them. The climax of Le Vacieux's project was to be arrayed upon the wealthy mainland city of Maracaibo, but for this he admitted six hundred men at the very least would be required, and six hundred men were not to be conveyed in the two bottoms they now commanded. Preliminary cruises must take place, having for one of their objects the capture of further ships. Because he disliked the man, Captain Blood could not commit himself at once, but because he liked the proposal he consented to consider it. Being afterwards pressed by both Hagthorpe and Wolverstone, who did not share his own personal dislike of the Frenchman, the end of the matter was that, within a week, articles were drawn up between Le Vacieux and Blood, and signed by them and, as was usual, by the chosen representatives of their followers. These articles contained inter-Elia, the common provisions that, should the two vessels separate, a strict account must afterwards be rendered of all prizes severally taken, whilst the vessel taking a prize should retain three-fifths of its value, surrendering two-fifths to its associate. These shares were subsequently to be subdivided among the crew of each vessel, in accordance with the articles already obtaining between each Captain and his own men. For the rest, the articles contained all the clauses that were usual, among which was the clause that any man found guilty of abstracting or concealing any part of a prize, be it of the value of no more than a peso, should be summarily hanged from the yard-arm. All being now settled they made for sea, and all and on the very eve of sailing live us here narrowly escaped being shot in a romantic attempt to scale the wall of the Governor's Garden, with the object of taking passionate leave of the infatuated Mademoiselle de Géran. He desisted after having been twice fired upon from a fragment ambush of pommetto trees where the Governor's Guards were posted, and he departed vowing to take different and very definite measures on his return. That night he slept on board his ship, which with characteristic flamboyance he had named La Foudre, and there on the following day he received a visit from Captain Blood, whom he greeted half mockingly as his admiral. The Irishman came to settle certain final details, of which all that need concern us is an understanding that, in the event of the two vessels becoming separated by accident or design, they should rejoin each other as soon as might be at Tortuga. Thereafter Le Vassier entertained his admiral to dinner, and jointly they drank success to the expedition, so copiously on the part of Le Vassier that when the time came to separate he was as nearly drunk, as it seemed possible for him to be, and yet retain his understanding. Finally, towards evening, Captain Blood went over the side, and was rode back to his great ship, with her red bulwarks and gilded ports, touched into a lovely thing of flame by the setting sun. He was a little heavy-hearted. I have said that he was a judge of men, and his judgment of Le Vassier filled him with misgivings, which were growing heavier in a measure as the hour of departure approached. He expressed it to Wolverstone, who met him as he stepped aboard the Arabella. You over persuaded me into those articles, you black-art, and it will surprise me if any good comes of this association. The giant rolled his single bloodthirsty eye and sneered, thrusting out his heavy jaw. We'll ring the dog's neck if there's any treachery. So we will, if we are there to ring it by then. And on that, dismissing the matter. We sail in the morning, on the first of the ebb, he announced, and went off to his cabin.