The Fortunes of Captain Blood E-Book

Sabatini Rafael

• Herausgeber: Reading Essentials
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Captain Blood is handsome, brilliant and skilled with his blade, always one step ahead of his enemies. Perils upon perils challenge him but with his faithful crew, ever willing to follow him into danger, he manages to be both chivalrous and victorious.

Leseprobe

The Fortunes of Captain Blood

by Rafael Sabatini

First published in 1936

This edition published by Reading Essentials

Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

The Fortunes of Captain Blood

by

Contents

I.

The Dragon’s Jaw

1

II.

The Pretender

29

III.

The Demonstration

73

IV.

The Deliverance

111

V.

Sacrilege

149

VI.

The Eloping Hidalga

197

I

THE DRAGON’S JAW

I THE DRAGON’S JAW

SHE was a beautiful ship, in the frigate class, fashioned, not merely in her lines but in her details, with an extreme of that loving care that Spanish builders not infrequently bestowed. She had been named, as if to blend piety with loyalty, the San Felipe, and she had been equipped with a fastidiousness to match the beauty of her lines.

The great cabin, flooded with sunlight from the tall stern windows of horn, which now stood open above the creaming wake, had been made luxurious by richly carved furnishings, by hangings of green damask and by the gilded scrollwork of the bulkheads. Here Peter Blood, her present owner, bending over the Spaniard, who reclined on a day-bed by the stern locker, was reverting for the moment to his original trade of surgery. His hands, as strong as they were shapely, and by deftness rendered as delicate of touch as a woman’s, had renewed the dressing of the Spaniard’s thigh, where the fractured bone had pierced the flesh. He made now a final adjustment of the strappings that held the splint in place, stood up, and by a nod dismissed the Negro steward who had been his acolyte.

‘It is very well, Don Ilario.’ He spoke quietly in a Spanish that was fluent and even graceful. ‘I can now give you my word that you will walk on your two legs again.’

A wan smile dispelled some of the shadows from the hollows which suffering had dug in the patient’s patrician countenance.

‘For that,’ he said, ‘the thanks to God and you. A miracle,’ he said.

‘No miracle at all. Just surgery.’

‘Ah! But the surgeon, then? That is the miracle. Will men believe me when I say I was made whole again by Captain Blood?’

Peter Blood, tall and lithe, was in the act of rolling down the sleeves of his fine cambric shirt. His eyes, so startlingly blue under their black eyebrows, in that hawk-face tanned to the colour of mahogany, gravely considered his guest.

‘Once a surgeon, always a surgeon,’ he said, as if by way of explanation. ‘And I was a surgeon once, as you may have heard.’

‘As I have discovered for myself, to my profit. But by what queer alchemy of Fate does a surgeon become a buccaneer?’

Captain Blood smiled reflectively.

‘My troubles came upon me from considering only—as in your case—a surgeon’s duty; from beholding in a wounded man a patient, without concern for how he came by his wounds. He was a poor rebel who had been out with the Duke of Monmouth. Who comforts a rebel is himself a rebel. So runs the law among Christian men. I was taken red-handed in the abominable act of dressing his wounds, and for that I was sentenced to death. The penalty was commuted, not from mercy. Slaves were needed in the plantations. With a shipload of other wretches, I was carried overseas to be sold in Barbados. I escaped, and I think I must have died at somewhere about the time that Captain Blood came to life. But the ghost of the surgeon still walks in the body of the buccaneer, as you have found, Don Ilario.’

‘To my great profit and deep gratitude. And the ghost still practices the dangerous charity that slew the surgeon?’

‘Ah!’ The vivid eyes flashed him a searching look, observed the flush on the Spaniard’s pallid cheek-bones, the queer expression of his glance.

‘You are not afraid that history may repeat itself?’

‘I do not care to be afraid of anything,’ said Captain Blood, and he reached for his coat. He adjusted to his shoulders the black satin garment rich with silver lace, adjusted before a mirror the costly Mechlin at his throat, shook out the curls of his black periwig, and stood forth, an elegant incarnation of virility, more proper to the antechambers of the Escurial than to the quarter-deck of a buccaneer ship.

‘You must rest now and endeavour to sleep until eight bells is made. You show no sign of fever. But tranquillity is still my prescription for you.’

The patient, however, showed no disposition to be tranquil.

‘Don Pedro . . . Before you go . . . Wait. This situation puts me to shame. I cannot lie so under this great obligation to you. I sail under false colours.’

Blood’s shaven lips had an ironic twist.

‘I have, myself, found it convenient at times.’

‘Ah, but how different! My honour revolts.’ Abruptly, his dark eyes steadily meeting the Captain’s, he continued: ‘You know me only as one of four shipwrecked Spaniards you rescued from that rock of the Saint Vincent Keys and have generously undertaken to land at San Domingo. Honour insists that you should know more.’

Blood seemed mildly amused.

‘I doubt if you could add much to my knowledge. You are Don Ilario de Saavedra, the King of Spain’s new Governor of Hispaniola. Before the gale that wrecked you, your ship formed part of the squadron of the Marquis of Riconete, who is to co-operate with you in the Caribbean in the extermination of that endemonized pirate and buccaneer, that enemy of God and Spain whose name is Peter Blood.’

Don Ilario’s blank face betrayed the depth of his astonishment.

‘Virgen Santisima—Virgin Most Holy! You know that?’

‘With commendable prudence you put your commission in your pocket when your ship was about to founder. With a prudence no less commendable, I took a look at it soon after you came aboard. We are not fastidious in my trade.’

If the simple explanation removed one astonishment, it replaced it by another.

‘And in spite of that, you not only use me tenderly; you actually convey me to San Domingo!’ Then his expression changed. ‘Ah, I see. You trust my gratitude, and . . .’

But there Captain Blood interrupted him.

‘Gratitude?’ He laughed. ‘It is the last emotion in which I should put my trust. I trust to nothing but myself, sir. I have told you that I do not care to be afraid of anything. Your obligation is not to the buccaneer; it is to the surgeon; and that is an obligation to a ghost. So dismiss it. Do not trouble your mind with problems of where your duty lies: whether to me or to your king. I am forewarned. That is enough for me. Give yourself peace, Don Ilario.’

He departed, leaving the Spaniard bewildered and bemused.

Coming out into the waist, where some two score of his buccaneers, the half of the ship’s full company, were idling, he detected a sullenness in the air, which earlier had been fresh and clear. There had, however, been no steadiness in the weather since the hurricane some ten days ago, on the morrow of which he had rescued the injured Don Ilario and his three companions from the rocky islet on which the storm had cast them up. It was due to these contrary winds of some violence, with intermittent breathless calms, that the San Felipe was still no nearer to her destination than a point some twenty miles south of Saona. She was barely crawling now over a gently heaving oily sea of deepest violet, her sails alternately swelling and sagging. The distant highlands of Hispaniola on the starboard quarter, which earlier had been clearly visible, had vanished now behind an ashen haze.

Chaffinch, the sailing master, standing by the whipstaff at the break of the poop, spoke to him as he passed.

‘There’s more mischief coming, Captain. I begin to doubt if we’ll ever make San Domingo. We’ve a Jonah aboard.’

So far as the mischief went, Chaffinch was not mistaken. It came on to blow from the west at noon, and brought up such a storm that his lightly expressed doubt of ever making San Domingo came before midnight to be seriously entertained by every man aboard. Under a deluge of rain, to the crash of thunder, and with great seas pounding over her, the San Felipe rode out a gale that bore her steadily northwestward. Not until daybreak did the last of the hurricane sweep past her, leaving her, dipping and heaving on a black sea of long smooth rollers, to cast up her damage and lick her wounds. Her poop-rail had been shorn away, and her swivel-guns had gone with it overboard. From the boom amidships one of her boats had been carried off, and some parts of the wreckage of another lay tangled in the forechains. But of all that she had suffered above deck the most serious damage was to her mainmast. It had been sprung, and was not merely useless, but a source of danger. Against all this, however, they could set it that the storm had all but swept them to their destination. Less than five miles ahead, to the north, stood El Rosario, beyond which lay San Domingo. Into the Spanish waters of that harbour and under the guns of King Philip’s fortresses, Don Ilario, for his own sake, must supply them with safe-conduct.

It was still early morning, brilliant now and sparkling after the tempest, when the battered ship, with mizzen and foresails ballooning to the light airs, but not a rag on her mainmast save the banner of Castile at its summit, staggered past the natural breakwater, which the floods of the Ozama have long since eroded, and came by the narrow eastern passage that was known as the Dragon’s Jaw into the harbour of San Domingo.

She found eight fathoms close alongside of a shore that was reared like a mole on a foundation of coral forming an island then a quarter of a mile in width by nearly a mile in length, with a shallow ridge along the middle of it crowned by some clusters of cabbage-palms. Here the San Felipe dropped anchor and fired a gun to salute the noblest city of New Spain across the spacious harbour.

White and fair that city stood in its emerald setting of wide savannahs, a place of squares and palaces and churches that might have been transported from Castile, dominated by the spire of the cathedral that held the ashes of Columbus.

There was a stir along the white mole, and soon a string of boats came speeding towards the San Felipe, led by a gilded barge of twenty oars, trailing the red-and-yellow flag of Spain. Under a red awning fringed with gold sat a portly, swarthy, blue-jowled gentleman in pale brown taffetas and a broad plumed hat, who wheezed and sweated when presently he climbed the accommodation-ladder to the waist of the San Felipe.

There Captain Blood, in black-and-silver splendour, stood to receive him beside the day-bed on which the helpless Don Ilario had been carried from the cabin. In attendance upon him stood three shipwrecked companions, and for background there was a file of buccaneers, tricked out in headpieces and corselets to look like Spanish infantry, standing with ordered muskets.

But Don Clemente Pedroso, the retiring Governor, whom Don Ilario came to replace, was not deceived. A year ago, off Puerto Rico, on the deck of a galleon that Captain Blood had boarded and sacked, Pedroso had stood face to face with the buccaneer, and Blood’s was not a face that was easily forgotten. Don Clemente checked abruptly in his advance. Into his swarthy, pear-shaped countenance came a blend of fear and fury.

Urbanely, plumed hat in hand, the Captain bowed to him.

‘Your excellency’s memory honours me, I think. But do not suppose that I fly false colours.’ He pointed aloft to the flag which had earned the San Felipe the civility of this visit. ‘That is due to the presence aboard of Don Ilario de Saavedra, King Philip’s new Governor of Hispaniola.’

Don Clemente lowered his eyes to the pallid proud face of the man on the day-bed, and stood speechless, breathing noisily, whilst Don Ilario in a few words explained the situation and proffered a commission still legible if sadly blurred by sea-water. The three Spaniards who had been rescued with him were also presented, and there was assurance that all further confirmation would be supplied by the Marquis of Riconete, the Admiral of the Ocean-Sea, whose squadron should very soon be at San Domingo.

In a scowling silence Don Clemente listened; in scowling silence he scanned the new Governor’s commission. Thereafter he strove, from prudence, to wrap in a cold dignity the rage which the situation and the sight of Captain Blood aroused in him.

But he was in obvious haste to depart. ‘My barge, Don Ilario, is at your excellency’s orders. There is, I think, nothing to detain us.’

And he half-turned away, scorning in his tremendous dignity further to notice Captain Blood.

‘Nothing,’ said Don Ilario, ‘beyond expressions of gratitude to my preserver and provision for his requital.’

Don Clemente, without turning, answered sourly:

‘Naturally, I suppose, it becomes necessary to permit him a free withdrawal.’

‘I should be shamed by so poor and stingy an acknowledgment,’ said Don Ilario, ‘especially in the present condition of his ship. It is a poor enough return for the great service he has rendered me to permit him to supply himself here with wood and water and fresh victuals and with boats to replace those which he has lost. He must also be accorded sanctuary at San Domingo to carry out repairs.’

Captain Blood interposed.

‘For those repairs I need not be troubling San Domingo. The island here will excellently serve, and, by your leave, Don Clemente, I shall temporarily take possession of it.’

Don Clemente, who had stood fuming during Don Ilario’s announcement, swung about now and exploded.

‘By my leave?’ he cried, his face yellow. ‘I render thanks to God and His Saints that I am relieved of that shame since Don Ilario is now the Governor.’

Saavedra frowned. He spoke with languid sternness.

‘You will bear that in your memory, if you please, Don Clemente, and trim your tone to it.’

‘Oh, your excellency’s servant.’ The deposed Governor bowed in raging irony. ‘It is, of course, yours to command how long this enemy of God and of Spain shall enjoy the hospitality and protection of His Catholic Majesty.’

‘For as long as he may need so as to carry out his repairs.’

‘I see. And once these are effected, he is, of course, to be free to depart, so that he may continue to harass and plunder the ships of Spain?’

Frostily Saavedra answered.

‘He has my word that he shall be free to go, and that for forty-eight hours thereafter there shall be no pursuit or other measure against him.’

‘And he has your word for that? By all the Hells! He has your word . . .’

Blandly Captain Blood cut in.

‘And it occurs to me that it would be prudent to have your word as well, my friend.’

He was moved by no fear for himself, but only by generosity to Don Ilario: to link the old Governor and the new in responsibility, so that Don Clemente might not hereafter make for his successor the mischief of which Blood perceived him capable.

Don Clemente was aghast. Furiously he waved his fat hands.

‘My word! My word!’ He choked with rage. His countenance swelled as if it would burst. ‘You think I’ll pass my word to a pirate rogue? You think . . .’

‘Oh, as you please. If you prefer it I can put you under hatches and in irons, and keep both you and Don Ilario aboard until I am ready to sail again.’

‘It’s an outrage.’

Captain Blood shrugged.

‘You may call it that. I call it holding hostages.’

Don Clemente glared at him with increasing malice.

‘I must protest. Under constraint. . .’

‘There’s no constraint at all. You’ll give me your word, or I’ll put you in irons. Ye’ve a free choice. Where’s the constraint?’

Then Don Ilario cut in.

‘Come, sir, come! This wrangling is monstrously ungracious. You’ll pledge your word, sir, or take the consequences.’

And so, for all his bitterness, Don Clemente suffered the reluctant pledge to be wrung from him.

After that, in contrast with his furious departure was Don Ilario’s gracious leave-taking when they were about to lower his day-bed in slings to the waiting barge. He and Captain Blood parted with mutual compliments and expressions of good-will, which it was perfectly understood should nowise hinder the active hostility imposed by duty upon Don Ilario once the armistice were at an end.

Blood smiled as he watched the red barge with its trailing flag ploughing with flash of oars across the harbour towards the mole. Some of the lesser boats went with it. Others, laden with fruit and vegetables, fresh meat and fish, remained on the flank of the San Felipe, little caring, in their anxiety to trade their wares, that she might be a pirate.

Wolverstone, the one-eyed giant who had shared Blood’s escape from Barbados and had since been one of his closest associates, leaned beside him on the bulwarks.

‘Ye’ll not be trusting overmuch, I hope, to the word of that flabby, blue-faced Governor?’

‘It’s hateful, so it is, to be by nature suspicious, Ned. Hasn’t he pledged himself, and would ye do him the wrong to suspect his bona fides? I cry shame on you, Ned; but all the same we’ll be removing temptation from him by fortifying ourselves on the island here.’

They set about it at once, with the swift, expert activity of their kind. Gangways were constructed, connecting the ship with the island, and on that strip of sand and coral they landed the twenty-four guns of the San Felipe, and so emplaced them that they commanded the harbour. They erected a tent of sail-cloth, felling palms to supply the poles, set up a forge, and having unstepped the damaged mast, hauled it ashore so that they might repair it there. Meanwhile, the carpenters aboard set about making good the damage to the upper works, whilst parties of buccaneers in the three boats supplied to them by the orders of Don Ilario went to procure wood and water and the necessary stores, for all of which Captain Blood scrupulously paid.

For two days they laboured without disturbance or distraction. When on the morning of the third day the alarm came, it was not from the harbour or the town before them, but from the open sea at their backs.

Captain Blood was fetched ashore at sunrise, so that from the summit of the ridge he might survey the approaching peril. With him went Wolverstone and Chaffinch, Hagthorpe, the West Country gentleman who shared their fortunes, and Ogle, who once had been a gunner in the King’s Navy.

Less than a mile away they beheld a squadron of five tall ships approaching in a bravery of ensigns and pennants, all canvas spread to the light but quickening morning airs. Even as they gazed, a white cloud of smoke blossomed like a cauliflower on the flank of the leading galleon, and the boom of a saluting gun came to arouse a city that as yet was barely stirring.

‘A lovely sight,’ said Chaffinch.

‘For a poet or a shipmaster,’ said Blood. ‘But I’m neither of those this morning. I’m thinking this will be King Philip’s Admiral of the Ocean-Sea, the Marquis of Riconete.’

‘And he’s pledged no word not to molest us,’ was Wolverstone’s grim and unnecessary reminder.

‘But I’ll see to it that he does before ever we let him through the Dragon’s Jaw.’

Blood turned on his heel, and making a trumpet of his hands, sounded his orders sharp and clearly to some two or three score buccaneers who stood also at gaze, some way behind them, by the guns.

Instantly those hands were seething to obey, and for the next five minutes all was a bustle of heaving and hauling to drag the San Felipe’s two stern-chasers to the summit of the ridge. They were demi-cannon, with a range of fully a mile and a half, and they were no sooner in position than Ogle was laying one of them. At a word from Blood he touched off the gun, and sent a thirty-pound shot athwart the bow of the advancing Admiral’s ship, three quarters of a mile away.

There is no signal to lie hove-to that will command a more prompt compliance. Whatever the Marquis of Riconete’s astonishment at this thunderbolt from a clear sky, it brought him up with a round turn. The helm was put over hard, and the ship swung to larboard with idly flapping sails. Faintly over the sunlit waters came the sound of a trumpet, and the four ships that followed executed the same manoeuvre. Then from the Admiral’s flagship a boat was lowered, and came speeding towards the reef to investigate this portent.

Peter Blood, with Chaffinch and a half-score men, was at the water’s edge when the boat grounded. Wolverstone and Hagthorpe had taken station on the other side of the island, so as to watch the harbour and the mole, which was now all agog.

An elegant young officer stepped ashore to request on the Admiral’s behalf an explanation of the sinister greeting he had received. It was supplied.

‘I am here refitting my ship by permission of Don Ilario de Saavedra, in return for some small service I had the honour to do him when he was lately shipwrecked. Before I can suffer the Admiral of the Ocean-Sea to enter this harbour, I must possess his confirmation of Don Ilario’s sanction and his pledge that he will leave me in peace to complete my repairs.’

The young officer stiffened with indignation.

‘These are extraordinary words, sir. Who are you?’

‘My name is Blood. Captain Blood, at your service.’

‘Captain . . . Captain Blood!’ The young man’s eyes were round. ‘You are Captain Blood?’ Suddenly he laughed. ‘You have the effrontery to suppose . . .’

He was interrupted.

‘I do not like “effrontery.” And as for what I suppose, be good enough to come with me. It will save argument.’ He led the way to the summit of the ridge, the Spaniard sullenly following. There he paused. ‘You were about to tell me, of course, that I had better be making my soul, because the guns of your squadron will blow me off this island. Be pleased to observe.’

He pointed with his long ebony cane to the activity below, where a motley buccaneer host was swarming about the landed cannon. Six of the guns were being hauled into a new position so as completely to command at point-blank range the narrow channel of the Dragon’s Jaw. On the seaward side, whence it might be assailed, this battery was fully protected by the ridge.

‘You will understand the purpose of these measures,’ said Captain Blood. ‘And you may have heard that my gunnery is of exceptional excellence. Even if it were not, I might without boasting assert, and you, I am sure, are of intelligence to perceive that the first ship to thrust her bowsprit across that line will be sunk before she can bring a gun to bear.’ He leaned upon his tall cane, the embodiment of suavity. ‘Inform your Admiral, with my service, of what you have seen, and assure him from me that he may enter the harbour of San Domingo the moment he has given me the pledge I ask; but not a moment sooner.’ He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘God be with you, sir. Chaffinch, escort the gentleman to his boat.’

In his anger the Spaniard failed to do justice to so courteous an occasion. He muttered some Spanish mixture of theology and bawdiness, and flung away in a pet, without farewells. Back to the Admiral he was rowed. But either he did not report accurately or else the Admiral was of those who will not be convinced. For an hour later the ridge was being ploughed by round shot, and the morning air shaken by the thunder of the squadron’s guns. It distressed the gulls and set them circling and screaming overhead. But it distressed the buccaneers not at all, sheltered behind the natural bastion of the ridge from that storm of iron.

During a slackening of the fire, Ogle wriggled snakewise up to the demi-cannons which had been so emplaced that they thrust up their muzzles and no more above the ridge. He laid one of them with slow care. The Spaniards, formed in line ahead for the purposes of their bombardment, three quarters of a mile away, offered a target that could hardly be missed. Ogle touched off the unsuspected gun and a thirty-pound shot crashed amidships into the bulwarks of the middle galleon. It went to warn the Marquis that he was not to be allowed to practise his gunnery with impunity.

There was a blare of trumpets and a hasty going-about of the entire squadron to beat up against the freshening wind. To speed them, Ogle fired the second gun, and although lethally the shot was harmless, morally it could scarcely fail of its alarming purpose. Then he whistled up his gun-crew to reload at leisure in that moment of the enemy’s fleeing panic.

All day the Spaniards hove-to a mile and a half away, where they accounted themselves out of range. Blood took advantage of this to order six more guns to be hauled to the ridge, and so as to form a breastwork half the palms on the island were felled. Whilst the main body of the buccaneers, clothed only in loose leather breeches, made short work of this, the remainder under the orders of the carpenter calmly pursued the labours of refitting. The fire glowed in the forge, and the anvils pealed bell-like under the hammers.

Across the harbour and into this scene of heroic activity came towards evening Don Clemente Pedroso, greatly daring and more yellow-faced than ever. Conducted to the ridge, where Captain Blood with the help of Ogle was still directing the construction of the breastwork, his excellency demanded furiously to know what the buccaneers supposed must be the end of this farce.

‘If you think you’re propounding a problem,’ said Captain Blood, ‘ye’re mistook. It’ll end when the Admiral gives me the pledge I’ve asked that he’ll not molest me.’

Don Clemente’s black eyes were malevolent, and malevolent was the crease at the base of his beaky nose.

‘You do not know the Marquis of Riconete.’

‘What’s more to the matter is that the Marquis does not know me. But I think we shall soon be better acquainted.’

‘You deceive yourself. The Admiral is bound by no promise made you by Don Ilario. He will never make terms with you.’

Captain Blood laughed in his face.

‘In that case, faith, he can stay where he is until he reaches the bottom of his water-casks. Then he can either die of thirst or sail away to find water. Indeed, we may not have to wait so long. You’ve not observed perhaps that the wind is freshening from the south. If it should come to blow in earnest, your Marquis may be in some discomfort off this coast.’

Don Clemente wasted some energy in vague blasphemies. Captain Blood was amused.

‘I know how you suffer. You were already counting upon seeing me hanged.’

‘Few things in this life would bring me greater satisfaction.’

‘Alas! I must hope to disappoint your excellency. You’ll stay to sup aboard with me?’

‘Sir, I do not sup with pirates.’

‘Then you may go sup with the Devil,’ said Captain Blood.

And on his short fat legs Don Clemente stalked in dudgeon back to his barge.

Wolverstone watched his departure with a brooding eye.

‘ ’Odslife, Peter, you’ld be wise to hold that Spanish gentleman. His pledge binds him no more than would a cobweb. The treacherous dog will spare nothing to do us a mischief, pledge or no pledge.’

‘You’re forgetting Don Ilario.’

‘I’m thinking Don Clemente may forget him, too.’

‘We’ll be vigilant,’ Blood promised confidently.

That night the buccaneers slept as usual in their quarters aboard, but they left a gun-crew ashore and set a watch in a boat anchored in the Dragon’s Jaw, lest the Admiral of Ocean-Sea should attempt to creep in. But although the night was clear, other risks apart, the Spaniards would not attempt the hazardous channel in the dark.

Throughout the next day, which was Sunday, the condition of stalemate continued. But on Monday morning the exasperated Admiral once more plastered the island with shot, and then stood boldly in to force a passage.

Ogle’s battery had suffered no damage because the Admiral knew neither its position nor extent. Nor did Ogle now disclose it until the enemy was within a half-mile. Then four of his guns blazed at the leading ship. Two shots went wide, a third smashed into her tall forecastle, and the fourth caught her between wind and water and opened a breach through which the sea poured into her. The other three Spaniards veered in haste to starboard, and went off on an easterly tack. The crippled, listed galleon went staggering after them, jettisoning in desperate haste her guns and what other heavy gear she could spare, so as to bring the wound in her flank above the water-level.

Thus ended that attempt to force a way in, and by noon the Spaniards had gone about again and were back in their old position a mile and a half away. They were still there twenty-four hours later when a boat went out from San Domingo with a letter from Don Ilario in which the new Governor required the Marquis of Riconete to accord Captain Blood the terms he demanded. The boat had to struggle against a rising sea, for it was coming on to blow again, and from the south dark ominous banks of cloud were rolling up. Apprehensions on the score of the weather may well have combined with Don Ilario’s letter in persuading the Marquis to yield where obstinacy seemed to promise only humiliation.

So the officer by whom Captain Blood had already been visited came again to the island at the harbour’s mouth, bringing him the required letter of undertaking from the Admiral, as a result of which the Spanish ships were that evening allowed to come into shelter from the rising storm. Unmolested they sailed through the Dragon’s Jaw, and went to drop anchor across the harbour, by the town.

The wounds in the pride of the Marquis of Riconete were raw, and at the Governor’s Palace that night there was a discussion of some heat. It beat to and fro between the dangerous doctrine expounded by the Admiral and supported by Don Clemente that an undertaking obtained by threats was not in honour binding, and the firm insistence of the chivalrous Don Ilario that the terms must be kept.

Wolverstone’s mistrust of the operation of the Spanish conscience continued unabated, and nourished his contempt of Blood’s faith in the word that had been pledged. Nor would he account sufficient the measures taken in emplacing the guns anew, so that all but six still left to command the Dragon’s Jaw were now trained upon the harbour. His single eye remained apprehensively watchful in the three or four peaceful days that followed, but it was not until the morning of Friday, by when, the mast repaired, they were almost ready to put to sea, that he observed anything that he could account significant. What he observed then led him to call Captain Blood to the poop of the San Felipe.

‘There’s a queer coming and going of boats over yonder, between the Spanish squadron and the mole. Ye can see it for yourself. And it’s been going on this half-hour and more. The boats go fully laden to the mole, and come back empty to the ships. Maybe ye’ll guess the reasoning of it.’

‘The meaning’s plain enough,’ said Blood. ‘The crews are being put ashore.’

‘It’s what I was supposing,’ said Wolverstone. ‘But will you tell me what sense or purpose can there be in that? Where there’s no sense there’s usually mischief. There’ld be no harm in having the men stand to their arms on the island tonight.’

The cloud on Blood’s brow showed that his lieutenant had succeeded in stirring his suspicions.

‘It’s plaguity odd, so it is. And yet. . . Faith, I’ll not believe Don Ilario would play me false.’

‘I’m not thinking of Don Ilario, but of that bile-laden curmudgeon Don Clemente. That’s not the man to let a pledged word thwart his spite. And if this Riconete is such another, as well he may be . . .’

‘Don Ilario is the man in authority now.’

‘Maybe. But he’s crippled by a broken leg, and those other two might easily overbear him, knowing that King Philip himself would condone it.’

‘But if they mean mischief, why should they be putting the crews ashore?’

‘That’s what I hoped you might guess, Peter.’

‘Since I can’t, I’d better go and find out.’ A fruit barge had just come alongside. Captain Blood leaned over the rail. ‘Hey, you!’ he hailed the owner. ‘Bring me your yams aboard.’