The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael Sabatini
purpose. If your excellency should be so ill-advised as to refuse these terms, and thereby impose upon me the necessity of reducing your fort at the cost of some lives, I warn you that you may expect no quarter from us, and that I shall begin by leaving a heap of ashes where this pleasant city of Maracaybo now stands.”
The letter written, he bade them bring him from among the prisoners the Deputy-Governor of Maracaybo, who had been taken at Gibraltar. Disclosing its contents to him, he despatched him with it to Don Miguel.
His choice of a messenger was shrewd. The Deputy-Governor was of all men the most anxious for the deliverance of his city, the one man who on his own account would plead most fervently for its preservation at all costs from the fate with which Captain Blood was threatening it. And as he reckoned so it befell. The Deputy-Governor added his own passionate pleading to the proposals of the letter.
But Don Miguel was of stouter heart. True, his fleet had been partly destroyed and partly captured. But then, he argued, he had been taken utterly by surprise. That should not happen again. There should be no surprising the fort. Let Captain Blood do his worst at Maracaybo, there should be a bitter reckoning for him when eventually he decided—as, sooner or later, decide he must—to come forth. The Deputy-Governor was flung into panic. He lost his temper, and said some hard things to the Admiral. But they were not as hard as the thing the Admiral said to him in answer.
“Had you been as loyal to your King in hindering the entrance of these cursed pirates as I shall be in hindering their going forth again, we should not now find ourselves in our present straits. So weary me no more with your coward counsels. I make no terms with Captain Blood. I know my duty to my King, and I intend to perform it. I also know my duty to myself. I have a private score with this rascal, and I intend to settle it. Take you that message back.”
So back to Maracaybo, back to his own handsome house in which Captain Blood had established his quarters, came the Deputy-Governor with the Admiral’s answer. And because he had been shamed into a show of spirit by the Admiral’s own stout courage in adversity, he delivered it as truculently as the Admiral could have desired. “And is it like that?” said Captain Blood with a quiet smile, though the heart of him sank at this failure of his bluster. “Well, well, it’s a pity now that the Admiral’s so headstrong. It was that way he lost his fleet, which was his own to lose. This pleasant city of Maracaybo isn’t. So no doubt he’ll lose it with fewer misgivings. I am sorry. Waste, like bloodshed, is a thing abhorrent to me. But there ye are! I’ll have the faggots to the place in the morning, and maybe when he sees the blaze tomorrow night he’ll begin to believe that Peter Blood is a man of his word. Ye may go, Don Francisco.”
The Deputy-Governor went out with dragging feet, followed by guards, his momentary truculence utterly spent.
But no sooner had he departed than up leapt Cahusac, who had been of the council assembled to receive the Admiral’s answer. His face was white and his hands shook as he held them out in protest.
“Death of my life, what have you to say now?” he cried, his voice husky. And without waiting to hear what it might be, he raved on: “I knew you not frighten the Admiral so easy. He hold us entrap’, and he knows it; yet you dream that he will yield himself to your impudent message. Your fool letter it have seal’ the doom of us all.”
“Have ye done?” quoth Blood quietly, as the Frenchman paused for breath.
“No, I have not.”
“Then spare me the rest. It’ll be of the same quality, devil a doubt, and it doesn’t help us to solve the riddle that’s before us.”
“But what are you going to do? Is it that you will tell me?” It was not a question, it was a demand.
“How the devil do I know? I was hoping you’d have some ideas yourself. But since Ye’re so desperately concerned to save your skin, you and those that think like you are welcome to leave us. I’ve no doubt at all the Spanish Admiral will welcome the abatement of our numbers even at this late date. Ye shall have the sloop as a parting gift from us, and ye can join Don Miguel in the fort for all I care, or for all the good ye’re likely to be to us in this present pass.”
“It is to my men to decide,” Cahusac retorted, swallowing his fury, and on that stalked out to talk to them, leaving the others to deliberate in peace.
Next morning early he sought Captain Blood again. He found him alone in the patio, pacing to and fro, his head sunk on his breast. Cahusac mistook consideration for dejection. Each of us carries in himself a standard by which to measure his neighbour.
“We have take’ you at your word, Captain,” he announced, between sullenness and defiance. Captain Blood paused, shoulders hunched, hands behind his back, and mildly regarded the buccaneer in silence. Cahusac explained himself. “Last night I send one of my men to the Spanish Admiral with a letter. I make him offer to capitulate if he will accord us passage with the honours of war. This morning I receive his answer. He accord us this on the understanding that we carry nothing away with us. My men they are embarking them on the sloop. We sail at once.”
“Bon voyage,” said Captain Blood, and with a nod he turned on his heel again to resume his interrupted mediation.
“Is that all that you have to say to me?” cried Cahusac.
“There are other things,” said Blood over his shoulder. “But I know ye wouldn’t like them.”
“Ha! Then it’s adieu, my Captain.” Venomously he added: “It is my belief that we shall not meet again.”
“Your belief is my hope,” said Captain Blood.
Cahusac flung away, obscenely vituperative. Before noon he was under way with his followers, some sixty dejected men who had allowed themselves to be persuaded by him into that empty-handed departure—in spite even of all that Yberville could do to prevent it. The Admiral kept faith with him, and allowed him free passage out to sea, which, from his knowledge of Spaniards, was more than Captain Blood had expected.
Meanwhile, no sooner had the deserters weighed anchor than Captain Blood received word that the Deputy-Governor begged to be allowed to see him again. Admitted, Don Francisco at once displayed the fact that a night’s reflection had quickened his apprehensions for the city of Maracaybo and his condemnation of the Admiral’s intransigence.
Captain Blood received him pleasantly.
“Good-morning to you, Don Francisco. I have postponed the bonfire until nightfall. It will make a better show in the dark.”
Don Francisco, a slight, nervous, elderly man of high lineage and low vitality, came straight to business.
“I am here to tell you, Don Pedro, that if you will hold your hand for three days, I will undertake to raise the ransom you demand, which Don Miguel de Espinosa refuses.”
Captain Blood confronted him, a frown contracting the dark brows above his light eyes:
“And where will you be raising it?” quoth he, faintly betraying his surprise.
Don Francisco shook his head. “That must remain my affair,” he answered. “I know where it is to be found, and my compatriots must contribute. Give me leave for three days on parole, and I will see you fully satisfied. Meanwhile my son remains in your hands as a hostage for my return.” And upon that he fell to pleading. But in this he was crisply interrupted.
“By the Saints! Ye’re a bold man, Don Francisco, to come to me with such a tale—to tell me that ye know where the ransom’s to be raised, and yet to refuse to say. D’ye think now that with a match between your fingers ye’d grow more communicative?”
If Don Francisco grew a shade paler, yet again he shook his head.
“That was the way of Morgan and L’Ollonais and other pirates. But it is not the way of Captain Blood. If I had doubted that I should not have disclosed so much.”
The Captain laughed. “You old rogue,” said he. “Ye play upon my vanity, do you?”
“Upon