Peter Blood waited a moment, observing him; then he
bowed and stepped back.
DON PEDRO SANGRE
The Cinco Llagas and the Encarnacion, after a proper
exchange of signals, lay hove 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 Espinosa 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 supererogation of pretence.
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 Espinosa
— another piece of evidence hastily manufactured
in the cabin of the Cinco Llagas — 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 Encarnadon.
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 St. 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 Leon, 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 Barbados. “Benedicamus Domino,”
said the friar to his tale.
“Ex hoc nunc et usque in seculum,” 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?”
