Now Blood had no cause to love Spaniards. His two years in a Spanish
prison and his subsequent campaigning in the Spanish Netherlands had
shown him a side of the Spanish character which he had found anything
but admirable. Nevertheless he performed his doctor's duties
zealously and painstakingly, if emotionlessly, and even with a
certain superficial friendliness towards each of his patients.
These were so surprised at having their wounds healed instead of
being summarily hanged that they manifested a docility very unusual
in their kind. They were shunned, however, by all those charitably
disposed inhabitants of Bridgetown who flocked to the improvised
hospital with gifts of fruit and flowers and delicacies for the
injured English seamen. Indeed, had the wishes of some of these
inhabitants been regarded, the Spaniards would have been left to
die like vermin, and of this Peter Blood had an example almost at
the very outset.
With the assistance of one of the negroes sent to the shed for the
purpose, he was in the act of setting a broken leg, when a deep,
gruff voice, that he had come to know and dislike as he had never
disliked the voice of living man, abruptly challenged him.
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