"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?" quoth the sentry, checking.
"This way," said Mr. Blood.
The wooden taffrail 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 corselet, cuissarts, and headpiece, he sank to
trouble them no more.
"Whist!" hissed Mr. Blood to his waiting rebels-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:
"Y estos son los usos de Castilla y de Leon!"
"From what I've seen to-day I can well believe it," said Mr.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178