CHAPTER XI

THE RETURN OF THE BOAT

Receiving no other orders, the moment all was secure, the crew eager to welcome back the boat party, and learn the news, hurried over to the port rail.  Beyond doubt most of those aboard realized that this had been an expedition of some importance, the culmination of their long wait on the coast, part of some scheme of their chief, in the spoils of which they expected to share.  It was for this end they had been inactive for weeks, hiding and skulking along shore; now they hoped to reap their reward in gold and silver, and then be permitted to return to the wilder, more adventurous life they loved on the high seas.  Moreover this boat approaching through the darkness was bringing back their leader, and however else they might feel toward him, the reckless daring, and audacious resourcefulness of Sanchez meant success.  These fellows, the scum of the seven seas, whom he had gathered about him, might hate and fear, yet were glad to follow.  They had learned on many a bloody deck the merit of their chief, and in their way were loyal to him.

I was made to comprehend all this by the low, muttered utterances of those crowding near me, spoken in nearly every language of the world.  Much I could not even translate, yet enough reached my ears to convince me of the temper of the crew—­their feverish eagerness to be again at sea, under command of a captain whom they both hated and feared, yet whom they would follow to the very gates of hell.  Even as they cursed him with hot oaths, in memory of some act of discipline, there came into their voices a tinge of admiration, which furnished me an accurate etching of the man.  They knew him, these hell-hounds of the sea, and from out their mouths I knew him also for what he was—­a cruel, cold-blooded monster, yet a genius in crime, and a natural leader of such men as these. Black Sanchez! All the unspeakable horror which in the past had clung to that name came back again to haunt me; I seemed to hear once more the tales of men who had escaped from his grip alive; to see again the scenes they had witnessed.  It could not seem possible that I was actually upon one of his ships, in the very midst of his wild crew.  I listened to their comments, their expectations, with swiftly beating heart.  I alone knew what that boat was bringing.  And when it arrived, and they knew also, what would these sea wolves say?  What would they do?  What would be the result when the dead body of their leader came up over the rail?

For a few moments we could perceive nothing through the black night.  The clouds were rolling low, thickened by vapor, and the increasing wind had already beaten the waves into crests of foam.  We could hear them crash against the stout sides of the bark, which leaped to their impetus, yet was held in helpless captivity by the two anchors.  The deck under foot tossed dizzily, the bare masts swaying above,