“Got your hammer, carpenter?” asked one, whom Craddock recognised as the big quartermaster.

“Knock off his leg shackles, then.  Better leave the bracelets—­he’s safer with them on.”

With hammer and chisel the carpenter loosened the irons.

“What are you going to do with me?” asked Craddock.

“Come on deck and you’ll see.”

The sailor seized him by the arm and dragged him roughly to the foot of the companion.  Above him was a square of blue sky cut across by the mizzen gaff, with the colours flying at the peak.  But it was the sight of those colours which struck the breath from Stephen Craddock’s lips.  For there were two of them, and the British ensign was flying above the Jolly Rodger—­the honest flag above that of the rogue.

For an instant Craddock stopped in amazement, but a brutal push from the pirates behind drove him up the companion ladder.  As he stepped out upon deck, his eyes turned up to the main, and there again were the British colours flying above the red pennant, and all the shrouds and rigging were garlanded with streamers.

Had the ship been taken, then?  But that was impossible, for there were the pirates clustering in swarms along the port bulwarks, and waving their hats joyously in the air.  Most prominent of all was the renegade mate, standing on the foc’sle head, and gesticulating wildly.  Craddock looked over the side to see what they were cheering at, and then in a flash he saw how critical was the moment.

On the port bow, and about a mile off, lay the white houses and forts of Port Royal, with flags breaking out everywhere over their roofs.  Right ahead was the opening of the palisades leading to the town of Kingston.  Not more than a quarter of a mile off was a small sloop working out against the very slight wind.  The British ensign was at her peak, and her rigging was all decorated.  On her deck could be seen a dense crowd of people cheering and waving their hats, and the gleam of scarlet told that there were officers of the garrison among them.

In an instant, with the quick perception of a man of action, Craddock saw through it all.  Sharkey, with that diabolical cunning and audacity which were among his main characteristics, was simulating the part which Craddock would himself have played had he come back victorious.  It was in his honour that the salutes were firing and the flags flying.  It was to welcome him that this ship with the Governor, the commandant, and the chiefs of the island were approaching.  In another ten minutes they would all be under the guns of the Happy Delivery, and Sharkey would have won the greatest stake that ever a pirate played for yet.

“Bring him forward,” cried the pirate captain, as Craddock appeared between the carpenter and the quartermaster.  “Keep the ports closed, but clear away the port guns, and stand by for a broadside.  Another two cable lengths and we have them.”