“No, Tom Evans.  It has been share and share alike for three years, and bravely you have all held up, and share alike it shall be now, and here’s the handsel of it.  We’ll serve out the good wine fairly all round as long as it lasts, and then take to the bad:  but mind you don’t get drunk, my sons, for we are much too short of hands to have any stout fellows lying about the scuppers.”

But what was the story of the intendant’s being murdered?  Brimblecombe had seen him run into a neighboring cabin; and when the door of it was opened, there was the culprit, but dead and cold, with a deep knife-wound in his side.  Who could have done the deed?  It must have been Tita, whom Brimblecombe had seen loose, and trying to free her lover.

The ship was searched from stem to stern:  but no Tita.  The mystery was never explained.  That she had leapt overboard, and tried to swim ashore, none doubted:  but whether she had reached it, who could tell?  One thing was strange; that not only had she carried off no treasure with her, but that the gold ornaments which she had worn the night before, lay together in a heap on the table, close by the murdered man.  Had she wished to rid herself of everything which had belonged to her tyrants?

The commandant heard the whole story thoughtfully.

“Wretched man!” said he, “and he has a wife and children in Seville.”

“A wife and children?” said Amyas; “and I heard him promise marriage to the Indian girl.”

That was the only hint which gave a reason for his death.  What if, in the terror of discovery and capture, the scoundrel had dropped any self-condemning words about his marriage, any prayer for those whom he had left behind, and the Indian had overheard them?  It might be so; at least sin had brought its own punishment.

And so that wild night and day subsided.  The prisoners were kindly used enough; for the Englishman, free from any petty love of tormenting, knows no mean between killing a foe outright, and treating him as a brother; and when, two days afterwards, they were sent ashore in the canoes off Cabo Velo, captives and captors shook hands all round; and Amyas, after returning the commandant his sword, and presenting him with a case of the bishop’s wine, bowed him courteously over the side.

“I trust that you will pay us another visit, valiant senor capitan,” said the Spaniard, bowing and smiling.

“I should most gladly accept your invitation, illustrious senor commandant; but as I have vowed henceforth, whenever I shall meet a Spaniard, neither to give nor take quarter, I trust that our paths to glory may lie in different directions.”

The commandant shrugged his shoulders; the ship was put again before the wind, and as the shores of the Main faded lower and dimmer behind her, a mighty cheer broke from all on board; and for once the cry from every mouth was Eastward-ho!