“You find me ridiculous, eh, Cahusac?” said he, as he came to a halt before the Breton, whose anger seemed already to have gone out of him.  “What, then, must I find you?” He spoke quietly, almost wearily.  “You will be telling them that we have delayed, and that it is the delay that has brought about our danger.  But whose is the fault of that delay?  We have been a month in doing what should have been done, and what but for your blundering would have been done, inside of a week.”

“Ah ca!  Nom de Dieu!  Was it my fault that....”

“Was it any one else’s fault that you ran your ship La Foudre aground on the shoal in the middle of the lake?  You would not be piloted.  You knew your way.  You took no soundings even.  The result was that we lost three precious days in getting canoes to bring off your men and your gear.  Those three days gave the folk at Gibraltar not only time to hear of our coming, but time in which to get away.  After that, and because of it, we had to follow the Governor to his infernal island fortress, and a fortnight and best part of a hundred lives were lost in reducing it.  That’s how we come to have delayed until this Spanish fleet is fetched round from La Guayra by a guarda-costa; and if ye hadn’t lost La Foudre, and so reduced our fleet from three ships to two, we should even now be able to fight our way through with a reasonable hope of succeeding.  Yet you think it is for you to come hectoring here, upbraiding us for a situation that is just the result of your own ineptitude.”

He spoke with a restraint which I trust you will agree was admirable when I tell you that the Spanish fleet guarding the bottle-neck exit of the great Lake of Maracaybo, and awaiting there the coming forth of Captain Blood with a calm confidence based upon its overwhelming strength, was commanded by his implacable enemy, Don Miguel de Espinosa y Valdez, the Admiral of Spain.  In addition to his duty to his country, the Admiral had, as you know, a further personal incentive arising out of that business aboard the Encarnacion a year ago, and the death of his brother Don Diego; and with him sailed his nephew Esteban, whose vindictive zeal exceeded the Admiral’s own.

Yet, knowing all this, Captain Blood could preserve his calm in reproving the cowardly frenzy of one for whom the situation had not half the peril with which it was fraught for himself.  He turned from Cahusac to address the mob of buccaneers, who had surged nearer to hear him, for he had not troubled to raise his voice.  “I hope that will correct some of the misapprehension that appears to have been disturbing you,” said he.

“There’s no good can come of talking of what’s past and done,” cried Cahusac, more sullen now than truculent.  Whereupon Wolverstone laughed, a laugh that was like the neighing of a horse.  “The question is:  what are we to do now?”

“Sure, now, there’s no question at all,” said Captain Blood.