“The odds be damned!” Wolverstone thrust out his heavy jowl.  “We’re used to odds.  The odds was heavier at Maracaybo; yet we won out, and took three ships.  They was heavier yesterday when we engaged Don Miguel.”

“Aye — but those were Spaniards.”

“And what better are these? — Are ye afeard of a lubberly Barbados planter?  Whatever ails you, Peter?  I’ve never known ye scared afore.”

A gun boomed out behind them.

“That’ll be the signal to lie to,” said Blood, in the same listless voice; and he fetched a sigh.

Wolverstone squared himself defiantly before his captain

“I’ll see Colonel Bishop in hell or ever I lies to for him.”  And he spat, presumably for purposes of emphasis.

His lordship intervened.

“Oh, but — by your leave — surely there is nothing to be apprehended from Colonel Bishop.  Considering the service you have rendered to his niece and to me....”

Wolverstone’s horse-laugh interrupted him.  “Hark to the gentleman!” he mocked.  “Ye don’t know Colonel Bishop, that’s clear.  Not for his niece, not for his daughter, not for his own mother, would he forgo the blood what he thinks due to him.  A drinker of blood, he is.  A nasty beast.  We knows, the Cap’n and me.  We been his slaves.”

“But there is myself,” said Lord Julian, with great dignity.

Wolverstone laughed again, whereat his lordship flushed.  He was moved to raise his voice above its usual languid level.

“I assure you that my word counts for something in England.”

“Oh, aye — in England.  But this ain’t England, damme.”

Came the roar of a second gun, and a round shot splashed the water less than half a cable’s-length astern.  Blood leaned over the rail to speak to the fair young man immediately below him by the helmsman at the whipstaff.

“Bid them take in sail, Jeremy,” he said quietly.  “We lie to.”

But Wolverstone interposed again.

“Hold there a moment, Jeremy!” he roared.  “Wait!” He swung back to face the Captain, who had placed a hand on is shoulder and was smiling, a trifle wistfully.

“Steady, Old Wolf!  Steady!” Captain Blood admonished him.

“Steady, yourself, Peter.  Ye’ve gone mad!  Will ye doom us all to hell out of tenderness for that cold slip of a girl?”

“Stop!” cried Blood in sudden fury.

But Wolverstone would not stop.  “It’s the truth, you fool.  It’s that cursed petticoat’s making a coward of you.  It’s for her that ye’re afeard — and she, Colonel Bishop’s niece!  My God, man, ye’ll have a mutiny aboard, and I’ll lead it myself sooner than surrender to be hanged in Port Royal.”

Their glances met, sullen defiance braving dull anger, surprise, and pain.

“There is no question,” said Blood, “of surrender for any man aboard save only myself.  If Bishop can report to England that I am taken and hanged, he will magnify himself and at the same time gratify his personal rancour against me.  That should satisfy him.  I’ll send him a message offering to surrender aboard his ship, taking Miss Bishop and Lord Julian with me, but only on condition that the Arabella is allowed to proceed unharmed.  It’s a bargain that he’ll accept, if I know him at all.”