You conceive the master’s amazement to see the Deputy-Governor come toiling up the entrance ladder, with Blood following very close behind him.

“Sure, I walked into a trap, as ye feared, Jeremy,” Blood hailed him.  “But I walked out again, and fetched the trapper with me.  He loves his life, does this fat rascal.”

Colonel Bishop stood in the waist, his great face blenched to the colour of clay, his mouth loose, almost afraid to look at the sturdy ruffians who lounged about the shot-rack on the main hatch.

Blood shouted an order to the bo’sun, who was leaning against the forecastle bulkhead.

“Throw me a rope with a running noose over the yardarm there, against the need of it.  Now, don’t be alarming yourself, Colonel, darling.  It’s no more than a provision against your being unreasonable, which I am sure ye’ll not be.  We’ll talk the matter over whiles we are dining, for I trust ye’ll not refuse to honour my table by your company.”

He led away the will-less, cowed bully to the great cabin.  Benjamin, the negro steward, in white drawers and cotton shirt, made haste by his command to serve dinner.

Colonel Bishop collapsed on the locker under the stern ports, and spoke now for the first time.

“May I ask wha... what are your intentions?” he quavered.

“Why, nothing sinister, Colonel.  Although ye deserve nothing less than that same rope and yardarm, I assure you that it’s to be employed only as a last resource.  Ye’ve said his lordship made a mistake when he handed me the commission which the Secretary of State did me the honour to design for me.  I’m disposed to agree with you; so I’ll take to the sea again.  Cras ingens iterabimus aequor.  It’s the fine Latin scholar ye’ll be when I’ve done with ye.  I’ll be getting back to Tortuga and my buccaneers, who at least are honest, decent fellows.  So I’ve fetched ye aboard as a hostage.”

“My God!” groaned the Deputy-Governor.  “Ye... ye never mean that ye’ll carry me to Tortuga!”

Blood laughed outright.  “Oh, I’d never serve ye such a bad turn as that.  No, no.  All I want is that ye ensure my safe departure from Port Royal.  And, if ye’re reasonable, I’ll not even trouble you to swim for it this time.  Ye’ve given certain orders to your Harbour-Master, and others to the Commandant of your plaguey fort.  Ye’ll be so good as to send for them both aboard here, and inform them in my presence that the Arabella is leaving this afternoon on the King’s service and is to pass out unmolested.  And so as to make quite sure of their obedience, they shall go a little voyage with us, themselves.  Here’s what you require.  Now write — unless you prefer the yardarm.”

Colonel Bishop heaved himself up in a pet.  “You constrain me with violence...” he was beginning.

Blood smoothly interrupted him.

“Sure, now, I am not constraining you at all.  I’m giving you a perfectly free choice between the pen and the rope.  It’s a matter for yourself entirely.”