Ranged on either side, athwart the deck, stood a score of men in two well-ordered files, with breasts and backs of steel, polished Spanish morions on their heads, overshadowing their faces, and muskets ordered at their sides.

Colonel Bishop could not be expected to recognize at a glance in these upright, furbished, soldierly figures the ragged, unkempt scarecrows that but yesterday had been toiling in his plantations.  Still less could he be expected to recognize at once the courtly gentleman who advanced to greet him — a lean, graceful gentleman, dressed in the Spanish fashion, all in black with silver lace, a gold-hilted sword dangling beside him from a gold embroidered baldrick, a broad castor with a sweeping plume set above carefully curled ringlets of deepest black.

“Be welcome aboard the Cinco Llagas, Colonel, darling,” a voice vaguely familiar addressed the planter.  “We’ve made the best of the Spaniards’ wardrobe in honour of this visit, though it was scarcely yourself we had dared hope to expect.  You find yourself among friends — old friends of yours, all.”  The Colonel stared in stupefaction.  Mr. Blood tricked out in all this splendour — indulging therein his natural taste — his face carefully shaven, his hair as carefully dressed, seemed transformed into a younger man.  The fact is he looked no more than the thirty-three years he counted to his age.

“Peter Blood!” It was an ejaculation of amazement.  Satisfaction followed swiftly.  “Was it you, then...?”

“Myself it was — myself and these, my good friends and yours.”  Mr. Blood tossed back the fine lace from his wrist, to wave a hand towards the file of men standing to attention there.

The Colonel looked more closely.  “Gad’s my life!” he crowed on a note of foolish jubilation.  “And it was with these fellows that you took the Spaniard and turned the tables on those dogs!  Oddswounds!  It was heroic!”

“Heroic, is it?  Bedad, it’s epic!  Ye begin to perceive the breadth and depth of my genius.”

Colonel Bishop sat himself down on the hatch-coaming, took off his broad hat, and mopped his brow.

“Y’amaze me!” he gasped.  “On my soul, y’amaze me!  To have recovered the treasure and to have seized this fine ship and all she’ll hold!  It will be something to set against the other losses we have suffered.  As Gad’s my life, you deserve well for this.”

“I am entirely of your opinion.”

“Damme!  You all deserve well, and damme, you shall find me grateful.”

“That’s as it should be,” said Mr. Blood.  “The question is how well we deserve, and how grateful shall we find you?”

Colonel Bishop considered him.  There was a shadow of surprise in his face.

“Why — his excellency shall write home an account of your exploit, and maybe some portion of your sentences shall be remitted.”

“The generosity of King James is well known,” sneered Nathaniel Hagthorpe, who was standing by, and amongst the ranged rebels-convict some one ventured to laugh.