He afterwards confessed that for a moment he was in danger of weakening, that for a moment his mind rebelled against the pitiless thing it had planned.  But to correct the sentiment he evoked a memory of what these Spaniards had performed in Bridgetown.  Again he saw the white face of that child Mary Traill as she fled in horror before the jeering ruffian whom he had slain, and other things even more unspeakable seen on that dreadful evening rose now before the eyes of his memory to stiffen his faltering purpose.  The Spaniards had shown themselves without mercy or sentiment or decency of any kind; stuffed with religion, they were without a spark of that Christianity, the Symbol of which was mounted on the mainmast of the approaching ship.  A moment ago this cruel, vicious Don Diego had insulted the Almighty by his assumption that He kept a specially benevolent watch over the destinies of Catholic Spain.  Don Diego should be taught his error.

Recovering the cynicism in which he had approached his task, the cynicism essential to its proper performance, he commanded Ogle to kindle a match and remove the leaden apron from the touch-hole of the gun that bore Don Diego.  Then, as the younger Espinosa broke into fresh intercessions mingled with imprecations, he wheeled upon him sharply.

“Peace!” he snapped.  “Peace, and listen!  It is no part of my intention to blow your father to hell as he deserves, or indeed to take his life at all.”

Having surprised the lad into silence by that promise — a promise surprising enough in all the circumstances — he proceeded to explain his aims in that faultless and elegant Castilian of which he was fortunately master — as fortunately for Don Diego as for himself.

“It is your father’s treachery that has brought us into this plight and deliberately into risk of capture and death aboard that ship of Spain.  Just as your father recognized his brother’s flagship, so will his brother have recognized the Cinco Llagas.  So far, then, all is well.  But presently the Encarnacion will be sufficiently close to perceive that here all is not as it should be.  Sooner or later, she must guess or discover what is wrong, and then she will open fire or lay us board and board.  Now, we are in no case to fight, as your father knew when he ran us into this trap.  But fight we will, if we are driven to it.  We make no tame surrender to the ferocity of Spain.”

He laid his hand on the breech of the gun that bore Don Diego.

“Understand this clearly:  to the first shot from the Encarnacion this gun will fire the answer.  I make myself clear, I hope?”

White-faced and trembling, young Espinosa stared into the pitiless blue eyes that so steadily regarded him.

“If it is clear?” he faltered, breaking the utter silence in which all were standing.  “But, name of God, how should it be clear?  How should I understand?  Can you avert the fight?  If you know a way, and if I, or these, can help you to it — if that is what you mean — in Heaven’s name let me hear it.”