if he would have
struck the gunner. Then his expression changed: the light of inspiration
Was in his glance.

"Bedad! ye've said it. He doesn't fear death, this damned pirate; but
his son may take a different view. Filial piety's mighty strong in
Spain." He swung on his heel abruptly, and strode back to the knot of
men about his prisoner. "Here!" he shouted to them. "Bring him below."
And he led the way down to the waist, and thence by the booby hatch to
the gloom of the 'tween-decks, where the air was rank with the smell
of tar and spun yarn. Going aft he threw open the door of the spacious
wardroom, and went in followed by a dozen of the hands with the pinioned
Spaniard. Every man aboard would have followed him but for his sharp
command to some of them to remain on deck with Hagthorpe.

In the ward-room the three stern chasers were in position, loaded,
their muzzles thrusting through the open ports, precisely as the Spanish
gunners had left them.

"Here, Ogle, is work for you," said Blood, and as the burly gunner came
thrusting forward through the little throng of gaping men, Blood pointed
to the middle chaser; "Have that gun hauled back," he ordered.

When this was done, Blood beckoned those who held Don Diego.

"Lash him across the mouth of it," he bade them, and whilst, assisted by
another two, they made haste to obey, he turned to the others. "To the
roundhouse, some of you, and fetch the Spanish prisoners. And you, Dyke,
go up and bid them set the flag of Spain aloft."

Don Diego, with his body stretched in an arc across the cannon's mouth,
legs and arms lashed to the carriage on either side of it, eyeballs
rolling in his head, glared maniacally at Captain Blood. A man may not
fear to die, and yet be appalled by the form in which death comes to
him.

From frothing lips he hurled blasphemies and insults at his tormentor.

"Foul barbarian! Inhuman savage! Accursed heretic! Will it not content
you to kill me in some Christian fashion?" Captain Blood vouchsafed him
a malignant smile, before he turned to meet the fifteen manacled Spanish
prisoners, who were thrust into his presence.

Approaching, they had heard Don Diego's outcries; at close quarters now
they beheld with horror-stricken eyes his plight. From amongst them a
comely, olive-skinned stripling, distinguished in bearing and apparel
from his companions, started forward with an anguished cry of "Father!"

Writhing in the arms that made haste to seiz