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."

"A fight would be averted if Don Diego de Espinosa were to go aboard his
brother's ship, and by his presence and assurances inform the Admiral
that all is well with the Cinco Llagas, that she is indeed still a ship
of Spain as her flag now announces. But of course Don Diego cannot go
in person, because he is... otherwise engaged. He has a slight touch of
fever--shall we say?--that detains him in his cabin. But you, his son,
may convey all this and some other matters together with his homage
to your uncle. You shall go in a boat manned by six of these Spanish
prisoners, and I--a distinguished Spaniard delivered from captivity
in Barbados by your recent raid--will accompany you to keep you in
countenance. If I return alive, and without accident of any kind to
hinder our free sailing hence, Don Diego shall have his life, as shall
every one of you. But if there is the least misadventure, be it from
treachery or ill-fortune--I care not which--the battle, as I have had
the honour to explain, will be opened on our side by this gun, and your
father will be the first victim of the conflict."

He paused a moment. There was a hum of approval from his comrades,
an anxious stirring among the Spanish prisoners. Young Espinosa stood
before him, the colour ebbing and flowing in his cheeks. He waited for
some direction from his father. But none came. Don Diego's courage,
it seemed, had sadly waned under that rude test. He hung limply in his
fearful bonds, and was silent. Evidently he dared not encourage his son
to defiance, and presumably was ashamed to urge him to yield. Thus, he
left decision entirely with the youth.

"Come," said