he would spare, no
nerve he would not strain, to bring Peter Blood to final moorings in
Execution Dock, at least he kept that vow strictly to himself.

Peter Blood had no illusions. He was not, and never would be, the
complete pirate. There was not another buccaneer in all the Caribbean
who would have denied himself the pleasure of stringing Colonel Bishop
from the yardarm, and by thus finally stifling the vindictive planter's
hatred have increased his own security. But Blood was not of these.
Moreover, in the case of Colonel Bishop there was a particular reason
for restraint. Because he was Arabella Bishop's uncle, his life must
remain sacred to Captain Blood.

And so the Captain smiled into the sallow, bloated face and the little
eyes that fixed him with a malevolence not to be dissembled.

"A safe voyage home to you, Colonel, darling," said he in valediction,
and from his easy, smiling manner you would never have dreamt of the
pain he carried in his breast. "It's the second time ye've served me for
a hostage. Ye'll be well advised to avoid a third. I'm not lucky to you,
Colonel, as you should be perceiving."

Jeremy Pitt, the master, lounging at Blood's elbow, looked darkly upon
the departure of the Deputy-Governor. Behind them a little mob of grim,
stalwart, sun-tanned buccaneers were restrained from cracking Bishop
like a flea only by their submission to the dominant will of their
leader. They had learnt from Pitt while yet in Port Royal of their
Captain's danger, and whilst as ready as he to throw over the King's
service which had been thrust upon them, yet they resented the manner
in which this had been rendered necessary, and they marvelled now at
Blood's restraint where Bishop was concerned. The Deputy-Governor
looked round and met the lowering hostile glances of those fierce eyes.
Instinct warned him that his life at that moment was held precariously,
that an injudicious word might precipitate an explosion of hatred from
which no human power could save him. Therefore he said nothing. He
inclined his head in silence to the Captain, and went blundering and
stumbling in his haste down that ladder to the sloop and its waiting
negro crew.

They pushed off the craft from the red hull of the Arabella, bent to
their sweeps, then, hoisting sail, headed back for Port Royal, intent
upon reaching it before darkness should come down upon them. And Bishop,
the great bulk of him huddled in the stem sheets, sat silent, h