I seized the opportunity to look around. We were too close under the poop to see what went on beyond the rail directly overhead; but the maindeck, fore and aft, was a pitiful spectacle—cluttered with wreckage and dead men and bits of men and men wounded in every conceivable fashion, its yellow-sand carpet gemmed with carmine pools and rivulets.
My great-uncle, as immaculate as when he had ascended the James' bulwarks, stood a little ahead of the mass of his followers, his serene face and rich clothing in startling contrast with their nakedness and frank brutality. A trickle of blood dripped from the point of his slender sword. His attitude was that of an honorable man who wishes to be reasonable in a difficult situation.
"I believe I heard an appeal for quarter," he said quietly.
"Sir, you did," replied O'Donnell. "I have spoken for the gentleman beside me, Señor Don Ascanio de Hurtado y Custa, who is captain of this vessel."
"I am honored, sir," returned my great-uncle. "And yourself?"
O'Donnell did not altogether relish the playing of his part. He bit his lip and hesitated an instant before he answered.
"I am Colonel O'Donnell, an officer in the service of his Most Catholic Majesty."
"Ah; and what can I do for you, gentlemen?" inquired my great-uncle.
O'Donnell hesitated again and conferred with the Spanish officer.
"Sir," he said then, "Don Ascanio asks you by me: Since when have your country and Spain been at war?"