"Cast loose from the prize, Master Martin, and make all sail. The course is so'east by south. I would have you stand off out of sight of the Porto Rican shore."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Martin hesitated.
"And the treasure, cap'n?" he added.
"Benn Gunn will give you the keys of the lazaret. 'Twill go there as usual."
"Aye, aye, sir."
There was an interval of silence after he had gone. The shouts of the pirates echoed from the deck, with the creaking of halyards and napping of sails. The Royal James seemed to shake herself as she sidled free of the battered hull of the Santissima Trinidad, and through the stern windows showed the bowsprit and fo'csle of the Spaniard, still smothered beneath a mess of canvas and broken spars and rigging. Slowly we drew past her, and I was amused to see that men leaned from her ports and on her bulwarks, watching us with the idle curiosity to be expected in any friendly meeting at sea.
The Spanish flag still flaunted at her main where it had stayed throughout the action. Don Ascanio, her captain, still stood with folded arms and furious mien on the poop. The group of religious were all on their knees in prayer. The fat monk raised his crucifix with a threatening gesture as we glided under her stern.
"Observe the fallacy of religious conviction," commented Murray. "The monk curses us for a crime we have not committed."
"There is enough evil to your credit to warrant him, even so," I answered.