The pale light of dawn found him where he watched until the transshipping was done, and the cases of coin, the silks and plate, were stowed safely below. The fitful wind, which had tossed up a restless sea, was now become so boisterous that the grappling irons were cast off and the Saucy Sally drifted away from the Spaniard and hung with a backed mainsail a half-cable’s length under her lee. The prisoners of the San Isidro had been carefully secured below and a prize crew of Jacquard, Cornbury, and thirty men had been placed upon her to bring the wreck into port. She was sound enough below. But the rigging, in spite of all their endeavors, was still a mere tangle of useless gearing. The sails drew on the jury-masts, and together, with gathering impetus, the two vessels moved slowly out into the growing light of the East.
The wisdom of the efforts of Bras-de-Fer in removing to the handier vessel the most movable of the priceless freight was soon apparent. For there, dull patches upon the southern sky, were the sails of two large vessels bearing smartly up under the stress of the fine westerly wind. Hoarse curses rang forth, and fists were wildly brandished towards the approaching ships, which, as it was plainly to be seen, were Spanish men-of-war, aroused to alertness by the cannonading at sunset and the night-long flares. It would have been hopeless for Bras-de-Fer to try and bring both vessels clear away, for the unwieldly prize rolled heavily in the rising swell and made scarce a bubble under the forefoot. And in her damaged condition, with crippled spars and many guns out of service, the Sally could hardly hope to repeat her success over the San Isidro with two war vessels fresh from the Havana. The weight of argument lay upon the side of his defeat with the loss of all that he had gained. There were two alternatives—to remain with the San Isidro and fight it out to the last, or take his prize crew aboard the Sally and abandon the San Isidro and her prisoners to her compatriots.
Bras-de-Fer chose the latter. There was only time to effect the change. He called Jacquard and his master-at-arms and the prize crew aboard their own vessel, and, clapping all sail upon the Saucy Sally that she could carry in safety, sailed clear away and abandoned the huge hulk to the approaching enemy.
[CHAPTER XII]
PRISONER AND CAPTOR
When the heels of the Sally had put so great a distance between herself and her pursuers that there was nothing to fear of their overhauling her, Bras-de-Fer went below to the cabin. Exhausted by the events of the night, leaning listlessly against the sill of the stern-port, was Mistress Clerke, her lids drooping with weariness as she struggled against tired nature to keep her lone vigil. Her eyes started wide at the sound of his footsteps. She struggled to her feet and stood, her face pallid and drawn, in the cold, garish light of the morning. She scanned him eagerly, peering fearfully into his face for any portentous sign. The dust of battle was still streaked upon it, and the shadows under the brows which had made his countenance forbidding in the mad flush of war upon the San Isidro now only gave the shadows a darker depth of settled melancholy. There was a fierceness and wildness, too, but it was distant, hidden, and self-contained; at bay, only with nothing of aggressiveness for immediate apprehension or alarm. Instead, there was a reserved dignity and aloofness which spoke of a nice sense of a delicate situation. He made no move to draw near her, but stood in the narrow cabin door, hat in hand.
“Madame is weary?” he said. “If you will permit—” And then he searched the cabin, a question in his eyes.
“The señorita, madame?” he asked.
Mistress Clerke sighed wearily. “I am alone, monsieur. She came frozen with terror—and fled again—”