"Souse him, my hearts!" cried Turnpenny. "The saucy knave!"
And in a few minutes a plentiful drenching from a water-butt at the door brought some glimmering of sense into the man's bruised noddle.
Meanwhile the Spaniards who had survived the fight and escaped from their pursuers, had barricaded themselves in the officers' quarters, where they were unmolested while the majority of their late prisoners were on the quay. The victory could not be considered complete while they remained shut up, for they no doubt had arms and ammunition at their disposal. Some of the victors were for blowing up the house and all in it; but Dennis and Turnpenny dissuaded them from this, and declared for insisting on unconditional surrender. To obtain this they made use of the captive commandant. At Dennis's suggestion, Turnpenny put the case to him, pointing out how hopeless was the position of his men, and promising to spare their lives if they surrendered at once. The commandant was then led to the officers' house between two men with drawn swords, and after a few minutes' colloquy the men agreed to hand over their weapons.
Dennis meanwhile collected his whole party. They were a very ragged regiment. None was quite so tattered as Tom Copstone, but all were dirty, unkempt, unshorn, bearing many marks of toil and suffering, as well as the more recent marks of fight. Of the five maroons who had scaled the fort wall two were dead; the rest were all wounded. Not one of the little band had escaped unhurt. Dennis had several gashes in his arms. Turnpenny's big face was disfigured with cuts and bruises, while Copstone, who had fought with utter recklessness, seemed to have borne a charmed life, so many were his wounds. The released prisoners had come off best. With the exception of the two men shot down from the vessel, one being killed and the other badly wounded, they had escaped with a few scratches. They were a wild, rough lot, and Dennis wondered, as he looked them over, whether they would show themselves amenable to discipline.
The Spaniards having been disarmed and locked in the house, Turnpenny constituted himself master of the ceremonies. After a brief talk with Ned Whiddon and Hugh Curder, his special friends, he said to Dennis—
"Here we be, sir, masters of the fort, twenty-two all told, five being French. We must needs have a captain, and that be you, for 'tis all owed to your wit, and we pay you our humble duty."
"Thank 'ee, Amos, but I will not be captain save by the wish of all. Methinks 'tis an office for one older in years."
"Be jowned if it be, sir. Comrades, list while I tell the tale of these rare doings."
He related to the crowd the story of his rescue from the Spaniards on the island, the capture of the lumber-ship, the voyage in the maroons' canoe, and all that had happened since.
"And now, comrades," he concluded, "I ax 'ee, who so fit to be our captain as Master Dennis Hazelrig, of Shaston in Devon? We owe our lives to him, and there be many a thing to face afore we get across the thousand leagues to home. Who but him shall be our captain?"