“We do not mean to suffer it,” they replied. “We know what the Spaniards are, and what our power is. We are collecting our forces, and will soon take signal vengeance upon them.”
“Let me go with you,” said Montbar. “I do not ask to be your leader, but I will go at your head. I will be the first to expose myself, and will show you how I can fight these accursed Spaniards.”
Gladly they accepted his offer. His ardor and energy inspired them with great confidence in him. His uncle very reluctantly allowed him to go, cursing him as a foolish, hair-brained madcap, ever eager to push his head into danger. Yet the uncle was very proud of him. As young Montbar descended the side of the ship into a canoe, the captain said exultingly to one at his side, “There goes as brave a lad as ever trod a plank.”
The buccaneers returned to their camp, and immediately, in a strong war-party, set out in search of the Spaniards. They threaded intricate paths through the woods, until they opened upon a small treeless prairie, which they called a savanna. Just before entering this field, which was surrounded by hills and woods, they saw, in the distance, a mounted party of Spaniards who were evidently on the march to attack them.
Montbar was transported with rage at the sight of the Spaniards. He was ready, single-handed, to rush upon them at once—he alone, against several hundred, regardless whether the others followed him or not. But an old, experienced buccaneer, who led the party, held him back.
“Stop,” said he; “there is plenty of time. If you do as I tell you, not one of those fellows shall escape.”
These words, “Not one of those fellows shall escape,” arrested the impetuous young man. The buccaneers halted, pretending not to have seen the Spaniards. They allowed one or two of their number to exhibit themselves, as if belonging to a hunting party. They then pitched their tent of linen, apparently entirely unconscious that they were near any foe. Drawing out their brandy-flasks, they feigned a great revel, singing songs, shouting, and passing the flasks from one to another, as if in the wildest of drunken bouts. This was done by a small portion of the company, while most of the buccaneers were hidden in ambush.
The Spaniards, having secreted themselves, watched all these movements. They supposed that the buccaneers, stupefied with drink, would ere long fall helplessly asleep. The Spaniards would then creep cautiously upon them, and kill them all. But the cunning old buccaneer had taken good care that the brandy-flasks should all be empty. Not a single drop of intoxicating drink had the feigned revellers taken.
As soon as darkness veiled the scene the buccaneers all assembled in ambuscade, anticipating a midnight attack. Every musket was in order, and their brains were cool and uninflamed with drink. The Spaniards delayed their attack until daylight. As the hours lingered away, Montbar was restless, and chafed like a caged lion, saying that they would never come, and imploring permission to march out and attack them.
At daybreak the buccaneers discerned a dark line moving noiselessly over the ridge, and descending into the plain. They knew full well what this meant. Every movement was watched by the ambushed buccaneers. Cautiously the Spaniards advanced. They crossed the prairie, and entered the forest, intending to encircle the tent, which they supposed held the sleeping buccaneers.