“Counsels of despair.” Cahusac was contemptuous. To mark it he spat upon the deck. “This comes of going to sea with a lovesick madman. Now, keep your temper, Captain, for the hands will be at the end of theirs if we have trouble as a result of this Dutchman business.”
For the remainder of that day Levasseur's thoughts were of anything but love. He remained on deck, his eyes now upon the land, now upon those two slowly gaining ships. To run for the open could avail him nothing, and in his leaky condition would provide an additional danger. He must stand at bay and fight. And then, towards evening, when within three miles of shore and when he was about to give the order to strip for battle, he almost fainted from relief to hear a voice from the crow's-nest above announce that the larger of the two ships was the Arabella. Her companion was presumably a prize.
But the pessimism of Cahusac abated nothing.
“That is but the lesser evil,” he growled. “What will Blood say about this Dutchman?”
“Let him say what he pleases.” Levasseur laughed in the immensity of his relief.
“And what about the children of the Governor of Tortuga?”
“He must not know.”
“He'll come to know in the end.”
“Aye, but by then, morbleu, the matter will be settled. I shall have made my peace with the Governor. I tell you I know the way to compel Ogeron to come to terms.”
Presently the four vessels lay to off the northern coast of La Virgen Magra, a narrow little island arid and treeless, some twelve miles by three, uninhabited save by birds and turtles and unproductive of anything but salt, of which there were considerable ponds to the south.