Captain Blood was generous. “Hardly so much. It was just vindictiveness that urged him. It's myself he's hunting at Tortuga, my lord. But, I'm thinking that while he's about it, I'd best be looking after Jamaica for King William.” He laughed, with more mirth than he had used in the last two months.
“Set a course for Port Royal, Jeremy, and make all speed. We'll be level yet with M. de Rivarol, and wipe off some other scores at the same time.”
Both Lord Willoughby and the Admiral were on their feet.
“But you are not equal to it, damme!” cried his lordship. “Any one of the Frenchman's three ships is a match for both yours, my man.”
“In guns—aye,” said Blood, and he smiled. “But there's more than guns that matter in these affairs. If your lordship would like to see an action fought at sea as an action should be fought, this is your opportunity.”
Both stared at him. “But the odds!” his lordship insisted.
“Id is imbossible,” said van der Kuylen, shaking his great head. “Seamanship is imbordand. Bud guns is guns.”
“If I can't defeat him, I can sink my own ships in the channel, and block him in until Bishop gets back from his wild-goose chase with his squadron, or until your own fleet turns up.”
“And what good will that be, pray?” demanded Willoughby.
“I'll be after telling you. Rivarol is a fool to take this chance, considering what he's got aboard. He carried in his hold the treasure plundered from Cartagena, amounting to forty million livres.” They jumped at the mention of that colossal sum. “He has gone into Port Royal with it. Whether he defeats me or not, he doesn't come out of Port Royal with it again, and sooner or later that treasure shall find its way into King William's coffers, after, say, one fifth share shall have been paid to my buccaneers. Is that agreed, Lord Willoughby?”