Off Grand Terre, the eastern of the two main islands of Guadeloupe, he lay awaiting sunrise. When it came, bringing a freshening of the wind, he ran close past Saint Anne, which was empty of shipping, and, hugging the coast, sailed on in a north–easterly direction until he came, some two hours later, to Port du Moule.
There were half a dozen ships in the harbour, and Blood scanned them with anxiety until his glance alighted on a black brigantine that was bellied like a Flemish alderman. Those lines were a sufficient advertisement of her Dutch origin, and Captain Blood, sweeping alongside, hailed her with confidence and climbed to her deck.
«I am in haste,» he informed her sturdy captain, «to reach the northern coast of French Hispaniola, and I will pay you well for a passage thither.»
The Dutchman eyed him without favour. «If you're in haste you had better seek what you need elsewhere. I am for Curacao.»
«I've said I'll pay you well. Five thousand pieces of eight should compensate you for delays.»
«Five thousand pieces!» The Dutchman stared. The sum was as much as he could hope to earn by his present voyage. «Who are you, sir?»
«What's that to the matter? I am one who will pay five thousand pieces.»
The skipper of the brigantine screwed up his little blue eyes. «Will you pay in advance?»
«The half of it. The other half I shall obtain when my destination is reached. But you may hold me aboard until you have the money.» Thus he ensured that the Dutchman, ignorant of the fact that the entire sum was already under his hand, should keep faith.
«I could sail to–night,» said the other slowly.