'Faith, I never yet knew a danger that could prevent me from doing what I'm set on. And I'm set on this.'
It persuaded Tim of that streak of chivalry of which Blood had boasted, a quality which the burly master of the Heron could not help regarding as a deplorable flaw in a character of so much rascally perfection.
Ahead the growing daylight showed the loom of the coastline. But seven bells had been made before they were rippling through the greenish water at the mouth of the harbour of Rio de la Hacha, with the sun already high abeam on the larboard side.
They ran in to find an anchorage, and from the pooprail the now weary and blear–eyed Tim continued to be the mouthpiece of the tall man who clung to him like his shadow.
'Bid them let go.'
The order was issued, a rattle followed from the capstan, and the Heron came to anchor within a quarter of a mile of the mole.
'Summon all hands to the waist.'
When the six men who composed the crew of the brig stood assembled there, Blood's next instructions followed. 'Bid them take the cover from the main hatch.'
It was done at once.
'Now order them all down into the hold. Tell them they are to stow it for cargo to be taken aboard.'