So the Heart of the West held on her course under a press of canvas.
After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked together for some time, they went forward, hand in hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, stripped to their breeches and shirts in readiness for the approaching encounter, looked up, and such as wore caps doffed them respectfully.
"My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that rang clear above the stir of wind and wave and tugging cordage, "but this morning you made merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, you will risk your lives in defending your ship and me from that pirate whom we have already encountered. My husband,—your captain,—like a true-bred English sailor, is already sure of victory. A generous mariner, he has promised me the prize; and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks' time, my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. Not a penny of her price shall go to owner or captain; but all into the pockets of this brave company. And should any man fall in the encounter, I pledge my word that those dependent upon him shall lack nothing that money can give them during the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, for God and for England."
She looked down at them, smiling divinely.
"And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful seaman.
Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips bawled her name; and great, toil-seared hands were brandished, and stark blades gleamed in the sunlight.
"God bless you, lady," they roared.
She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips with both dainty hands.