Guert had turned somewhat quickly away, while they were speaking, for his rescued man had been allowed to come and speak with him.
"Hullo!" said the captain. "They are talkin' Dutch. That's it! Guert's a New Yorker. He learned it at home."
"What sort is he, Guert?" asked the mate.
"He isn't any pirate, at all," eagerly responded Guert. "He's a Hollander that was on a ship they took. One of 'em knew him and saved him, and they 'pressed him in. He had to make believe he was one of 'em, but he never was."
"Pretty good story," said Captain Avery. "Maybe it's true. There's enough of 'em killed. We'll take care of him."
"I wish you would," said Guert. "Seems to me the right man got away."
"Not all of 'em," said the man himself in English that had very little foreign accent. "There were three more a good deal like me. Some o' the black men weren't reg'lar pirates. All the rest of 'em, though, belonged to the sharks. It was one o' the worst crews that ever floated. My name's Groot. I'm from Amsterdam, but I was brought up mostly in Liverpool. Sailed on British craft and French, too. I'm a true man, Captain Avery!"
The captain was willing to believe it, if he could, and he questioned him closely, all the crew of the Noank agreeing among themselves that Groot was their prize, anyhow, and ought not to be turned over to any Spanish authority.
All the while, the rescued Santa Teresa was drifting nearer, her bulwarks lined with eager people of all sorts, who were gazing gratefully at what seemed to them the very beautiful American schooner. She had arrived just in time to save them, and they had never before seen a ship that they were so pleased with. Loud hails were exchanged, and then followed, from the Spanish ship, a perfect storm of thanks.
"Guert," said Captain Avery, "I'm goin' aboard of her. You may come along. You may find some more Dutchmen. I can talk Spanish and French. I want to know just what shape they're in."