to be left alive were
to retreat with all speed to the stronghold and fasten ourselves in
there. To this end the gate was left open, and in the charge of two men,
whose duty it would be to swing it to and bolt it the moment the last of
our men had got inside. A few men were left inside the stockade,
including the fugitives, to whom we had given arms. The main body of our
men were drawn up along the beach, with their muskets ready. Between
these and the stockade a few men were thrown out to cover our retreat,
if retreat there had to be.

It was anxious work to watch the advance of those two boats with their
scarlet crews over that tranquil tropic sea. The water was smooth, as it
had been now for days, and their coming was steady and measured. As had
been the case ever since we made Fair Island, there was almost no wind,
so that their sails were of little service, but their rowing was
excellent, as the rowing of good seamen always is. And, villains though
they were, those underlings of Jensen's were admirable sailors.

When they were quite near we could recognise the faces of the fellows in
the two boats. Cornelys Jensen was in the first boat, and he was dressed
out as sumptuously as any general of our army on a field day. For
though every man jack of them in the two boats was blazing in scarlet,
and though that scarlet cloth was additionally splendid with gold lace,
the cloth and the cut of Jensen's coat were finer and better than those
of the others, and it was adorned and laced with far greater profusion.
With his dark face and evil expression he looked, to my mind, in all his
finery more like my lady's monkey in holiday array than man, pirate, or
devil, although he was indeed all three.

Every man in those two boats was decked out in scarlet cloth and gold
lace--except one. Every man in those two boats was heavily armed with
muskets, pistols and cutlasses--except one. The exception was a man who
sat by the side of Jensen. He was clad in black, and his face was very
pale, and there was an ugly gash of a raw wound across his forehead. I
could see that his hands were tied behind him, and in the wantonness of
power Jensen had laid his own bare hanger across the prisoner's knees. I
knew the captive at once. He was the Reverend Mr. Ebrow, who had so
strengthened us by his exhortation during our peril on board the Royal
Christopher.

When Lancelot saw whom they had with them and the way that those
villains treated their