Читать книгу Brethren of the Main - Рафаэль Сабатини - Страница 15

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Coming on deck before the sun was up, he saw land ahead, as the Spaniard had promised them last night. Some ten miles ahead it lay, a long coast-line filling the horizon east and west, with a massive headland jutting forward straight before them.

Staring at it, he frowned. He had not conceived that Curaçao was of such considerable dimensions. Indeed, this looked less like an island than the main itself.

Beating out against the gentle landward breeze he beheld a great ship on their starboard bow, that he conceived to be some four or five miles off, and—as well as he could judge her at that distance—of a tonnage equal if not superior to their own. Even as he watched her she altered her course, and, going about, came heading toward them close-hauled.

A score of his fellows were astir on the forecastle, looking eagerly ahead, and the sound of their voices and laughter reached him across the length of the stately Cinco Llagas.

"There," said a soft voice behind him in liquid Spanish, "is the Promised Land, Don Pedro."

It was something in that voice, a muffled note of exultation, that awoke his suspicion and made whole the half-doubt that he had been entertaining. He turned sharply to face Don Diego, so sharply that the sly smile was not effaced from the Spaniard's countenance before Captain Blood's eyes had flashed upon it.

"You find an odd satisfaction in the sight of it—all things considered."

"Of course."

The Spaniard rubbed his hands, and Captain Blood observed that they were unsteady.

"The satisfaction of a mariner."

"Or of a traitor—which?" snapped the Irishman.

And as the Spaniard fell back before him with suddenly altered countenance that confirmed his every suspicion he flung an arm out in the direction Of the distant shore.

"What land is that?" he blazed at him. "Will you have the effrontery to tell me that is the coast of Curaçao?' He advanced upon Don Diego furiously, and Don Diego, step by step, back.

"Shall I tell you what land it is? Shall I tell you?"

His fierce assumption of knowledge seemed to dazzle and daze the Spaniard. For still he made no answer. And then Captain Blood drew a bow at a venture—or not quite at a venture. Such a coast-line as that, if not of the main itself—and the main he knew it could not be—must belong to either Cuba or Hispaniola. Now, knowing Cuba to lie farther north and west of the two, it followed, he reasoned swiftly, that if Don Diego meant betrayal he would steer for the nearer of these Spanish territories.

"That land, you treacherous, forsworn Spanish dog, is the island of Hispaniola."

Having said it, he closely watched that swarthy face, now overspread with pallor, to see the truth or falsehood of his guess reflected there. But now the retreating Spaniard had come to the middle of the quarter-deck, where the mizzen-sail made a screen to shut them off from the eyes of the Englishmen below. His lips writhed in a snarling smile.

"Ah, perro inglez! You know too much," he said under his breath, and sprang for the captain's throat.

Tight-locked in each other's arms, they swayed a moment, then together went down upon the deck, the Spaniard's feet jerked from under him by the Irishman's crooked right leg. Don Diego had confidently thought to choke the life out of Captain Blood, and so gain the half-hour that might be necessary to bring up that fine ship that was beating toward them—a Spanish ship perforce, he assumed, since none other would be so boldly cruising in these Spanish waters off Hispaniola. But all that he had accomplished was completest self-betrayal, as he realized when he found himself upon his back with his opponent kneeling on his chest, whilst the men, summoned by their leader's shout, came clattering up the companionway to his assistance.

"Will I say a prayer for your dirty soul now whilst I am in this attitude of prayer?"

Captain Blood was furiously mocking him.

But the Spaniard, though defeated now beyond hope for himself, forced his lips to smile and gave back mockery for mockery.

"Who will pray for your soul, I wonder, when that frigate comes to lie board and board with you?"

"That frigate!" echoed Captain Blood, suddenly realizing the assumption upon which his prisoner had acted, and perceiving that already it was too late to avoid the consequences of Don Diego's betrayal of them.

There was no trace of humor or urbanity about him now. His light eyes blazed; his face was livid with suppressed fury.