Out of the church at that moment, grand air and all, sauntered Peter Blood.

With him came a tough, long-legged French sea-wolf named Yberville, who, though still young, had already won fame as a privateer commander before the loss of his own ship had driven him to take service under Blood.

The Captain advanced towards that disputing group, leaning lightly upon his long ebony cane, his face shaded by a broad-plumed hat.

There was in his appearance nothing of the buccaneer.
He had much more the air of a lounger in the Mall or the Alameda--the latter rather, since his elegant suit of violet taffetas with gold-embroidered button-holes was in the Spanish fashion.

But the long, stout, serviceable rapier, thrust up behind by the left hand resting lightly on the pummel, corrected the impression.