"Say now, gentlemen, whether I am justified of my patience.

Here end to-day the troubles caused to the subjects of the Catholic King by this infamous Don Pedro Sangre, as he once called himself to me." He turned to issue orders, and the fort became lively as a hive.

The guns were manned, the gunners already kindling fuses, when the buccaneer fleet, whilst still heading for Palomas, was observed to bear away to the west.

The Spaniards watched them, intrigued.
Within a mile and a half to westward of the fort, and within a half-mile of the shore--that is to say, on the very edge of the shoal water that makes Palomas unapproachable on either side by any but vessels of the shallowest draught--the four ships cast anchor well within the Spaniards' view, but just out of range of their heaviest cannon.
Sneeringly the Admiral laughed.
"Aha! They hesitate, these English dogs! Por Dios, and well they may." "They will be waiting for night," suggested his nephew, who stood at his elbow quivering with excitement.
Don Miguel looked at him, smiling.

"And what shall the night avail them in this narrow passage, under the very muzzles of my guns?
Be sure, Esteban, that to-night your father will be paid for." He raised his telescope to continue his observation of the buccaneers.
He saw that the piraguas towed by each vessel were being warped alongside, and he wondered a little what this manoeuver might portend.
Awhile those piraguas were hidden from view behind the hulls.