It is impossible, if we impose our minds impartially, to withhold a certain sympathy from Don Miguel.

Hate was now this unfortunate man's daily bread, and the hope of vengeance an obsession to his mind.

As a madman he went raging up and down the Caribbean seeking his enemy, and in the meantime, as an hors d'oeuvre to his vindictive appetite, he fell upon any ship of England or of France that loomed above his horizon.
I need say no more to convey the fact that this illustrious sea-captain and great gentleman of Castile had lost his head, and was become a pirate in his turn.

The Supreme Council of Castile might anon condemn him for his practices.

But how should that matter to one who already was condemned beyond redemption?
On the contrary, if he should live to lay the audacious and ineffable Blood by the heels, it was possible that Spain might view his present irregularities and earlier losses with a more lenient eye.
And so, reckless of the fact that Captain Blood was now in vastly superior strength, the Spaniard sought him up and down the trackless seas.