The boarders were in possession, and on the upper deck groups of disarmed Spaniards stood huddled now like herded sheep.
Suddenly Miss Bishop recovered from her nausea, to lean forward staring wild-eyed, whilst if possible her cheeks turned yet a deadlier hue than they had been already.
Picking his way daintily through that shambles in the waist came a tall man with a deeply tanned face that was shaded by a Spanish headpiece.

He was armed in back-and-breast of black steel beautifully damascened with golden arabesques.

Over this, like a stole, he wore a sling of scarlet silk, from each end of which hung a silver-mounted pistol.

Up the broad companion to the quarter-deck he came, toying with easy assurance, until he stood before the Spanish Admiral.

Then he bowed stiff and formally.
A crisp, metallic voice, speaking perfect Spanish, reached those two spectators on the poop, and increased the admiring wonder in which Lord Julian had observed the man's approach.
"We meet again at last, Don Miguel," it said.