From the three or four score men massed below in the waist came a rumble of approval. Captain Blood's glance raked the ranks of those resolute, fierce-eyed fellows, then it came to rest again on Ogle. There was here quite plainly a vague threat, a mutinous spirit he could not understand. “You come to give advice, then, do you?” quoth he, relenting nothing of his sternness.
“That's it, Captain; advice. That girl, there.” He flung out a bare arm to point to her. “Bishop's girl; the Governor of Jamaica's niece.... We want her as a hostage for our safety.”
“Aye!” roared in chorus the buccaneers below, and one or two of them elaborated that affirmation.
In a flash Captain Blood saw what was in their minds. And for all that he lost nothing of his outward stern composure, fear invaded his hear
