to where the men were, there was no alteration in her dress, but by
that time I was busily engaged with Carr in reefing the mainsail, and
she passed me by without so much as a glance of recognition. Meanwhile
Fairfax and Sanchez paced restlessly back and forth, conversing
earnestly as they smoked, only occasionally pausing to contemplate the
shore past which we were gliding in silence, the only sound the ripple
of water at our stem.

Where I leaned alone against the rail, my eyes followed the Spaniard
in doubt and questioning, nor could I entirely banish from mind
Haley's description of that buccaneer, bearing a similar name, under
whom he had been compelled to serve through scenes of crime. Yet, in
spite of my unconscious desire to connect these two together, I found
it simply impossible to associate this rather soft-spoken, effeminate
dandy with that bloody villain, many of whose deeds were so familiar
to me. The distinction was too apparent. Beyond all doubt this fellow
concealed beneath his smiles a nature entirely different from the one
he now so carefully exhibited. He could hate fiercely, and nourish
revenge, and he was capable of mean, cowardly cruelty. His threat
toward me, as well as that strange incident Fairfax had observed on
the deck of the _Romping Betsy_, evidenced all this clearly, yet such
things rather proved the man a revengeful coward instead of a
desperate adventurer. Black Sanchez, according to all accounts, was a
devil incarnate, and no such popinjay as this maker of love, could
ever be changed into a terror of the sea. He was not of that stern
stuff. That it was perfectly easy for him to lie--even natural--was no
surprise to me. This seemed to accord with his other characteristics;
nor was it altogether strange that he should be fairly familiar with
these waters. If, as he claimed, he had once been connected with the
Spanish navy, which quite likely was true, even if he had never