Having come upon deck, our hero beheld that a part of the Spanish crew
were huddled forward in a flock like so many sheep (the others being
crowded below with the hatches fastened upon them), and such was the
terror of the pirates, and so dreadful the name of Henry Morgan, that
not one of those poor wretches dared to lift up his voice to give any
alarm, nor even to attempt an escape by jumping overboard.

At Captain Morgan's orders, these men, together with certain of his own
company, ran nimbly aloft and began setting the sails, which, the night
now having fallen pretty thick, was not for a good while observed by any
of the vessels riding at anchor about them.

Indeed, the pirates might have made good their escape, with at most only
a shot or two from the men-of-war, had it not then been about the full
of the moon, which, having arisen, presently discovered to those of the
fleet that lay closest about them what was being done aboard the vice
admiral.

At this one of the vessels hailed them, and then after a while,
having no reply, hailed them again. Even then the Spaniards might not
immediately have suspected anything was amiss but only that the
vice admiral for some reason best known to himself was shifting his
anchorage, had not one of the Spaniards aloft--but who it was Captain
Morgan was never able to discover--answered the hail by crying out that
the vice admiral had been seized by the pirates.

At this the alarm was instantly given and the mischief done, for
presently there was a tremendous bustle through that part of the fleet
lying nighest the vice admiral--a deal of shouting of orders, a beating
of drums, and the running hither and thither of the crews.