At this the poor fellow gasped out, that he would do anything, if we would spare his life. I then questioned him concerning the galleon, or treasure-ship, and he answered very readily that she was in the harbour, being one of the vessels before us; that her freight was well nigh aboard, and that she would sail in two days at farthest. This was good news, and we hugged ourselves on our luck. ‘Then they are not afraid of French or English adventurers in these seas?’ I said. ‘Surely not,’ answered the negro. ‘For a fleet of armadilloes hath swept, as they think, the pirates clear away. So they conclude to set out on the voyage to Old Spain without more ado.’ Having said this much, the negro appeared to bethink himself—and bursting into great lamentations—besought us never to reveal that we had heard aught from him; ‘otherwise,’ quoth he, ‘there is no death so cruel my master would not put me to.’ But we bade him to be of good cheer, seeing that now his masters were altogether changed, and he was in the service of brave privateersmen, instead of skulking Spaniards; but that, indeed, if he proved a gallant trustworthy fellow, and would give us all the information he could, he was no man’s slave but his own master. On this he plucked up a little, and said that if it would be a satisfaction to us, we could row close up to the galleon, and view her, as the Spaniards, being in fancied security, kept but slack watch; and, indeed, the greater part of the crew had gone to the cathedral on the hill, to a great High Mass. This was just what we wanted, but first there was a small job to be done. Whispering to Radley, we grasped the gunwale of the canoe, and by a vigorous push, surged the light shell-like thing fairly bottom upwards. The negro looked on in consternation. ‘Why do you do that?’ he said, at length. ‘Look you, Pedro,’ for such was his name: ‘Look you, Pedro,’ says I, ‘suppose both you and your boat disappear—what will your master think to-morrow morning? a cockle-shell made of bark like that will not sink, therefore you could not have foundered. A hurricane has not carried you out to sea, because neither has there been, nor is there likely to be, any hurricane—ergo, both boat and man have been somehow spirited away. Such being the case, there must be enemies—pirates you call them—on the coast; and there being pirates on the coast, it would be mighty rash for the good galleon to sail. But then, Pedro, when your worthy master sees the canoe bottom-upward, tumbled by the surf upon the beach, the case will be different. An accident has happened,’ he will say, “My poor Pedro, so faithful a slave, and so profitable a fisherman, hath somehow, in his zeal to catch pisareros, doubtless, overbalanced himself, and capsized this light canoe. Woe is me, Pedro sleeps among sea-weed.” But Pedro sleeping among sea-weed will not prevent the anchors of the galleon from being lifted to her bows—you see.’