Yan Gratz paused, uncertain for a moment. He looked at this gentle adversary as though he did not know whether to scowl or laugh. Then his lumpy face broke into a smile and his lifted brows puckered his forehead into innumerable wrinkles. The pistol dropped to his side. “Aw--yaw--you _commandt_ me?”--he began wagging his head--“but who in de name o’ Cott vhas _you_?” Then for the first time his eye fell upon the pistolet which Mistress Barbara still held tightly clutched in her extended hand. In her solicitude for monsieur she had forgotten herself and the weapon, which now, still unconsciously, she pointed directly at the portly person of Yan Gratz. He stammered and fell back a pace in amazement. The diversion was sufficient. For by this time Jacquard had struggled to his feet, and, throwing aside the fellows who were holding him, had rushed in and seized the pistol from the hand of the Dutchman before he could use it. At the same moment Bras-de-Fer, with a fierce cry, had sprung forward among the amazed mutineers and had taken Barbara under the cover of his weapon. “Listen, _mes camarades_!” roared Jacquard above the confusion, waving the pistol in wide, commanding circles. “Listen, _mes braves_, and you will not regret. Listen, I say. It is I, Jacquard, who speaks. Wait but a moment and hear me. Listen. And when I am done you will say old Jacquard is wise.” His ungainly figure towered before them--the swinging arms like great wings, the hooked brows and curved beak making him look not unlike some gigantic bird of prey ready at a moment to fall upon any who denied him. At last, such was his influence that they were brought to a measure of calmness. Then with crafty deliberation he began to speak. “Ah, _mes galants_, we have hunted together long, you and I, and we have hunted well. Last year you drank or spent or gamed a thousand pounds away. To-day the hold and lazaretto of old _Sally_ are full of Spanish silks and laces and plate for the selling. In Port Royal are other ships which will yield ye more. And you will sacrifice these ships and these cargoes and all the money they’ll bring to you.” Many cries arose, the loudest of which was that of Yan Gratz. “Sacrifice de schips, Shacky Shackart! Py Cott! It is a lie, verdomd!” “It is so, mateys, I will swear it. Kill monsieur, yonder, and not one shilling from the ships do you get. Why? In Port Royal monsieur showed his warrant to the governor. The governor has a certain share in the takings from the _Isidro_. ’Twill be a strange tale ye’ll tell if Bras-de-Fer comes not back with the ship. The master-at-arms ye’ve killed, if I mistake not. He’s captain in his Majesty’s Guards. Perhaps ye can explain that.” Anxious glances passed among the rascals as they looked first at monsieur and then at Jacquard. But Yan Gratz was not to be deceived or robbed of his vengeance.