If, however, the Spanish
Governor had known what was good for himself, he would have had them
killed that night.
During the time that preparations were going on for making examples of
these impertinent pirates, who had dared to enter the port of Campeachy,
Roc was racking his brains to find some method of getting out of the
terrible scrape into which he had fallen. This was a branch of the
business in which a capable pirate was obliged to be proficient; if he
could not get himself out of scrapes, he could not expect to be
successful. In this case there was no chance of cutting down sentinels,
or jumping overboard with a couple of wine-jars for a life-preserver, or
of doing any of those ordinary things which pirates were in the habit of
doing when escaping from their captors. Roc and his men were in a
dungeon on land, inside of a fortress, and if they escaped from this,
they would find themselves unarmed in the midst of a body of Spanish
soldiers. Their stout arms and their stout hearts were of no use to them
now, and they were obliged to depend upon their wits if they had any.
Roc had plenty of wit, and he used it well. There was a slave, probably
not a negro nor a native, but most likely some European who had been
made prisoner, who came in to bring him food and drink, and by the means
of this man the pirate hoped to play a trick upon the Governor.
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