He had not conceived that Curacao was of such considerable dimensions.

Indeed, this looked less like an island than the main itself.
Beating out aweather, against the gentle landward breeze he beheld a great ship on their starboard bow, that he conceived to be some three or four miles off, and--as well as he could judge her at that distance--of a tonnage equal if not superior to their own.

Even as he watched her she altered her course, and going about came heading towards them, close-hauled.
A dozen of his fellows were astir on the forecastle, looking eagerly ahead, and the sound of their voices and laughter reached him across the length of the stately Cinco Llagas.
"There," said a soft voice behind him in liquid Spanish, "is the Promised Land, Don Pedro." It was something in that voice, a muffled note of exultation, that awoke suspicion in him, and made whole the half-doubt he had been entertaining.

He turned sharply to face Don Diego, so sharply that the sly smile was not effaced from the Spaniard's countenance before Captain Blood's eyes had flashed upon it.
"You find an odd satisfaction in the sight of it--all things considered," said Mr.Blood.
"Of course." The Spaniard rubbed his hands, and Mr.Blood observed that they were unsteady.

"The satisfaction of a mariner." "Or of a traitor--which ?" Blood asked him quietly.