They cheered him raucously. “How many of your brave lads were killed?” Hal lowered his voice as he touched on such a morbid subject. Daniel answered loudly, “Not a single one, praise God. Though young Peter here lost a finger, shot away. Show the captain, lad.” The young sailor held up the stump of his forefinger, swathed in a grubby rag. “I will add an extra gold guinea to your prize money,” Hal promised him, “to help soothe the pain.” “At that price you can have the other four fingers as well, Captain.” The seaman grinned hugely, and his mates hooted with laughter as they went back to their stations. Big Daniel led Hal forward. “We found these still chained in her forecastle.” He indicated the band of strangers in rags who huddled by the foremast. “They are the survivors of the Dutch crew.
