apped. The rushing river lay before them, a line
of enemies stood behind, and the darkness was such that no man could
tell friend from foe at the distance of a dozen paces.

The anchor of the _Luath_ dropped to the deck again with a dull clang.
Hands went to the freeing of the sails, and the tiller swung round to
bring the vessel out of the backwater beneath the cliff into the full
run of the tideway.

"Shoot!" ordered a rough voice (the admiral's) from the boat. A shower
of arrows whistled over the heads of the group on land, and stuck,
quivering, into ship or sailor. This sign of perfect agreement between
the forces at the rear and on the river decided some of the plotters.
The admiral evidently had known all, and was prepared with a perfect
counterplot. The only chance of safety lay in flight--and they fled.

But Father Jerome was not beaten. His weapon was out, and Basil's and
John's followed immediately.

"We fight for it, my sons," he cried. "The ship can hold her own and
help us too; there are fifty bold fellows aboard her." His voice rang
out clearly and resolutely, and the captain of the _Luath_ responded.
"'Tis but a boat-load to beat off," he said.

But Francis Drake led the boat-load. Under cover of the darkness and
the flight of arrows from the bank he had brought his boat under the
lee of the Irish vessel, and, closely followed by Johnnie Morgan, was
swarming up her side. A stirring shout of "Strike for the Queen, my
lads!" told Raleigh that the admiral was aboard. The next moment Sir
Walter, Captain Dawe, and a dozen bold fellows from Newnham swarmed
through the hedge and down the bank, and dashed upon Jerome and his men.

"Cut them down, lads!" cried Raleigh. "Every one is a priest of Spain
or a traitor; don't spare the vermin!"

The din and clamour ashore and afloat--the cries, curses, clash of
weapons, and groans of the wounded--turned midnight and darkness into
an hour of pandemonium. The shore fight was short, for, though the
three chief conspirators and Windybank fought desperately enough, the
rank and file seemed more anxious to save their skins than do aught
else. They dared not ask for quarter after Raleigh's order--'twas
fight to the death, or fly. The men from Gloucester moved at once to
their horses, and some of them managed to spring into the saddle and
get off in the darkness. The rough foresters were poorly armed and ill
prepared for fighting; for the most part those w