were not mortal, perhaps the fate of the men of the _Minion_! Of the
company which had come with Robert Baldry through the tunal to take by
surprise the fortress of Nueva Cordoba hardly a third found again its
shelter, turned drawn faces to the sea, rushed from that death-trap,
through the bitter and fatal wood, towards hillside and plain, and the
Admiral's attack upon that fortification which with all their force they
had twice endeavored to storm and found impregnable.

Baldry himself? Surely he was among them!--in that shadowy pass was not
this his great form--or this--or this?

"Baldry! Robert Baldry!" cried Sedley, and there came no answer. High
and shrill as a woman's wail rang again the young man's voice. "Captain
Robert Baldry!"

"He's not here, sir," said a Devon man, softly. "God rest his soul!"

Sedley raised his white face to the stars, then: "On men, on! We've to
help Sir John, you know!" Tone of voice, raised arm, and waving hand,
subtle and elusive likeness to the leader whom he worshipped, upon whom
he had moulded himself--for the moment it was as though Sir Mortimer
Ferne had cried encouragement to their sunken hearts, was beckoning them
on to ultimate victory plucked from present defeat. A cheer, wavering,
broken, touched with hysteria, broke from throats that were dry with
the horror of past moments. On with Henry Sedley, their leader now, they
struggled, making what mad haste they might through the tunal.

In wrath and grief, set of face, hot of heart, they burst at last from
the tunal into the open with sky and sea, the plain, the town and the
river before them--the river where the ships lay in safety, the _Cygnet_
and the _Phoenix_ close in shore, the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_
in midstream. The ships in safety--then what meant those distant cries,
that thrice repeated booming of a signal gun, that glare upon the river,
those two boats filled with rowers making mad haste up the stream, that
volley from the _Mere Honour's_ stern guns beneath which sank one of the
hurrying craft?

Turned to stone they upon the hillside watched disaster at her work. The
_Cygnet_ was a noble ship, co-equal in size and strength with the _Mere
Honour,_ well beloved and well defended. Now for one instant of time a
great leap of flame from her decks lit all the scene and showed her in
her might; it was followed by a frightful explosion, and the great ship,
torn from her anchorage, wrecked forever, a flaming hul