th by the touch of his mother earth. Home therefore to England, to
the friends and foes of a man's own house! To the eastward turned the
prows of the English ships; the sails filled, the shores slipped past.
In the town the bells were ringing, on the plain were figures moving;
from the fortress boomed a gun, and the sound was like a taunt, was like
a blow upon the cheek. Swift answer made the cannon of both ships, and
the sullen, defiant roar awoke the echoes. Taunt might they give for
taunt. Three ships had the English taken, three towns had they sacked;
in sea-fights and in land-fights they had been victors! Where were the
caravels, where the ruined battery at the river's mouth, where the great
magazine of Nueva Cordoba? Where was Antonio de Castro?--and the galleon
_San Jose_ was lost to friend as well as foe--and Spaniard no more than
Englishman might gather again the sunken treasure. Thus spake the guns,
but the hearts of the men behind were wrung for the living and the dead.
The shores slipped by, the fortress hill of Nueva Cordoba lessened to a
silver speck against the mountains; swift-sailing ships they feared no
chase by those galleons of Spain. Islands were passed, behind them fell
bold coasts, before them spread the waste of waters. Beyond the waste
there was home, where friend and foe awaited tidings of the expedition
which had gone forth big with promise.

In the _Mere Honour's_ state-cabin upon the evening of that decisive day
were gathered a number of the adventurers who had staked life and goods
in this enterprise. Not all were there who had sailed from England to
the Spanish seas. Then as now England paid tithes of her younger sons to
violent death. Many men were missing whose voices the air seemed yet to
hold. They had outstripped their comrades, they had gone before: what
bustling highways or what lonely paths they were treading, what fare
they were tasting, for what mark they were making, and upon what long,
long adventure bound--these were hidden things to the travellers left
behind in this murky segment of life. But to the strained senses of the
men upon whom, as yet, had hardly fallen the upas languor of accepted
defeat, before whose eyes, whether shut or open, yet passed insistent
visions of last night's events, like an echo, like a shade, old
presences made themselves felt. Swinging lanterns dimly lit the cabin of
the _Mere Honour_, and in ranks the shadows rose and fell along its
swaying walls.