thstood him, closed
around him; in a moment he was cut off from the English, was gazing into
Death's eyes. With desperate courage he strove to thrust aside the
spectre, but it came nearer,--and nearer,--and nearer. The blood from a
cut across his temple was blinding him. He dashed it from him, and
then--that was not Death's face, but his Captain's.... Death slunk away.
Ferne, whose dagger had made that rescue, whose sword was rapidly
achieving for the two of them a wizard's circle, chided and laughed as
he fought:

"What, lad! wouldst have played Samson among the Philistines? A man
should better know his strength.--There, senor! a St. George for your
San Jago!--Well done again, Henry Sedley! but I must show you a better
_passado_.--Have at _thee_, Don Inches!--Ah, Captain Baldry, Giles
Arden, good Humphrey, give you welcome! Here's room for
Englishmen.--Well, die, then, pertinacious senor!--Now, now, Henry
Sedley, there are lions yet in your path, but not so many. Have at their
golden banner an you prize the toy! No, Arden, no--let him take it
single-handed. Our first battle is far behind us.... Now who leads here,
since I think that he who did command is dead? Is it you, senor?"

The poop was a shambles, the _San Jose_ from stem to stern in sorry
case. Underfoot lay the dead and wounded, her guns were silenced, her
men-at-arms overmastered. They had fought with desperate bravery, but
the third attack of the English had been elemental in its force. A
rushing wave, a devastating flame, they had swept the ship, and defeat
was the portion of their foes. Waist and forecastle were won, but upon
the poop a remnant yet struggled, though in weakness and despair. It was
to one of this band that the Captain of the _Cygnet_ addressed his
latest words. Even as he spoke he parried the other's thrust, and felt
that it had been given but half-heartedly. He had used the Spanish
tongue, but when an answer came from the mailed figure before him it was
couched in English.

"Not so, valiant sir," it said, and there was in the voice some haste
and eagerness. "Say rather I am led. Alas! when a man fights with his
sword alone, his will being traitor to his hand!"

"Since it is with the sword alone you fight, Spaniard with an English
tongue," replied his antagonist, "I do advise you to go seek your sword,
seeing that without it you are naught." As he spoke he sent the other's
weapon hurtling into the sea.

Its owner made a gesture of acq