valiant men of Spain, fighting for their own. They who by the law of the
strong were to inherit from them had yet to break that phalanx. Sedley
threw himself forward, beat down a veteran of the Indies, swept on
towards the goal of that hated banner. His enemies withstood 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, señor! 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 señor!--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, señor?"

The poop was a shambles, the _San José_ 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