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 acquiescence. "I surrender," he said; then
in an undertone: "He yonder with the plume, now that De Castro lies
dead, is your fittest quarry. Drag him down and the herd is yours."

Ferne stared, then curled his lip. "Gramercy for your hint," he said. "I
pray you that henceforth we become the best of strangers."

A shout arose, and Sedley bore down upon them, his right arm high,
crumpled in his hand the folds, tarnished with smoke, riddled by shot,
of the great ensign. It was the beginning of the end. Half an hour later
the red cross of St. George usurped the place of the golden flag. That
same afternoon the _Cygnet_ and the _San José_--the latter now manned by
an English crew, with her former masters under hatches--appeared before
La Rancheria, stormed the little settlement, and found there a slight