"Ahoy, the Mary Rose!"
Silence.
"Ahoy, the frigate! What are you doing? Where is Admiral Kempthorne?"
At that instant the soldiers beneath the hatches suddenly resumed their commotion, thus apprising the men in the boat that something was sadly wrong.
"Larboard your helm!" cried a voice from the boat, "or you'll be on us. Who's in command? What are you about?"
"Sir Harry Morgan!" shouted a voice out of the darkness. "And we mean to run you down."
"Back water, for God's sake! Stern, all!" cried Lord Carlingford to the paralyzed rowers; but before they could move the looming bow of the frigate was upon them. Carlingford had risen in his boat before the collision, and with dauntless courage he shook his bared sword in the darkness toward the ship.
"The King will triumph!" he cried.
"You can go to hell!" shouted Morgan, "with Hawxherst and Bradley and Kempthorne and all who oppose me."
A terrible, smashing crash cut short his words, and, amid the ripping, tearing sound of the parting timbers of the overridden boat, and shouts, cries, and appeals for mercy, the Mary Rose swept on. One or two beneath her forefoot leaped frantically at the bobstays, but they were driven from their holds by savage pike thrusts from Hornigold's men.