The old war-vessel had lived through the still ages of peace, had survived the long period of decay, had endured the disintegrating assaults of time, only to accomplish her manifest purpose of destruction as she fell.
And the hand that had loved her was the hand that had laid her low!
With dreadful feelings in their hearts, the three stood looking at the ruins of the ship.
"Barry! Captain Barry!" screamed Emily, wildly. "Where is he?"
"There!" gasped Revere, hoarsely.
"And is there no hope?"
"None. He is gone forever. My God, wasn't it terrible? He held up the ship!"
"Grandfather!" cried the girl, distraught. "Let us run to him."
The old man still sat on the porch, staring at what had been the object of his gaze for so many years. There was a peaceful, yet sorrowful, look upon his face. He had seen the ship fall; he realized that his hour had come. He was fronting death and he knew it, yet he was as calm as he had been when he had fronted death many times years before. They gathered about him, understanding, helpless.
"Ay," he said, "the cruise is over. Where's Barry?"