“Quickly, lads,” shouted Roger; “drive these fellows off the deck, and let us regain our own ship while we can. The other Spaniards are drawing up, and will be on us before we are ready for them if we do not look sharp.”
The seamen, animated by his voice, and seeing the necessity for doing as he said, redoubled their efforts, and, with hearty cheers, massed themselves together and charged along the reeking and slippery decks.
The Spaniards, unable to resist the weight of the charge, scattered, and, finding no other way of escape, dashed below; but they could not so easily avoid the victorious English, who followed and hunted them out of their hiding-places.
As Roger and Harry, having dashed below in pursuit, were running down one of the narrow alleyways, searching for hidden Spaniards, a man sprang from behind a curtain and aimed a heavy blow with his sword at Roger, who was foremost, cutting him down.
With a faint groan Roger fell, and Harry stumbled over his body, thus enabling the Spaniard to effect his escape.
Half-stunned from the force of his fall, Harry raised himself and bent over Roger.
“Roger, Roger,” he exclaimed, “are you much hurt? Speak to me, lad.”
But Roger made no reply, lying perfectly still, with a stream of red slowly spreading from under his head and staining the white planking. Suddenly, from above sounded a harsh cry.
“Back, back, every man of you, and cut the ships adrift; the Spaniards are firing the magazines; back, for your lives!” Loud and imperative rang out the voice of Cavendish. “Quick, lads, for your lives, or we shall be all blown up together!”