“My lord, my lord!” cried the weather-beaten old salt to the lord high admiral, “they’re coming. I saw ’em off the Lizard last night; they’re coming full sail, hundreds of ’em a darkening the waters!”
A cheer rose from the lips of the men; a spirit of excitement stirred every heart. Nay; not every breast, for Sir Francis Drake, the vice admiral, said coolly to his chief as he hurled the bowl along the smooth, worn planks:
“There will be time enough to finish the game, and then we’ll go out and give the Dons a thrashing.”
And now the beacon lights flashed the news from hilltop to hilltop, and on to London, and thence northward to the Scottish borders, and westward throughout Wales until 303 every village and town of every shire in England thrilled with the tidings. Forgetful of religious dissensions, of feud, and of private wrong, all Englishmen arose as one man to repel the invading foe.
Amidst all the confusion incident to the announcement of the old seaman, Devereaux drew Francis aside and whispered entreatingly:
“Francis, I implore thee to remain here. ’Tis not seemly that thou shouldst board ship. There will be fighting, and——”
“And thou wouldst have all the glory, Edward Devereaux,” cried the girl unjust as she often was when indignant. “Dost thou think that I fear? What hath life to yield that would equal the sweetness of striking one blow for England? Think you an English girl cannot fight as well as an English lad?”
“Nay, nay, Francis; but for my sake——”
“For thy sake?” echoed the girl in surprise. “Why should I stay for thy sake? Come! we lose time.”