Out in mid-stream, their hulls swinging to the tide, lay three long, low-lying galleys, and between them and the shore a number of small boats were rowing to and fro, those putting off being full of plunder; and as fast as each little craft discharged its load into the capacious hold of its parent galley it returned to the shore to remove some of the huge heap of booty, which was still being replenished by parties of foragers.
Loud and long were the maledictions of the men in Redward's house, as they saw their homes given to the flames and their kinsfolk and friends either cruelly murdered or else houseless fugitives; but soon their attention was riveted on the final scene in the resistance of those on the church tower.
The crossbowmen redoubled their fire, and, covered by the heavy rain of missiles, a party of men-at-arms advanced with their shields held over their heads. A shower of blows with their heavy battle-axes soon splintered the oaken door, and when at length only a few fragments of wood and the bent and battered remains of the massive hinges remained, the men retreated in the same order, though two were left lying crushed beneath a ponderous piece of coping that the assailed had toppled over.
Already the church was sacked. Crucifixes, candlesticks, altar-cloths, rich vestments, and tapestries had been ruthlessly taken off to the galleys; while the priest, with a score of persons, men, women and children, who had vainly sought sanctuary, lay dead within the altar rails.
And now a body of lightly-armed men—Spaniards, judging by their swarthy complexions—advanced, bearing bundles of straw and faggots, almost unmolested, for the arrows of the besieged had long given out, and the hail of bolts from the crossbows skimmed across the top of the parapet like hail. The men reached the base of the tower, where they heaped their burdens within the doorway.
A lighted torch was applied to the fuel, and a tongue of flame, darting from amid the thick cloud of suffocating smoke, licked the grim stone walls, while the spiral staircase, acting like a lofty chimney, fanned the fire till it glowed like a potter's furnace.
A ring of armed men surrounded the tower. The crossbowmen, their work done, ceased their firing, discharging only an occasional bolt as the tormented wretches on the tower, unable to bear the choking heat, showed themselves above the protection of the parapet. Some of the defenders, maddened by their agony, threw themselves headlong; others, sword in hand, attempted to descend the stairs, and hurl themselves upon their enemies, though they perished in the flames long before they reached the ground; others, defying and cursing the invaders, shook their weapons in impotent rage, till a well-directed quarrel or the rapidly-increasing flames claimed the last of the gallant band of forgotten heroes.
When resistance in this quarter was at an end, the invaders were free to direct their energies against the solitary stone house that had already wrought great mischief upon them; and, led by two knights in complete armour, the men-at-arms began to fall in in close order at a distance of two hundred paces from where Redward Buckland and his devoted companions awaited the onslaught.
"With yonder ruin to serve as an example," said the master-bowman, pointing to the flaming tower, "we must fight to the death. While there is yet time it would be well that each man doth confess his sins for the betterment of his soul."
So saying, all the defenders knelt down reverently, though Redward, trained soldier that he was, kept an eye on their gathering foes. The prayers in extremis were hurriedly said; then, in the absence of a friar, they confessed to each other, according to the Roman custom when in peril of death. One of the villagers produced a slip of the Holy Thorn, brought from the miraculous tree of Glastonbury, and this they all kissed devoutly in the hope of obtaining spiritual consolation.