"They're going to board her!" exclaimed the onlookers, as the troops pushed off towards the stranded merchantman.
"Sure, they won't, I'm thinking," replied Dymock.
Barely were the words out of his mouth than the roar of a tremendous broadside rose high above the crackle of musketry and the shouts of the infuriated foes. The Dartmouth had brought the whole of her starboard guns to bear upon the would-be boarders. One broadside was enough; the French and Irish broke and fled, leaving the Phoenix to profit by the Mountjoy's misfortune and sail right up to the city quays.
All that night the English warships cannonaded the batteries, while in the relieved city the famished inhabitants were swarming round the cargoes of provisions brought by the two gallant merchantmen, to the accompaniment of a joyous peal from the bells of the cathedral.
Next morning the allied forces were to be seen in full retreat towards Dublin, two long lines of smoking huts marking the site of their encampment for the last hundred days.
At the first opportunity Dymock was rowed off to the Dartmouth frigate. As he came over the side he saw Captain Leake standing on the quarter-deck.
"Come aboard, sir," he reported, bringing his hand to his hat.
The captain turned and looked at the haggard and famished features of his third mate.
"Back again, Mr. Dymock—good!"
That was all he said. Leake was a man of few words; but his subsequent treatment of the young officer showed that the captain was not slow to reward the man who swam to Derry.