At length the main body of the Irish under Grace O’Malley fought their way through the enemy and joined themselves to us, my mistress being both surprised and rejoiced to find that we had returned, and had been able to come to her assistance. Beside her, their swords gleaming redly in their hands, were Brian Ogue, and Art, and Henry O’Malley, and the other gentlemen of her household; and leaning upon the arm of one of them, and supported and protected by two men, I beheld de Vilela, desperately wounded!
His face was pale, drawn, deep-lined, and spotted with blood, the eyes being closed, and the lips shut tight; the figure within his armour was bent with weariness, and weakness, and wounds; the fingers of the right hand still grasped the handle of his sword, but they shook and trembled as with palsy. Truly, he looked like one whose doom is sealed, and my heart went out to him with a great compassion.
Calling to four of my men, who were armed with spears, I caused them to make a rough litter with their weapons, and upon this rude but soldierly contrivance we laid the Spaniard, and so bore him to the castle, while behind us the fight still continued, but with less and less fierceness.
Not a sound came from Don Francisco, although the jolting must have given him the most intense pain, save once when my mistress took his hand and spoke to him, when he made reply in Spanish that “all was well” with him. And I thought the words were not unworthy, but well became the brave soul of the man.
“I will go in with him,” said Grace O’Malley to me, when we had arrived at the gate; “Ruari, do you gather our people together, and lead them within the walls.”
And I did her bidding, so that in a short time I had them collected in a compact body, and under cover of the ordnance, belching forth from the battlements, retreated within the gate, bearing most of our wounded with us. There I found Grace O’Malley waiting to hear the news I had brought.
“De Vilela?” I first inquired.
“He is still alive,” said she, “but I fear the hour of his passing is already upon him.”
“’Fore God,” cried I, with a sob in my throat, “I trust not.”
“Eva tends him,” said she—and in a flash I remembered everything.