“My father’s castle,” said he. “We are going home with a vengeance now!”
Scarce a man remained at the oars. We could hear shouts of praying and cursing intermingled, as all hands crowded to the decks and gazed forward in the direction of that warning sound.
A lanthorn on the quarter-deck showed us the Don, standing there alone, bare-headed, in his steel breastplate, and sword in hand, quietly waiting the end. Beyond was a troubled crowd of doomed men, counting the moments and straining their eyes into the darkness.
Beside me, on the poop, Ludar stood erect and noble, with the half-defiant, half-triumphant gleam on his face, as, with hands still on the tiller, he listened to the fatal music of his old home ahead.
In the darkness we could see nothing but the white waste of breakers on to which we were driving.
Presently, as we were almost upon them, Ludar grasped my arm, and pointed high overhead.
There was a momentary gleam of light, and with it a glimpse of a rugged battlement at the rock’s edge.
“Dunluce! Dunluce!” he shouted, and let swing the now useless tiller.
Scarce a minute later the Gerona was in her death agony among the lashing breakers.
For a moment or two she held up bravely. Then with a mighty swirl she reared upward and hung quivering an instant in suspense.