“The foretop-mast, then, quick! and cut the halyards!”
A sudden descending flare, as if the heavens had opened to envelop the striving seamen, and the flag of flame lay roaring at their feet. The fire had struck its colors. They grasped the burning canvas and flung it overboard.
“To the attack!” And St. Magil, at last drawing his sword for open fight, led them in the main contest.
Two score Englishmen, in double file, stood side by side on the Admiral’s deck repelling a superior force that strove to exterminate them. The front line fought with swords; the rear with pistols and musketoons, whose barrels looked out between friendly shoulders before them. Thus the swordsmen, ranged alternately with the musketeers, were slightly in advance, and must needs bear the brunt of the onslaught.
In this file Vytal held a central position. Beside him, either by accident or purpose, stood Ananias Dare, and beyond the assistant, Dyonis Harvie, who had been recalled. In a line at their feet lay their fallen comrades and opponents, forming, in the final throes of death, a ghastly rampart across which the living fought.
Again and again the onrush and repulse. The double file was a wall of stone.
St. Magil himself, springing into the middle breach of his foremost rank, armed with a broadsword, made bold to attack the man whom he held responsible for the unflinching resistance. Vytal, who now carried a heavy blade himself, met his chief antagonist with stern, almost business-like precision, as he had encountered all the unknown soldiers that had come before.
Suddenly St. Magil turned aside to Ananias Dare and thrust viciously. The stroke threatened death. Vytal parried it. For many minutes, that seemed years, he had been defending two men at once. St. Magil fell back to the rear ranks with a lifeless arm. A Spanish officer of high rank took his place and, with a rallying cry, led his men once more against the battered English wall.
Steel in torment clashed and rang on shields that thwarted its desire. Leaden bullets, like driven sleet, shot from both sides, buried themselves with a monotonous thud in heavy cotton targets. Every man but one had only himself to guard. Save with Vytal, there was no trust but the cause and the individual.
The Spaniards persisted. They had been held at the last assault, but not repelled. They were on the brink of victory, eight score against less than four; the issue could not be doubtful.