"This big square is the Plaza of Vera Cruz, and the large building yonder is the cathedral. That peculiar-shaped object you see there is a heap of wood and straw surrounding a stake, and on that heap, bound to that stake, you and your friend were doomed to die to-morrow!" Roger felt his flesh creep, and hurried forward at an increased rate of speed. Presently, after going down a very narrow and steep street, Roger perceived that they had reached the beach, and he heard the dull "boom" of the surf as it rolled in and broke on the sand. The guide now spoke to him. "Do you see a small light out there, well away in the offing?" "I think I can see something of the kind," replied Roger. "Well," explained the man, "that vessel is my old ship, the _Elizabeth_. I was aboard her last time she came out here, and I was captured during one of her actions. She is one of Mr Cavendish's vessels. I hear that he left her in these seas to harry the Spaniards, whilst he took the rest of the fleet round the other side, where he has just captured their plate fleet. I shall be right glad to get back aboard her again." "What!" exclaimed Roger in astonishment; "is that the dear old _Elizabeth_? Why, I know her captain and crew well. Many is the time I have been aboard her." "Is that so, sir?" queried the man. "Then you will know old Cary, perhaps, who used to be aboard her." "Ay," replied Roger, "I know him well; but he was on the flag-ship, the _Stag Royal_, and not the _Elizabeth_, when I saw him last." "Well," said the sailor, "in any case we must not waste time--hark, hark, there go the bells! They have discovered your escape. Now we must be moving, for our very lives. This way." And he hurried along a quay wall, which formed one of the arms of a little harbour where small craft might lie. The bells were indeed clanging wildly, and the noise was deafening. Voices were to be heard now--snouts and cries; though whether the people were yet on their track or not they could not tell. Along the wall they hastened at a run, until they came to a small lateen-rigged vessel, secured to the farthest end of the mole, and with her one huge sail roughly furled round the yard. They dashed on board, cut the ropes through, and the sailor, swarming up the rigging, cut the lashings, and the foot of the lateen sail dropped down on deck. Roger hauled the sheet aft and made it fast, then sprang to the tiller, and the little craft began to move away from the mole under the influence of the breeze. "Lucky we found no one aboard," gasped the sailor, whose name was Mathews; "but then I did not expect that there would be anybody about; they never leave a watch on these little craft." Roger still grasped the helm, and steered through the harbour's mouth for the tiny point of light, which was the beacon of their safety, while Mathews busied himself with the sail, and with making all snug on deck.