Through all that afternoon they held on, shooting with their bows whenever a Spaniard showed himself, and being shot at in return, though little damage was done to either side. But this they noted—that the San Antonio had sprung a leak in the gale, for she was sinking deeper in the water. The Spaniards knew it also, and, being aware that they must either run ashore or founder, for the second time put about, and, under the rain of English arrows, came right across the bows of the Margaret, heading for the little bay of Calahonda, that is the port of Motril, for here the shore was not much more than a league away. “Now,” said Jacob Smith, the captain of the Margaret, who stood under the shelter of the bulwarks with Castell and Peter, “up that bay lies a Spanish town. I know it, for I have anchored there, and if once the San Antonio reaches it, good-bye to our lady, for they will take her to Granada, not thirty miles away across the mountains, where this Marquis of Morella is a mighty man, for there is his palace. Say then, master, what shall we do? In five more minutes the Spaniard will be across our bows again. Shall we run her down, which will be easy, and take our chance of picking up the women, or shall we let them be taken captive to Granada and give up the chase?” “Never,” said Peter. “There is another thing that we can do—follow them into the bay, and attack them there on shore.” “To find ourselves among hundreds of the Spaniards, and have our throats cut,” answered Smith, the captain, coolly. “If we ran them down,” asked Castell, who had been thinking deeply all this while, “should we not sink also?” “It might be so,” answered Smith; “but we are built of English oak, and very stout forward, and I think not. But she would sink at once, being near to it already, and the odds are that the women are locked in the cabin or between decks out of reach of the arrows, and must go with her.” “There is another plan,” said Peter sternly, “and that is to grapple with her and board her, and this I will do.” The captain, a stout man with a flat face that never changed, lifted his eyebrows, which was his only way of showing surprise. “What!” he said. “In this sea? I have fought in some wars, but never have I known such a thing.” “Then, friend, you shall know it now, if I can but find a dozen men to follow me,” answered Peter with a savage laugh. “What? Shall I see my mistress carried off before my eyes and strike no blow to save her? Rather will I trust in God and do it, and if I die, then die I must, as a man should. There is no other way.” Then he turned and called in a loud voice to those who stood around or loosed arrows at the Spaniard: “Who will come with me aboard yonder ship? Those who live shall spend their days in ease thereafter, that I promise, and those who fall will win great fame and Heaven’s glory.”