"Nobly didst thou bear thyself," he said. "Thou hast fought as becoming a gentleman of thy house. Would that it might save thee." "I have done my duty," I answered. "I leave the rest; I can do no more." He looked at me in admiration. "Sir Francis Drake left me thy gold-hilted sword, he said, "and bade me give it to thee, for he knew not when he would see thee again. What wouldst thou have me do with it?" "Take it to Sir Robert Vane," I replied, "and give it to him with my compliments. It has never been drawn in a cause that would stain it since I have worn it." "I will do it," he replied, and he looked out again at the lights. Then he touched me. "Look!" he said, pointing to where far before us there twinkled and sparkled many tiny lights--"It is London." London--and so twenty-two months after I left it I was to enter my native land a captive, my life forfeited, old, broken, gray-headed, my heart bowed down with grief, alone and friendless, the only friend that I had on earth lying below at death's door. So I set foot again upon my native heath. Nearer we came, for the wind had risen to a gale, and we rushed through the water as though propelled by the hand of a giant. Turning a curve, the lights burst full upon us. Before us a few ships lay at anchor; only a few, however, for most of the vessels had gone out to meet the Spaniards. Upon the wharves was gathered a great crowd of people; as far as the eye could see, there stretched a great black sea of heads, awaiting, no doubt, to hear news of the day's fight. As we came into sight they raised a great shout which reached to where we stood; our men sprang to their culverins, and with a blinding crash they roared back a greeting. So with ringing bells and roaring guns, amidst the shouts and cheers of the people, we came into the harbor and dropped anchor. The cries of the people rang across. "How went the fight? Did the Spaniards run? How many of the ships were sunk?" A perfect babel of shouts and questions arose. Several boats had put off from the shore, and were making for us at full speed. Springing upon the rail, Sir William, his head bowed, held up his hand. Instantly a great silence fell upon them--a silence deep and oppressive. "The Armada is defeated!" he shouted. "Many of their ships are sunk, and they are now in full flight, our men after them. Three cheers for England!" Then there arose a shout, deep, full, deafening--it fell upon the night air like the roar of a thousand guns; once, twice, thrice, it rose and fell. Then, "Three cheers for Drake and Sir William Stone!" someone cried, recognizing the old soldier, and the mob gave them with a will. "The boat is ready, Sir Thomas," the old warrior said, his face lighting up with a proud smile of joy. Stepping into the boat, we were rowed ashore. Silence fell upon them as we neared the great throng, but as we touched the wharf, they rushed forward, and would have borne old Sir William aloft in triumph.