But no; suddenly from the near shore, on which a little knot of women stood wringing their hands in grief, a canoe shot out toward the _Madre de Dios_. It held one man. Then a second craft glided swiftly from the land as though in pursuit, and this, too, was propelled by a single paddle. Next, yet a third boat, and a fourth—but these were barges—joined in what seemed a chase, and each contained ten soldiers from the fort. In a moment the foremost craft had gained the Spanish vessel, and Frazer was climbing up a rope to the top deck. Marlowe, from the second canoe, followed close upon his heels, livid with fury. Frazer turned to cut the rope, but, finding himself too late, rushed through a network of burning stays and spars to the scene of the last stand. In a second he was lost in the mêlée. Marlowe, once on the deck, forbore to pursue him farther, and turned to Captain Pomp, who, with twenty soldiers, was scaling the vessel’s side from the barges. “Not a word, any of you, concerning Mistress Dare. Are your arms ready?” “Ay.” They advanced rapidly, Marlowe and Captain Pomp leading through a whirl of smoke—all but one, who broke away, and, creeping into the darkness, gained the forecastle. Then, swinging himself like a monkey across to the _Admiral’s_ bow, this deserter disappeared in the English hold. It was Ferdinando, who had been left by Vytal under the surveillance of the guard, and who, in the confusion, had been carelessly permitted to join the party of rescue. Marlowe attacked the enemy’s rear. A hoarse cheer rose from Vytal’s company. The Spaniards had been hemmed in, but Frazer spoke hurriedly to St. Magil. “Their fort is utterly deserted. Send a score to land. We shall win the town.” At a whispered command twenty men from the end of the Spanish line wheeled, and, cutting their way past Marlowe, scrambled down into the barges. The poet could not bring himself to order a pursuit. The sight of his friend fighting there, grimly, against so great odds, deterred him. He must save Vytal. Two barges glided out from the _Madre de Dios_ across the golden water which, reflecting the flaming tracery of the rigging, lay between them and land. But suddenly from the brow of a low cliff there came a roar of thunder, and an iron ball struck the foremost barge. The Spaniards in the second turned back to the ship, others swimming in their wake. “We have underestimated their force,” said one; “the whole cliff is fortified.” And, as if to emphasize his words, a second ball splashed in the water at his side. It was for this that Prat and Rouse had waited, each, through the long moments, commanding the other’s patience. They could not fire at the carack, fearing to hit friends, but the course of a separate landing-force had been purposely covered by their culverin. Here Vytal had stationed them for the final defence; here, apart from all their fellows, two men held no mean portion of a continent.