“Down with the sail,” he cried cheerily, “for without a doubt that is the place—there are the six islets in a line, there in front the other island shaped like a herring, and there the little promontory marked ‘landing place.’ How well this artist draws to be sure!” The rest of his remarks were lost in the creaking of the blocks as the sail came down. “Shallow water ahead, Señor,” said a man in the bows sounding with a boat hook. “Good,” answered Ramiro, throwing out the little anchor, “we will wade ashore.” As he spoke the Spanish soldier with the boat-hook suddenly pitched head first into the water, a quarrel from Adrian’s crossbow through his heart. “Ah!” said Ramiro, “so they are here before us. Well, there can’t be many of them. Now then, prepare to land.” Another quarrel whistled through the air and stuck in the mast, doing no hurt. After this no more bolts came, for in his eagerness Adrian had broken the mechanism of the bow by over-winding it, so that it became useless. They leaped into the water, Ramiro with them, and charged for the land, when of a sudden, almost at the tip of the little promontory, from among the reeds rose the gigantic shape of Red Martin, clad in his tattered jerkin and bearing in his hand a heavy axe, while behind him appeared Foy and Adrian. “Why, by the Saints!” cried Ramiro, “there’s my weather-cock son again, fighting against us this time. Well, Weather-cock, this is your last veer,” then he began to wade towards the promontory. “Charge,” he cried, but not a man would advance within reach of that axe. They stood here and there in the water looking at it doubtfully, for although they were brave enough, there was none of them but knew of the strength and deeds of the red Frisian giant, and half-starved as he was, feared to meet him face to face. Moreover, he had a position of advantage, of that there could be no doubt. “Can I help you to land, friends?” said Martin, mocking them. “No, it is no use looking right or left, the mud there is very deep.” “An arquebus, shoot him with an arquebus!” shouted the men in front; but there was no such weapon in the boat, for the Spaniards, who had left in a hurry, and without expecting to meet Red Martin, had nothing but their swords and knives. Ramiro considered a moment, for he saw that to attempt to storm this little landing-place would cost many lives, even if it were possible. Then he gave an order, “Back aboard.” The men obeyed with alacrity. “Out oars and up anchor!” he cried. “He is clever,” said Foy; “he knows that our boat must be somewhere, and he is going to seek for it.” Martin nodded, and for the first time looked afraid. Then, as soon as Ramiro had begun to row round the islet, leaving Martha to watch that he did not return and rush the landing-stage, they crossed through the reeds to the other side and climbed into their boat. Scarcely were they there, when Ramiro and his men appeared, and a shout announced that they were discovered.