"My lord, I have whistled for one of the larger craft. Let us get aboard and be gone. It would be well to signal to all to retire. The brigantines are too strong for us." The Mexican noble trod water vigorously, and waved his arm. At the signal one of the larger craft dashed up at a brisk pace, for the sails had been hoisted again, and very soon she had taken the swimmers aboard. Then Roger had an opportunity of seeing how the battle went, and realized that Teotlili had spoken correctly. For the brigantines would have conquered even if they had had no armed men aboard, and merely sufficient to man the ropes and the tiller. The breeze had freshened, and the surface of the lake was now driven into little waves, on which the canoes danced up and down. And through the water came the brigantines, handled by men who knew their work well. They came down upon the line of canoes, and plunged through and through them, upsetting them, crashing their timbers, and sending them to the bottom. Then they wheeled, and came back again, spreading shot and crossbow shafts amongst the swimmers and those on the canoes. Nothing could withstand them, and though Roger and his friends made another gallant attempt to board one of the enemy, they failed, a cannon-shot stripping their craft of its free-board, and causing it to sink. Once more he was thrown into the water, and with difficulty was picked up by another of the craft made up of several canoes. "Better turn our faces to Mexico," said Teotlili, who possessed wonderful vitality. "All is lost here, my lord, while there we can still fight. The ships are too strong for us." Roger reluctantly admitted the fact, and at once the shrill whistle, the signal for retreat, sounded across the lake. The canoes turned about, and men laboured at the oars to get away from the enemy. But the breeze that day was unfriendly to the Mexicans. It filled the sails of the brigantines, till the vessels heeled with the pressure, while they came through the water with a big foaming wave at their cutwaters. Their pace easily enabled them to come up with the flying canoes, and once again they ploughed through them, sinking them and killing or drowning the occupants. It was a disaster, and Roger was not to escape from it so easily. For Alvarez had never lost sight of him. "That is the craft," he bellowed in the ear of the commander of the brigantine on which he had taken refuge. "There is their god of air, the Mexican cacique hailing from England. Follow the canoe, and you will win honour for all of us. Cortes will give you promotion and a special reward." He raced to the bows and stood there staring out at Roger, shaking his fist at him, and aiming a musket at his figure as often as possible. "We shall be overwhelmed before we can return to the city," said Teotlili, after a little while. "They sail so swiftly that even we cannot get away. I fear that all will perish."