Then at noon on the fourth day of the Terror, the white-hot wreck of the _Gigantic_ whirled down upon the fields beyond Penzance; and Brand's orders flashed from the heavens commanding Lord Ulster's squadron to surrender, his troops to evacuate the city. The _Mary Rose_ had defeated the Channel Fleet, had destroyed the _Gigantic_, was descending now in vengeance, while no man saw as yet that the little yacht ran blood upon her decks, and barely held the tenure of the air. The squadron fled in disorder, the regiments broke and scattered, the officials hid themselves, and the master came to his own. The _Mary Rose_ piteously broken, her engines hardly alive, and half her crew slain or disabled, rolled slowly homeward, and fell at the doors of Brand's office, never to rise again. One may see the shattered hulk to-day resting with all her stains of blood and her wounds of battle in the splendid chamber of gold and marble which bears the legend of her victories. Thousands of people gathered to welcome the master, but when he came down the gangway they forebore to cheer. He still wore the golden harness, but now it was stained and torn, his face was streaming with blood, his eyes were terrible. Simpson had a broken arm roughly bound, Lancaster an ugly wound across the shoulder. The master asked if there were any surgeons present, and two who came forward were sent on board the yacht. Then, through a lane of men standing uncovered in silence, Brand went on to the doors of his office, while Lancaster and Simpson returned to help with the wounded. With the master's presence at once every nerve of the city thrilled to life, for as message after message went out to the chiefs of departments, electric yachts swarmed into the air, the streets were thronged, the tramcars started, and, Sunday as it was, banks, offices, and shops took down their shutters. The factories went to work with three eight-hour shifts at double wages, and never was there known such a fever of haste in the dockyards. From St. Ives to Penzance earthworks were thrown up in defence, and all explosives were removed to mine the approaches of the city. Indeed, there was cause. The yards were a mass of ruins where no less than twenty etheric liners had been blown to pieces by the Government troops. Eighty-five ships of Brand's fleet were lying in various cities throughout the world, their crews in prison, and many of their engines disabled. There remained half a dozen old vessels worth patching up for service, and these rang night and day with preparation. On the first day, late in the evening, the cargo ship _Lion_ came in from Ballarat, and Captain Simpson took command of her in attendance upon the master. So came the evening of the 18th of June, 1980, the sixth day of the Terror. In our National Portrait Gallery all the pictures have golden frames except one. Please come and see that painting framed in iron--"To the memory of Sarah Brand."