The little knot of men round him turned to look too, and they saw with sinking hearts that the flag, the garrison´s token of defiance, was no longer waving on the Cathedral tower. A great silence fell upon them all--a silence in which one heard the lapping of the water about the bows and the distant scream of the sea-birds, startling and shrill. “God´s curse light on all traitors and cowards!” cried McKeller. Then they saw two jets of fire spurt forth from the tower, and a little later the sullen roar of the ordnance, and the hope came into their hearts that it was only in sign of their dire extremity that the garrison had hauled down the flag. And they waited and watched, and again they heard the thunder of the cannon pealing from the tower. Then above the crown of smoke they saw the crimson flag run up the staff, and they knew the city was still inviolate. An involuntary cheer broke from the crew of the _Phoenix_, which was taken up by the other vessels, and a minute or two afterwards the _Swallow_ fired a salvo in response. “They have awakened up at last,” cried the master. “Now we´ll even go below and try the boiled beef, and mayhap a runnel of grog.” “Not a drop of grog,” cried McKeller, “but what boiled beef you like. The wind is freshening from the north, and the Lord may want sober men for this day´s work.” The captain was not destined to join in their midday meal; hardly had they sat down and hardly had McKeller, who generally acted as chaplain by reason of his superior gravity, finished the long grace by which the meal was introduced, than a messenger came from Kirke, that Douglas was to hasten with all expedition on board the _Swallow_. “The more haste the less speed,” cried the Captain, to whom the summons was by no means a welcome one, and who had no taste for a further interview with Kirke. “I´ll have to answer for your speech, Mr. Orme, I´m thinking. I wish McKeller there was in my shoes.” “You were still good to McKeller,” laughed the mate, “but this time you´ll have to do your own business.” “I hope,” said Gervase, “that this time it means business and not more speech. And I think it does. Bring us the news, Master Douglas, that you are to lift your anchor, and I´ll not forget you as long as I live.” “Please Heaven, you may look for your night-cap in Derry to-night.” “With a sound head to put it in.” “The boat is waiting, and so is the General,” added the mate. The captain hurried out of the round-house, and Gervase and the mate sat down to finish their midday meal with but little appetite for their repast. The conversation between them flagged, and then the mate went out and presently returned with his prayer-book under his arm, from which he began to read in a low monotonous tone, following the words, like a backward schoolboy, with his forefinger. He never looked up but sat with his rough unkempt head bent over the book.