Why make a long story of what took but five minutes to do? The nine men (luckily none of them wounded) are freed, and helped on board, to be hugged and kissed by all comrades and young kinsmen; while the remaining slaves, furnished with a couple of hammers, are told to free themselves and help the English. The wretches answered by a shout; and Amyas, once more safe on board again, dashes after the other galley, which has been hovering out of reach of his guns; but there is no need to trouble himself about her; sickened with what she has got, she is struggling right up wind, leaning over to one side, and seemingly ready to sink. "Are there any English on board of her?" asked Amyas, loth to lose the chance of freeing a countryman. "Never a one, sir, thank God." So they set to work to repair damages; while the liberated slaves, having shifted some of the galley's oars, pull away after their comrade; and that with such a will, that in ten minutes they have caught her up, and careless of the Spaniard's fire, boarded her en masse, with yells as of a thousand wolves. There will be fearful vengeance taken on those tyrants, unless they play the man this day. And in the meanwhile half the crew are clothing, feeding, questioning, caressing those nine poor fellows thus snatched from living death; and Yeo, hearing the news, has rushed up on deck to welcome his old comrades, and: "Is Michael Heard, my cousin, here among you?" Yes, Michael Heard is there, white-headed rather from misery than age; and the embracings and questionings begin afresh. "Where is my wife, Salvation Yeo?" "With the Lord." "Amen!" says the old man, with a short shudder. "I thought so much; and my two boys?" "With the Lord." The old man catches Yeo by the arm. "How, then?" It is Yeo's turn to shudder now. "Killed in Panama, fighting the Spaniards; sailing with Mr. Oxenham; and 'twas I led 'em into it. May God and you forgive me!" "They couldn't die better, Cousin Yeo. Where's my girl Grace?" "Dead." The old man covers his face with his hands for a while. "Well, I've been alone with the Lord these fifteen years, so I must not whine at being alone a while longer--it won't be long." "Put this coat on your back, uncle," says some one. "No; no coats for me. You'd better go to your work, lads, or the big one will have the wind of you yet."