Needham had not forgotten his resolve to haul down the Nicaraguan flag. Accompanied by the midshipmen and several men, having seen that it was flying at the further angle of the fort, he made a dash towards it. A dozen or twenty of the enemy, led by an officer, seeing him coming, and guessing his object, threw themselves in his way to cut him off. With a cheer, he and his companions dashed forward to the attack. The enemy withstood them for a few seconds, but a small party of marines made so vigorous a charge that they took to flight. Others of the garrison had, however, rallied in the neighbourhood of the flagstaff. Still the dauntless seamen dashed on, and so well used their cutlasses that they forced their way through them, and Dick, with a loud shout, sprang up to the flagstaff. In another moment he had the halliards in his hand, and down came the Nicaraguan colours. Having tucked them under his arm, he again, with cutlass in hand, made a rush at the enemy. The fight, in the meantime, had been raging in all parts of the fort. Its issue was never for a moment doubtful, though the enemy, mustering nearly 200 strong, showed a bold front; but they could not withstand the charge now made by the gallant soldiers and bluejackets. Turning tail, off they scampered as fast as their legs could carry them, through the outlets in the rear of the fort. "On lads! on!" was the cry, and after them dashed the whole body of their assailants uttering a ringing cheer which tended to increase the rapidity of their flight. Jack and Terence, and the other officers led the sailors. Captain Babbicome, though undoubtedly not as active as the rest, had managed to scramble into the fort, and now puffing and blowing was well in advance. As soon as they gained the shelter of the wood, many of the fugitives turned and fired, but again fled as their pursuers came up with them. Tom and Gerald having assisted to capture the flag were somewhat behind the rest. As they ran on they saw the obese, though gallant, commander just before them, flourishing his sword and shouting, "On, lads, on! Tally ho! tally ho! We'll have their brushes before long. Make mincemeat of the rascals! Tally ho, boys tally ho!" His voice grew hoarser and hoarser. Some of the fugitives stopped, turned round, and fired. Suddenly, down he went on his face, his sword flying out of his hand. "There's old Babbicome knocked over," cried Tom and Gerald in the same breath. Though they would have preferred seeing the end of the "fun," as they called it, they felt that it was their duty to stop and assist him. Having summoned some of the men near them to their aid, they lifted him up, but no wound could they discover. "I'm done for," he groaned out. "Where are you hit, sir?" asked Tom. "Nowhere that I know of, but I'm shaken to death. Running doesn't suit my constitution. Carry me back to my boat."