Amyas was silent; the rebuke was just.

“I tell you, sir, if we’ve hove a stone out of this boat since we got off, we’ve hove two hundredweight, and, if the Lord had not fought for us, she’d have been beat to noggin-staves there on the beach.”

“How did I come here, then?”

“Tom Hart dragged you in out of five feet water, and then thrust the boat off, and had his brains beat out for reward.  All were knocked down but us two.  So help me God, we thought that you had hove Mr. Frank on board just as you were knocked down, and saw William Frost drag him in.”

But William Frost was lying senseless in the bottom of the boat.  There was no explanation.  After all, none was needed.

“And I have three wounds from stones, and this man behind me as many more, beside a shot through his shoulder.  Now, sir, be we cowards?”

“You have done your duty,” said Amyas, and sank down in the boat, and cried as if his heart would break; and then sprang up, and, wounded as he was, took the oar from Evans’s hands.  With weary work they made the ship, but so exhausted that another boat had to be lowered to get them alongside.

The alarm being now given, it was hardly safe to remain where they were; and after a stormy and sad argument, it was agreed to weigh anchor and stand off and on till morning; for Amyas refused to leave the spot till he was compelled, though he had no hope (how could he have?) that Frank might still be alive.  And perhaps it was well for them, as will appear in the next chapter, that morning did not find them at anchor close to the town.

However that may be, so ended that fatal venture of mistaken chivalry.

CHAPTER XX

SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS

     “Full seven long hours in all men’s sight
       This fight endured sore,
     Until our men so feeble grew,
       That they could fight no more. 
     And then upon dead horses
       Full savorly they fed,
     And drank the puddle water,
       They could no better get.

     “When they had fed so freely
       They kneeled on the ground,
     And gave God thanks devoutly for
       The favor they had found;
     Then beating up their colors,
       The fight they did renew;
     And turning to the Spaniards,
       A thousand more they slew.”

       The Brave Lord Willoughby. 1586.

When the sun leaped up the next morning, and the tropic light flashed suddenly into the tropic day, Amyas was pacing the deck, with dishevelled hair and torn clothes, his eyes red with rage and weeping, his heart full—­how can I describe it?  Picture it to yourselves, picture it to yourselves, you who have ever lost a brother; and you who have not, thank God that you know nothing of his agony.  Full of impossible projects, he strode and staggered up and down, as the ship thrashed close-hauled through the rolling seas.  He would go back and burn the villa.  He would take Guayra, and have the life of every man in it in return for his brother’s.  “We can do it, lads!” he shouted.  “If Drake took Nombre de Dios, we can take La Guayra.”  And every voice shouted, “Yes.”