“Can I help you, Captain Leigh?” asked Lord Henry Seymour, as he passes within oar’s length of him, to attack a ship ahead.  “The San Matthew has had his dinner, and is gone on to Medina to ask for a digestive to it.”

“I thank your lordship:  but this is my private quarrel, of which I spoke.  But if your lordship could lend me powder—­”

“Would that I could!  But so, I fear, says every other gentleman in the fleet.”

A puff of wind clears away the sulphurous veil for a moment; the sea is clear of ships towards the land; the Spanish fleet are moving again up Channel, Medina bringing up the rear; only some two miles to their right hand, the vast hull of the San Philip is drifting up the shore with the tide, and somewhat nearer the San Matthew is hard at work at her pumps.  They can see the white stream of water pouring down her side.

“Go in, my lord, and have the pair,” shouts Amyas.

“No, sir!  Forward is a Seymour’s cry.  We will leave them to pay the Flushingers’ expenses.”  And on went Lord Henry, and on shore went the San Philip at Ostend, to be plundered by the Flushingers; while the San Matthew, whose captain, “on a hault courage,” had refused to save himself and his gentlemen on board Medina’s ship, went blundering miserably into the hungry mouths of Captain Peter Vanderduess and four other valiant Dutchmen, who, like prudent men of Holland, contrived to keep the galleon afloat till they had emptied her, and then “hung up her banner in the great church of Leyden, being of such a length, that being fastened to the roof, it reached unto the very ground.”

But in the meanwhile, long ere the sun had set, comes down the darkness of the thunderstorm, attracted, as to a volcano’s mouth, to that vast mass of sulphur-smoke which cloaks the sea for many a mile; and heaven’s artillery above makes answer to man’s below.  But still, through smoke and rain, Amyas clings to his prey.  She too has seen the northward movement of the Spanish fleet, and sets her topsails; Amyas calls to the men to fire high, and cripple her rigging:  but in vain:  for three or four belated galleys, having forced their way at last over the shallows, come flashing and sputtering up to the combatants, and take his fire off the galleon.  Amyas grinds his teeth, and would fain hustle into the thick of the press once more, in spite of the galleys’ beaks.

“Most heroical captain,” says cary, pulling a long face, “if we do, we are stove and sunk in five minutes; not to mention that Yeo says he has not twenty rounds of great cartridge left.”

So, surely and silent, the Vengeance sheers off, but keeps as near as she can to the little squadron, all through the night of rain and thunder which follows.  Next morning the sun rises on a clear sky, with a strong west-north-west breeze, and all hearts are asking what the day will bring forth.

They are long past Dunkirk now; the German Ocean is opening before them.  The Spaniards, sorely battered, and lessened in numbers, have, during the night, regained some sort of order.  The English hang on their skirts a mile or two behind.  They have no ammunition, and must wait for more.  To Amyas’s great disgust, the Sta.  Catharina has rejoined her fellows during the night.