could the whole gather the maimed, know the living from the dead? Barely
might the uninjured save themselves, give support perhaps to some hurt
and staggering comrade. Happy were the dead, for the fallen whose wounds
were not mortal, perhaps the fate of the men of the _Minion_! Of the
company which had come with Robert Baldry through the tunal to take by
surprise the fortress of Nueva Cordoba hardly a third found again its
shelter, turned drawn faces to the sea, rushed from that death-trap,
through the bitter and fatal wood, towards hillside and plain, and the
Admiral's attack upon that fortification which with all their force they
had twice endeavored to storm and found impregnable.

Baldry himself? Surely he was among them!--in that shadowy pass was not
this his great form--or this--or this?

"Baldry! Robert Baldry!" cried Sedley, and there came no answer. High
and shrill as a woman's wail rang again the young man's voice. "Captain
Robert Baldry!"

"He's not here, sir," said a Devon man, softly. "God rest his soul!"

Sedley raised his white face to the stars, then: "On men, on! We've to
help Sir John, you know!" Tone of voice, raised arm, and waving hand,
subtle and elusive likeness to the leader whom he worshipped, upon whom
he had moulded himself--for the moment it was as though Sir Mortimer
Ferne had cried encouragement to their sunken hearts, was beckoning them
on to ultimate victory plucked from present defeat. A cheer, wavering,
broken, touched with hysteria, broke from throats that were dry with
the horror of past moments. On with Henry Sedley, their leader now, they
struggled, making what mad haste they might through the tunal.