In wrath and grief, set of face, hot of heart, they burst at last from
the tunal into the open with sky and sea, the plain, the town and the
river before them--the river where the ships lay in safety, the _Cygnet_
and the _Phoenix_ close in shore, the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_
in midstream. The ships in safety--then what meant those distant cries,
that thrice repeated booming of a signal gun, that glare upon the river,
those two boats filled with rowers making mad haste up the stream, that
volley from the _Mere Honour's_ stern guns beneath which sank one of the
hurrying craft?

Turned to stone they upon the hillside watched disaster at her work. The
_Cygnet_ was a noble ship, co-equal in size and strength with the _Mere
Honour,_ well beloved and well defended. Now for one instant of time a
great leap of flame from her decks lit all the scene and showed her in
her might; it was followed by a frightful explosion, and the great ship,
torn from her anchorage, wrecked forever, a flaming hulk, a torch, a
pyre, a potent of irremediable ruin, bore down the swift current and
struck the _Phoenix_.... Once more the _Mere Honour's_ cannon thundered
loud appeal and warning. In the red light cast by her destroyer the
galleon began to sink, and that so rapidly that her seamen threw
themselves overboard. Yet burning, the _Cygnet_ kept on her way. Borne
by the tide she passed from the narrow to the wider waters; to-night a
waning star, the morn might find her a blackened derelict, if indeed
there was sign of her at all upon the surface of the sea.

Around the base of the hill swept the Admiral and his force. Vain had
been the attack upon the fortress, heavy the loss of the English, but it
was not the Spanish guns which had caused that retreat. Where were
Robert Baldry and his men? What strange failure, unlooked-for disaster,
portended that heavy firing at the rear of the fortress?... The signal