"Look!" said Ambrose Wynch, gruffly, and pointed to the west. "The
plate-fleet!"

Those many white flecks upon the horizon grew larger, came swiftly on.
Forth from the river's mouth, out to sea, put the _Mere Honour_ and the
_Marigold_, for they might not tarry to meet that squadron. None that
looked upon Nevil's face doubted that though now he went, he would come
again. But he must gather other ships, replace his dead, renew his
strength by the touch of his mother earth. Home therefore to England, to
the friends and foes of a man's own house! To the eastward turned the
prows of the English ships; the sails filled, the shores slipped past.
In the town the bells were ringing, on the plain were figures moving;
from the fortress boomed a gun, and the sound was like a taunt, was like
a blow upon the cheek. Swift answer made the cannon of both ships, and
the sullen, defiant roar awoke the echoes. Taunt might they give for
taunt. Three ships had the English taken, three towns had they sacked;
in sea-fights and in land-fights they had been victors! Where were the
caravels, where the ruined battery at the river's mouth, where the great
magazine of Nueva Cordoba? Where was Antonio de Castro?--and the galleon
_San José_ was lost to friend as well as foe--and Spaniard no more than
Englishman might gather again the sunken treasure. Thus spake the guns,
but the hearts of the men behind were wrung for the living and the dead.
The shores slipped by, the fortress hill of Nueva Cordoba lessened to a
silver speck against the mountains; swift-sailing ships they feared no
chase by those galleons of Spain. Islands were passed, behind them fell
bold coasts, before them spread the waste of waters. Beyond the waste
there was home, where friend and foe awaited tidings of the expedition
which had gone forth big with promise.

In the _Mere Honour's_ state-cabin upon the evening of that decisive day