Great Sea Stories | Page 5

him in his new position, Amyas's
whole broadside, great and small, had been poured into her at pistol-shot, answered by a
yell which rent their ears and hearts.
"Spare the slaves! Fire at the soldiers!" cried Amyas; but the work was too hot for much
discrimination; for the larboard galley, crippled but not undaunted, swung round across
his stern, and hooked herself venomously on to him.
It was a move more brave than wise; for it prevented the other galley from returning to
the attack without exposing herself a second time to the English broadside; and a

desperate attempt of the Spaniards to board at once through the stern-ports and up the
quarter was met with such a demurrer of shot and steel that they found themselves in
three minutes again upon the galley's poop, accompanied, to their intense disgust, by
Amyas Leigh and twenty English swords.
Five minutes' hard cutting, hand to hand, and the poop was clear. The soldiers in the
forecastle had been able to give them no assistance, open as they lay to the arrows and
musketry from the Rose's lofty stern. Amyas rushed along the central gangway, shouting
in Spanish, "Freedom to the slaves! death to the masters!" clambered into the forecastle,
followed close by his swarm of wasps, and set them so good an example how to use their
stings that in three minutes more there was not a Spaniard on board who was not dead or
dying.
"Let the slaves free!" shouted he. "Throw us a hammer down, men. Hark! there's an
English voice!"
There is indeed. From amid the wreck of broken oars and writhing limbs, a voice is
shrieking in broadest Devon to the master, who is looking over the side.
"Oh, Robert Drew! Robert Drew! Come down, and take me out of hell!"
"Who be you, in the name of the Lord?"
"Don't you mind William Prust, that Captain Hawkins left behind in the Honduras, years
and years agone? There's nine of us aboard, if your shot hasn't put 'em out of their misery.
Come down, if you've a Christian heart, come down!"
Utterly forgetful of all discipline, Drew leaps down hammer in hand, and the two old
comrades rush into each other's arms.
Why make a long story of what took but five minutes to do? The nine men (luckily none
of them wounded) are freed, and helped on board, to be hugged and kissed by old
comrades and young kinsmen; while the remaining slaves, furnished with a couple of
hammers, are told to free themselves and help the English. The wretches answer by a
shout; and Amyas, once more safe on board again, dashes after the other galley, which
has been hovering out of reach of his guns: but there is no need to trouble himself about
her; sickened with what she has got, she is struggling right up wind, leaning over to one
side, and seemingly ready to sink.
"Are there any English on board of her?" asks Amyas, loth to lose the chance of freeing a
countryman.
"Never a one, sir, thank God."
So they set to work to repair damages; while the liberated slaves, having shifted some of
the galley's oars, pull away after their comrade; and that with such a will that in ten
minutes they have caught her up, and careless of the Spaniard's fire, boarded her en
masse, with yells as of a thousand wolves. There will be fearful vengeance taken on those

tyrants, unless they play the man this day.
And in the meanwhile half the crew are clothing, feeding, questioning, caressing those
nine poor fellows thus snatched from living death; and Yeo, hearing the news, has rushed
up on deck to welcome his old comrades, and--
"Is Michael Heard, my cousin, here among you?"
Yes, Michael Heard is there, white-headed rather from misery than age; and the
embracings and questionings begin afresh.
"Where is my wife, Salvation Yeo?"
"With the Lord."
"Amen!" says the old man, with a short shudder. "I thought so much; and my two boys?"
"With the Lord."
The old man catches Yeo by the arm.
"How, then?" It is Yeo's turn to shudder now.
"Killed in Panama, fighting the Spaniards; sailing with Mr. Oxeham; and 'twas I led 'em
into it. May God and you forgive me!"
"They couldn't die better, cousin Yeo."
The old man covers his face with his hands for a while.
"Well, I've been alone with the Lord these fifteen years, so I must not whine at being
alone awhile longer--'twon't be long."
"Put this coat on your back, uncle," says some one.
"No; no coats for me. Naked came I into the world, and naked I go out of it this day, if I
have a chance. You'm better go to your work,