Yet he hung on, and, biding his chance, seized a broken stay-rope that dangled from the end of the bowsprit like a lash from a whip, and began to slide down it.

The gale caught him and blew him to and fro; the vessel, pitching wildly, jerked him into the air; the deck of the _San Antonio_ rose up and receded like a thing alive.

It was near--not a dozen feet beneath him--and loosing his hold he fell upon the forward tower without being hurt then, gaining his feet, ran to the broken mast and flinging his left arm about it, with the other drew his sword.
Next instant--how, he never knew--Castell was at his side, and after him came two more men, but one of these rolled from the deck into the sea and was lost.

As he vanished, the chain of the grappling iron parted, and the _Margaret_ swung away from them, leaving those three alone in the power of their foes, nor, do what she would, could she make fast again.

As yet, however, there were no Spaniards to be seen, for the reason that none had dared to stand upon this high tower whereof the bulwarks were all gone, while the bowsprit of the _Margaret_ crashed down upon it like a giant's club, and, as she rolled, swept it with its point.
So there they stood, clinging to the mast and waiting for the end, for now their friends were a hundred yards away, and they knew that their case was desperate.