A shower of arrows came, loosed from other parts of the ship, and one of these struck the man with them through the throat, so that he fell to the deck clasping at it, and presently rolled into the sea also.

Another pierced Castell through his right forearm, causing his sword to drop and slide away from him.

Peter seized the arrow, snapped it in two, and drew it out; but Castell's right arm was now helpless, and with his left he could do no more than cling to the broken mast.
"We have done our best, son," he said, "and failed.

Margaret will learn that we would have saved her if we could, but we shall not meet her here." Peter ground his teeth, and looked about him desperately, for he had no words to say.

What should he do?
Leave Castell and rush for the waist of the ship and so perish, or stay and die there?
Nay, he would not be butchered like a bird on a bough, he would fall fighting.
"Farewell," he called through the gale.