Her stout masts bent like fishing poles, her rigging creaked and groaned beneath the weight of the bellying canvas, her port bulwarks slipped along almost level with the water, so that Peter must lie down on the deck, for stand he could not, and watch it running by within three feet of him.
The galleys drew up right across her path.

Half a mile away they lay bow by bow, knowing well that no ship could pass the foaming shallows; lay bow by bow, waiting to board and cut down this little English crew when the _Margaret_ shortened sail, as shorten sail she must.

Smith yelled an order to the mate, and presently, red in the setting sun, out burst the flag of England upon the mainmast top, a sight at which the sailors cheered.

He shouted another order, and up ran the last jib, so that now from time to time the port bulwarks dipped beneath the sea, and Peter felt salt water stinging his sore back.
Thus did the _Margaret_ shorten sail, and thus did she yield her to the great galleys of Spain.
The captains of the galleys hung on.

Was this foreigner mad, or ignorant of the river channel, they wondered, that he would sink with every soul there upon the bar?
They hung on, waiting for that leopard flag and those bursting sails to come down; but they never stirred; only straight at them rushed the _Margaret_ like a bull.