And
whilst this was doing above, another horde of buccaneers swarmed
through the hatch to the main deck below to overpower the gun-crews
at their stations there.
On the quarter deck, towards which an overwhelming wave of buccaneers
was sweeping, led by a one-eyed giant, who was naked to the waist,
stood Don Miguel, numbed by despair and rage. Above and behind him
on the poop, Lord Julian and Miss Bishop looked on, his lordship
aghast at the fury of this cooped-up fighting, the lady's brave calm
conquered at last by horror so that she reeled there sick and faint.
Soon, however, the rage of that brief fight was spent. They saw
the banner of Castile come fluttering down from the masthead. A
buccaneer had slashed the halyard with his cutlass. The boarders
were in possession, and on the upper deck groups of disarmed
Spaniards stood huddled now like herded sheep.
Suddenly Miss Bishop recovered from her nausea, to lean forward
staring wild-eyed, whilst if possible her cheeks turned yet a
deadlier hue than they had been already.
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