As she gazed down upon the moonlit esplanade,
Teresa saw a tall dark figure creep out with
cat-like stealthy tread from beneath the verandah
of the large building nearest to the sea;
and, keeping itself with great care inside the

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

darkest shadows, drag itself inch by inch towards
the stone bastion at the right hand termination
of the battery; whereon she clearly
saw the pirate sentinel stalking his solitary
round upon the rampart, the long bright barrel
of his shouldered arquebuse glancing like
silver in the moonlight. At first she gazed
with simple wonder, wholly unmixed with
curiosity or interest, upon the movements of the
dark shadowy form; but suddenly, as he crossed
a streak of moonshine, it struck her with
the speed of light that this was a well known
figure; and instantly a train of recollections,
all hitherto forgotten, flashed on her—the name
Antonio—the voice now well-remembered of
the unseen messenger—it was—it must be!
the black fisherman, the trusted guide and hunter
of her loved Amadis! She now strained
all her eyes, her heart, her spirit, to mark
what was his progress, not doubting for a moment
that ere long she would be set free,
whether by death or rescue. While she had
been engaged, brief as they were, in these imaginations,
she had lost sight for a moment or
two of the dark gliding figure; and when she
turned her eyes again towards the spot, it was
no longer visible; and, what seemed stranger
yet, the pirate sentinel no longer paced the
bastion, although his comrade could be distinctly
seen leaning against an angle near the
sallyport, by which Teresa had gained entrance,
at the further end of the lines. Suspecting,
more than ever, now that something great was
on the point of happening, she gazed yet more
intently; yet nothing might she see of him,
whom she believed, with all the confidence of
youth and inexperience, to be a friend and
rescuer within the pirate's hold. Tired at
length with watching the long line of vacant
ramparts, she looked again towards the sleeping
soldier, and as she did so, from the dark
shadow of the ravelin and trench she saw a
coal-black figure leap, with the blithe and muscular
action of a tiger bounding upon his prey,
on the unconscious pirate—something bright
flashed once or twice aloft in the clear moonshine,
and the struggle was ended in a moment,
the hapless sentinel falling a scarce less
conscious victim to his swift secret foe.

A moment more, and the victor had donned
the scarlet watch cloak of his fallen enemy,
and was now boldly traversing the whole line
of the esplanade, stopping and stooping down
for a moment or two at regular intervals, while
a faint clinking sound, heard indistinctly from
the distance, gave note, even to the inexperienced
ear of Teresa, that he was engaged in
spiking all the cannon. After this task was
ended, disencumbering himself of the watch
cloak, he crept down to the water's edge, and
plunging into the calm basin swan straight for
his pirogue, swung himself by a rope to the
deck, and for several minutes' space was lost
to the anxious gaze of the Spanish maiden.

He re-appeared at last, however, from the
hold, accompanied by ten or twelve men,
whom by their corslets and steel caps, and the
long barrels of their Spanish muskets, she
knew at once to be Castilian soldiers—within
a moment they had lowered away the pinnace,
which hung at the pirogue's stern, and entering
it, pulled openly across the basin towards the
Rover's barque; the sentinels on which, seeing
that their boat came directly as it appeared
to them from the water-gate of the fortress,
hailed not, nor uttered any challenge, but suffered
the pinnace to come to under her very
stern, and her crew to scale her bulwark unopposed;
all of which Teresa might behold
distinctly by clear moonlight. What further
passed she knew not; but in a little while she
saw a bright light shown from the windows in
the stern, and at the same time the vessel began
to swing round slowly so as to bring her broadside,
which had so lately borne full on the
entrance of the basin, to cover the dwellings
of the buccaneers.

For a little while longer she watched steadfastly
the basin and the vessels, but nothing
took place any more, although she stayed beside
the lattice till the moon set behind the treetops,
and deep darkness settled down over the
glimmering prospect. Then fancying that nothing
would take place that night, and fearing
lest Bella might return and find her watching,
she turned away and walked towards her
couch. In doing so, however, she passed
another casement, which looked out towards
the forest in the rear; on which side, fearless
of any sudden onslaught, and confiding in the
remoteness of their station, surrounded as it
was by forests, everglades, impenetrable hammocks,
and morasses—pathless save to the
wandering Indian—the pirates kept no watch;
and, as she passed it, another sight flashed on
her eyes, even more wonderful as it appeared
to her, than aught she had yet witnessed—a
long and regular line of dull red sparks, not
larger than the luminous firefly of that region,
and scarce so brilliant, were winding round the
outer side of the ditch, which circled all the
rear of the position. Suddenly, at one point
they clustered close together, and then descended,
as it seemed, into the deep wet fosse.
Then! then! her very soul on the alert, for
she had seen and heard enough of warfare to
know that those dull sparks were kindled
matches of a long line of musqueteers, she
threw the lattice open; and leaning out into
the dewy night air, listened intently—nor did
she listen long, before the grating of a saw
was clearly audible, although by no means
loud enough to wake a sleeper; or scarce, perhaps,
to rouse the dull perceptions of an

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uninterested watcher—after a time the sound was
heard no more, and very soon the little lights
might be seen, one by one, emerging from the
hither side, and forming in close order within
the esplanade, which they had actually entered
all unmolested and unseen, save by a friendly
eye—and now Teresa knew that friends were
close at hand, and rescue almost certain. Yet
now she trembled more than in her hour of
peril, and was so shaken in her every nerve,
that when she kneeled to pray and offer up her
tribute of thanksgiving, her tongue refused its
office, her senses failed her, and she sank fainting
on the velvet carpet, so that she saw, rest
as she might, or any other, who had gazed
seaward from the height, almost at the same
point of time wherein the footmen passed the
palisades, the tall white sails of a huge Spanish
caravella, steal ghost-like through the
shadows of the trees that fringed the outlet,
towed by a dozen boats pulled noiselessly with
muffled oars, into the middle of the basin.
Another—and another—and yet another followed;
and, strange to tell! though no slight
noise attended their proceedings, they, with the
captured barque of Ringwood, were moored
within half pistol shot of the batteries, the
guns of which were all, as has been seen,
spiked and so rendered useless, their cannon
bearing full on the defenceless dwellings of the
buccaneers, and their boats ready to land with
their armed crews at a moment's notice, ere any
ear had taken note of their arrival.

In another part of the Rover's keep, while
all this was in progress, even to the point of
time wherein Teresa fainted, there was a widely
different picture, had any eye been there to
look upon it. It was the very topmost turret
of that tall building—a small octagonal watch
tower, overlooking the whole esplanade below,
and having the breech of the huge gun, which
has before been mentioned, within six feet of
its doorway, which opened on the battlements.
Access was only gained to this high turret by
a steep winding stairway from the large armory
below; and on the platform, at the stair head,
so that no living thing could pass it without
awakening them, were stretched on a soft rug
full armed for instant battle, the two gigantic
negroes.

This was the Rover's den, his last stronghold,
his chosen privacy. Lighted by day
through eight tall pointed windows, now
muffled all by blinds of Indian matting; and in
the night by a large brazen lamp, with four
bright burners, it was as light as life, though
silent as the grave. It was the plainest, nay,
the only plain chamber of that superb and gorgeous
building; its floor and walls being covered
equally with the soft seats woven by Indian
girls, from the sweet aromatic seeds and spicy
grasses of that region—its furniture, two or
three camp stools of dark English oak, a centre
table of the same fabric, covered with maps
and plans of battle or the like, a silver standish
and a tall golden crucifix—and another large
broad slab of some Indian wood, littered with
charts and papers, instruments of astronomy
and navigation, pistols and dirks, and articles of
clothing (such as fringed gloves and feathered
hats), and one or two tall wine flasks, with a
Venetian drinking glass of scarce inferior height.
Upon the walls hung many suits of armor,
with fire-arms of rare and choice construction,
and swords of exquisite device and manufacture.
The only other article of furniture, and that
perhaps the most important in the chamber,
was a large low bedstead of oak, with a plain
cotton mattress, and white draperies of simple
linen—and on that lowly bed reclined, in deep
though troubled slumber, the mighty frame of
the great English buccaneer, with his fair favorite
by his side, sleeping as calmly as a summer's
night upon a breezeless river. Her rich
redundant curls fell off in loose and wavy
masses from her fair brow, floating across the
massive chest and muscular shoulders of the
buccaneer, on which that brow was pillowed;
her eyes were closed, but the long fringe which
curtained them was pencilled in distinct relief
against her clear complexion—the whole expression
of her face, as she slept, was exquisitely
pure and child-like, and the soft smile
which nestled in the twin dimples of her rosy
mouth, seemed born of innocence and tranquil
bliss. So was it not with her companion.
Dark frowns and gloomy shadows chased one
another fast and thick over his broad expressive
features—the sweat stood in full bubbles on
his turbulent brow—a fierce sarcastic smile now
writhed his pallid lips, and now he laughed
almost aloud, but with a scornful and self-mocking
laughter, such as the fiends might use,
jeering at stainless virtue. His great chest
heaved and fell, not with the regular pulsations
of healthful innocent sleep, but with convulsive
pants and throbbings—his arms were dashed
violently to and fro, with the hands clenched
like iron—such were the night dreams of the
Rover, and fearful as they must needs have
been, to judge by their effect, as fearfully were
they dispelled. A clear sharp ringing sound
as of a musket shot close to the inmost keep,
rang through the night air—one of the Indian
allies of Don Amadis having unconsciously discharged
his arquebuse, and so called down discovery—
little, however, if at all premature—
on the attacking party.

Upon the instant, though the fair being by his
side yet slumbered all unconscious of alarm,
Reginald Ringwood sprang to his feet, fully
awake, and in the clearest mastery of his senses—
one bound, he stood upon the platform of
the keep, and in less time than it would have
taken any other man to mark one portion of
the perils that environed him, he had envisaged

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

all; and seen the only hope that was left to
him. The invaders as yet knew not, it would
seem, whether they were discovered, and rested
yet upon their arms; and Ringwood seeing
clearly that the exterior works were all untenable
already, and knowing that his only
hope of making good the citadel itself, depended
on his getting men to man his guns from the
great barracks, resolved to turn this brief inaction
to advantage. Before the very blacks had
roused them from their slumbers, he had sprung
to the breech of the huge cannon, had wheeled
it round upon its pivot—Herculean task for any
single arm, how puissant it might be soever!—
had pointed it upon the nearest longest caravel,
and, lighting a match instantly from the lamp in
his turret, had discharged it on the foe. A
broad bright glare shot out into the bosom of
the night, a cloud of snowy volume was driven
before it, and a roar, like that of twenty thunder
claps, shook the strong tower to its base,
and deafened for an inftant every ear that heard
it. Before its echoes had subsided, before the
Spaniards, in turn surprised (for the huge missile
striking the great caravel amid-ships, had
cut her mainmast by the board, carrying with it
the mizen), had poured in their answering
broadside, the Rover's bugle wound clear and
lustily, the signal of recall was heard by the
awakened pirates, who rushed half-dressed,
their weapons in their hands, from the rear of
the buildings, to obey his signal. The instant
he had fired the cannon, a dozen stalwart
blacks, Pluto and Charon at their head, the
garrison of this keep, stood on the platform at
his side, heavily armed and ready. Dressing
himself the while he spake, he thundered forth
his orders with strange rapidity and wonderful
precision—

“Pluto and Charon, away both of ye, down
to the southern sallyport, unbar it on the instant,
holding it well in hand the while, to admit
our fellows from the barrack; but see ye
let not the Spaniards enter! You others, quick
there, quick! load the great culverin, and run it
out again; see that you keep the level—so,
well done, lads; now fire!” and with the words
again forth burst the stunning roar. “So,
cheerily, brave hearts; fight it thus till the
great caravel go down, then wheel it on the
next, and sink her likewise! I go to man the
inner ramparts. Ha! Bella, my sweet girl,”
he cried, as she came forth in disarray—“down
to your bower, my girl, and dight you! 'Fore
God, but I believe our time is come already!”
And with the word he darted down the stairway,
and reached the sally-port just as the buccaneers,
half naked, scattered, and dismayed,
began to pour in from the esplanade. But few
and faint, they came all breathless, many
wounded, and some to drop down dead the instant
they had forced their entry; for, in a moment
after the Rover's unexpected shot, the
Spanish crews had started to their guns, and
five broadsides of very heavy metal were
poured into the clustered buildings of the
pirates, before they were yet well afoot, so that
the carnage was tremendous; then, when they
had rushed out, Don Amadis wheeled his two
hundred musketeers into a line upon their
flank, poured in a shattering volley upon their
scattered masses, and then charged, sword in
hand, with his Castilian troopers, and all his
Indian volunteers. Darkness alone saved any
from destruction, and it was out of four hundred
soldiers, for so many alone had remained
in the lines, scarcely a hundred sound men entered,
with perhaps fifty more, wounded and
wholly useless; not force, in short, enough to
man the guns, even at the rate of one man to
a cannon.

Still this mere handful was disposed, by the
wondrous genius of the Rover, with such rare
tact and skill, manning such guns alone as
were most useful, that until day-break he was
enabled not merely to repel the attacking parties,
but to beat them quite back from his lines
with fearful slaughter. Three times he rallied,
and each time brought back his every man unharmed;
leaving the ground which he had traversed
piled high with carcases, and reeking
with hot gore. Meantime the black crew on
the keep plied the long culverin with unabated
zeal; its every bullet plunging into the castled
sides of the tall Spanish caravellas—but not for
that did they abate their murderous and well
sustained cannonading against the pirate barracks,
until not a stick or stone of them stood
upright to cover any foeman. Then, but not
until then, did they direct their fire on the keep;
and even then so distant was it from their guns,
and at an elevation so considerable, that their
fire did it but small damage, while, all the
time, they suffered heavily. Meantime, the
armed boats of the squadron landed; and their
crews formed instantly a junction with the
land forces, led by Amadis Ferrajo; which, by
the dint of energy and zeal almost unparalleled,
had forced their way through tangled brakes
and shaking quagmires, over broad lakes and
navigable rivers, to that impregnable stronghold,
as it was ever deemed by the too confident
and careless Rover.

Tremendous was the fate of every living
being who met the onslaught of the infuriate
Spaniards. No quarter was shown—none!
neither to age nor sex—to innocence nor
beauty! Hundreds of miserable children were
tossed upon the spear-heads of the pitiless
avengers; hundreds of women shot, or cut
down, or spared only to glut for a brief space
the fierce lust of their captors. When the
day dawned, woman nor child survived; and
not a groan was heard from the red slope—red
with their smoking gore!

Day dawned; and as the light grew clear,

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the weakness of the defenders was discovered;
and the assailants, forming in six columns,
each column equal to the whole force under
Ringwood, rushed desperate to win the ramparts.
The guns were necessarily silent after
the first discharge, for it was needful now that
each man should fight hand to hand, or let the
lines be carried! And they were carried in ten
minutes! for though the buccaneers fought
like incarnate devils, though Ringwood bore a
charmed life, setting it fifty times upon a die
and still unwounded, man after man was piked
or cut down by his side, until the two blacks
alone, with four or five English pirates, were
left alive, and able to wield weapons.

“In with you, Pluto and Charon—into the
keep and hold the gate in hand—now! Anson,
Falconer, ha! Gambier, too, and Drake, one
charge more on these dogs of Spain—one for
St. George and England!” And with the
words, the five men dashed upon a column,
headed by Amadis Ferrajo, of full two hundred
veterans, rushing in with their levelled
pikes, by the great gate which they had stormed—
three men went down at three strokes of
the Rover; and his last troopers seconded him
like men, and gallant ones, if guilty!—the column
wavered; but Amadis rallied it instantly
with words of fire, and charged resistless! one by
one down went Ringwood's men, pierced each
with fifty wounds, each fighting till he fell “for
England! merry England!”

The Rover stood alone—but what recked he
of that? he crossed swords with Don Amadis,
beat down his guard, dealt him a blow that
would have stretched him lifeless on the plain,
but that his rapier shivered to the grasp—shot
two men with his pistols, seized a third round
his waist, who would have stopped him, and
hurled him to the earth, so that the blood gushed
from ears, eyes, and mouth, and he stirred
hand no more; rushed through the castle gate,
and ere its bars were fast behind him, stood in
the presence of Teresa, all grim and gory, but
unwounded.