"
They cut away, and the _Rose_, released from the strain, shook her
feathers on the wave-crest like a freed sea-gull, while all men held
their breaths.
Suddenly the glorious creature righted herself, and rose again, as if
in noble shame, for one last struggle with her doom. Her bows were
deep in the water, but her after-deck still dry. Righted: but only for
a moment, long enough to let her crew come pouring wildly up on deck,
with cries and prayers, and rush aft to the poop, where, under the flag
of Spain, stood the tall captain, his left hand on the standard-staff,
his sword pointed in his right.
"Back men!" they heard him cry, "and die like valiant mariners."
Some of them ran to the bulwarks, and shouted "Mercy! We surrender!"
and the English broke into a cheer and called to them to run her
alongside.
"Silence!" shouted Amyas. "I take no surrender from mutineers.
Senor," cried he to the captain, springing into the rigging and taking
off his hat, "for the love of God and these men, strike! and surrender
_a buena guerra_."
The Spaniard lifted his hat and bowed courteously, and answered.
"Impossible, Senor. No _guerra_ is good which stains my honor.
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