CHAPTER XVI. HOW THE YELLOW COG FOUGHT THE TWO ROVER GALLEYS.

Thethreevesselshadbeensweepingswiftlywestwards,thecogstillwelltothefront,althoughthegalleyswereslowlydrawinginuponeitherquarter.Totheleftwasahardskylineunbrokenbyasail.Theislandalreadylaylikeacloudbehindthem,whilerightinfrontwasSt.Alban'sHead,withPortlandloomingmistilyinthefarthestdistance.Alleynestoodbythetiller,lookingbackwards,thefreshwindfullinhisteeth,thecrispwinterairtinglingonhisfaceandblowinghisyellowcurlsfromunderhisbassinet.Hischeekswereflushedandhiseyesshining,forthebloodofahundredfightingSaxonancestorswasbeginningtostirinhisveins. “Whatwasthat?”heasked,asahissing,sharp-drawnvoiceseemedtowhisperinhisear.Thesteersmansmiled,andpointedwithhisfoottowhereashortheavycross-bowquarrelstuckquiveringintheboards.Atthesameinstantthemanstumbledforwarduponhisknees,andlaylifelessuponthedeck,ablood-stainedfeatherjuttingoutfromhisback.AsAlleynestoopedtoraisehim,theairseemedtobealivewiththesharpzip-zipofthebolts,andhecouldhearthempatteringonthedecklikeapplesatatree-shaking. “Raisetwomoremantletsbythepoop-lanthorn,”saidSirNigelquietly. “Andanothermantothetiller,”criedthemaster-shipman. “Keeptheminplay,Aylward,withtenofyourmen,”theknightcontinued.“AndlettenofSirOliver'sbowmendoasmuchfortheGenoese.Ihavenomindasyettoshowthemhowmuchtheyhavetofearfromus.” TenpickedshotsunderAylwardstoodinlineacrossthebroaddeck,anditwasalessontotheyoungsquireswhohadseennothingofwartonotehoworderlyandhowcoolweretheseoldsoldiers,howquickthecommand,andhowpromptthecarryingout,tenmovinglikeone.Theircomradescrouchedbeneaththebulwarks,withmanyaroughjestandmanyascrapofcriticismoradvice.“Higher,Wat,higher!”“Putthybodyintoit,Will!”“Forgetnotthewind,Hal!”Soranthemutteredchorus,whilehighaboveitrosethesharptwangingofthestrings,thehissoftheshafts,andtheshort“Drawyourarrow!Nickyourarrow!Shootwhollytogether!”fromthemaster-bowman. Andnowbothmangonelswereatworkfromthegalleys,butsocoveredandprotectedthat,saveatthemomentofdischarge,noglimpsecouldbecaughtofthem.AhugebrownrockfromtheGenoesesangovertheirheads,andplungedsullenlyintotheslopeofawave.AnotherfromtheNormanwhizzedintothewaist,brokethebackofahorse,andcrasheditswaythroughthesideofthevessel.Twoothers,flyingtogether,toreagreatgapintheSt.Christopheruponthesail,andbrushedthreeofSirOliver'smen-at-armsfromtheforecastle.Themaster-shipmanlookedattheknightwithatroubledface. “Theykeeptheirdistancefromus,”saidhe.“Ourarcheryisover-good,andtheywillnotclose.Whatdefencecanwemakeagainstthestones?” “IthinkImaytrickthem,”theknightansweredcheerfully,andpassedhisordertothearchers.Instantlyfiveofthemthrewuptheirhandsandfellprostrateuponthedeck.Onehadalreadybeenslainbyabolt,sothattherewerebutfourupontheirfeet. “Thatshouldgivethemheart,”saidSirNigel,eyeingthegalleys