I was in a sore strait when I saw him.

For how could I fight against my Queen?
Yet, if I let him and the fellows that swarmed up the tackle after him pass, what of my debt of honour to the King of Spain?
The matter was settled for me; for, perceiving me as we swung together, the fellow made a wild grab at me, and, slashing with his knife at the hand by which I clung to the mast, forced me to quit my hold, and clutch at him instead.

Then, as I did so, the masts swung asunder, and, lo and behold, I was no longer on the _Rata_, but a prisoner of my own Queen.
I made a dash to spring back to the Spanish ship, but it was too late.
The Don was already hauling off, and every moment the gap between him and the English ship became wider.

Half-a-dozen stout British hands held me fast, and as many blades at my breast warned me that the game was up.
"Hands-off, comrades!" I shouted; "I am an Englishman." At that they laughed, and bade me say my prayers, for my hour was come, and they had other work on hands.
"God save her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and curse the King of Spain!" cried I.
Then one or two of them stared round, and cursed me for a Jesuit.
"I am no Jesuit, but a London 'prentice lad," said I, "and have broken heads better than yours for my Queen before now, as I will prove to any two of you that like, even here." This pleased them better, and they bade me, as I loved my Queen, take a musket and slay them the first Spaniard I could spy on the enemy's deck.
"Give me the gun," said I, with a laugh, "and bullets enough for every dog of them." At that moment the smoke below me drifted, so that I could just espy, as in a frame of cloud, a little spot on the deck of the _Rata_, where stood a man.

He was tall like a giant.