"Come in," said Cavendish's voice.
"We have sighted a sail, sir," Fuller said, breathlessly.
Cavendish was rinsing his face. He said, "So I heard."
"She is six points off the starboard bow. And it is she, sir! You were right!"
Cavendish nodded. He had dried his face, and he picked up his precious glass, taking it from the leather case. Fuller stood aside and Cavendish went unhurriedly out on deck. There was plenty of time.
He walked fore. The ratlines trembled as he mounted the foremast shrouds; he held the glass close under his left arm.
The men were staring up at him, he knew. He felt the wind on his face; it was a good wind. In his ears were the sibilant sounds of the rigging; the Desire's timbers creaked as she mastered the Pacific swells. Cavendish raised the glass to his eye.
He saw a ship, a great Spanish galleon. It was she, all right. She
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was called the Santa Anna, and she was the richest prize in the world. She was worth a million pounds to the Spanish; each year she crossed the Pacific from Manila to Acapulco laden with the treasure of China and the East. He had had intelligence of her three weeks before; for that time he had lain in wait for her here.
He lowered the glass. The motion of the ship was even. Abaft the beam the low mountains of the Californian cape smudged the horizon; dead astern was the Content, spray flying from her bows, her spritsail taut with wind. She had seen the Spaniard, too.
He raised the glass again. The Spaniard was as large as he expected, fully seven hundred tons, more than five times the size of the Desire. She was standing into the Gulf of California, running full before the west wind, the sun gleaming on her red paint. He reckoned she was not making more than five knots, for all her sails; and satisfaction welled up in him. She was slow, then, and a good and proper target. Even as he watched, she came about. She had seen the two English ships. She came about; she didn't want to fight. From the shrouds, Cavendish called, "Keep her on this tack, Master Fuller!"
'Aye, aye, sir!" the answer came singing back.
Cavendish lowered the glass again. The Spaniard was running away, and that meant that he had given the Englishman two hours or so to prepare for battle. The Spaniard, for all his size, didn't want to fight. That was good, too. He tucked the glass under his arm and started down. The figure of his brother crossed the deck beneath, but David didn't stop. Cavendish stepped out onto the deck. Master Fuller waited for him, expectantly.
"Fine morning, sir," Cavendish said, "with the wind holding fair."
"Aye, sir," said Fuller.
"My breakfast was interrupted," Cavendish said. "I have reckoned it will be two hours before we are close enough to fire."
"Aye, sir," said Fuller.
"Therefore I will eat now," Cavendish said. Glass still under his arm, he disappeared into the crowded poop.
Fuller had had his orders. It would be thirty minutes before Cavendish reappeared, and in that time there was much to do. Most of the company were on deck, hanging over the rails. Fuller soon put a stop to that; he raised his voice in a stentorian blast.
Cavendish proceeded to his own cabin. He put the glass away in its case. He would need it again soon, but he fastened the straps
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of the case carefully. After that, he went along to the Desire's great cabin.
There was one man in the cabin—Havers, who sat at one end of the polished table, eating from a silver plate, and using gleaming silver cutlery engraved with the Captain's crest.
"I did not wait for you, Tom," he said. He was stuffing food in his mouth as fast as he could. There was a fight ahead.
Cavendish seated himself. "I'm sorry I was late," he said politely.
This understatement made Havers grin; his gray eyes crinkled with laughter. When he stopped smiling, there were tiny white lines around his eyes, for he always squinted deeply when he was in the sun.
"Pretty good, eh, Tom?" he asked.
"The pineapple?" Cavendish was eating the fruit. "It's excellent."
"Are you sure you'll not have some sugar?" Havers asked, smiling again.
"It is sweet enough."
Over their heads there was a loud bump as a tub of sea water was placed at the nearest hatch. They heard Moon's voice raised in profanity because evidently one of the seamen had spilled a bucket of sand. The Desire's well-scrubbed and smooth decks were being sanded for battle.
Cavendish finished the pineapple.
Havers said, "It's a pity we lost the Hugh Gallant."
This made Cavendish look up. "Aye," he said. He knew that Havers mourned the loss of his ship. The Hugh Gallant had not been lost in battle. The heavy seas around the tip of South America had taken their toll of her. She had had to be sunk; four weeks ago they had sent her to the bottom with a few well-placed shots from the Desire's heavy ordnance. Cavendish knew, too, that Havers missed his own command. The crew of the Hugh Gallant had been transferred to the Desire, which had needed men. It had been a year and five months since they had sailed from Plymouth, and in that time they had lost forty men and one ship. They had sunk eighteen Spanish ships of war, and innumerable smaller craft and merchant vessels. They had stormed and burned scores of towns. They were rich already, all of them, with plunder.
"It is a pity we lost the Hugh Gallant," Cavendish said aloud, for it had brought David aboard the Desire and under his command. He had been a fool not to think of this contingency in England. David under Havers was a different man from David under his
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brother. But he could not make an exception for David when he had ordered all of the Hugh Gallant's crew to supplement the fifty men who formed the Desiie's dwindling company. In England he had made a mistake. David should never have come. It was too late, now.
"I'll leave you now, Tom," Havers said, rising.
Cavendish suddenly asked a question, just as Havers was at the door. "Havers," he said, "Havers, tell me. Did David ever speak to you about the Spanish caballero on whom I used a thumbscrew?"
Havers' face sobered. "No," he said.
Cavendish knew Havers was speaking the truth. Havers was the most honest man he knew. "Very well," he said.
Havers closed the door. Alone, Cavendish ate quickly, drinking his ale. Then he, too, left the cabin.
His mind was occupied with the coming battle and the strategy he had laid down in detail to all officers of the Desire and the Content, the night some weeks ago when they had first learned of the Santa Anna. It was too bad they had but two ships, but it was foolish to think about that. He put on a supple coat of light mail and a gilded helmet. Then he took the helmet off and brushed his hair again, setting the helmet back on his head. Thirty minutes had passed, and he went out on deck.
The decks were well sanded, and tubs of sea water stood at the hatches. He lifted his eyes and slowly he began his tour of inspection.
Preventer rigs had been run up the yardarms; they were well slung, and he was satisfied. The light guns mounted on the castles were already served with powder and shot; in front of them crouched the gunners, their naked backs already gleaming with sweat. The hot California sun burned down. The wind was holding fair.
The Desire was sailing six points off the wind. Cavendish mounted to his own deck; over his head the flag blew atop the mizzen. The Content had dropped astern; she was not as good a sailer as the Desire. But he could see Captain Brule's figure on the quarterdeck. He waved his arm.
He could depend on Brule. He could depend on Brule never to forget the strategy. He had been carrying the glass and now he took it from its case just as the familiar rumbling sounds told him that the gun ports were opening and the guns were being run out. Moon's voice echoed from below. Cavendish raised the glass to his eyes just as the lateen sail over his head slatted a little.