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"Mind your luff, Master Fuller!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
The sail filled; it was drawing right. Again he raised the glass, and the seamen perched precariously on the yardarms stared no harder than he did.
For he could see his quarry plainly now.
She was huge. A monster of the deep. Her red-painted galleries rose high over the water as deck after deck had been piled on each other. The colors of Aragon and Castile flew at her masthead; she showed her green bilges as she rolled in the Pacific. He could well imagine the activities aboard her now, and the size of her guns. And every minute the Desire was bearing down on her.
Havers came pounding up to the poopdeck. "All nettings triced, sir," he said. "All aloft is in order. The irons are ready to cast."
"Good," said Cavendish. Havers reflected he always said that.
Havers was wearing light mail and a helmet too. "The surgeon reports he is ready for the wounded."
Cavendish nodded. "D'ye want this?" he asked, holding out the glass.
"Thanks," Havers said.
He squinted through the glass, and Cavendish walked over to the rail to look down at the deck. The muskets were being issued to the soldiers. The soldiers were well armored, protected across the chest and shoulders, and they too wore helmets.
The bowmen were already mounting into the shrouds; the sun shone on the sharpened points of the grappling irons. It was eight-thirty. Suddenly he saw David.
David was walking slowly across the deck. He was wearing a heavy sword and a dagger. He was tanned as dark as an Indian.
"Good morning, sir," he said stiffly as he approached Cavendish. "I am ready."
Cavendish frowned. "You are to wear light mail," he said.
David said, "It hampers me, sir. I'd prefer not."
"The first ten men over the side wear mail," Cavendish said. "So you can hold that deck awhile."
"Aye, sir," said David, turning away; but he hurried, for there was not much time left. The Santa Anna was almost close enough for hailing.
Havers handed the glass back to Cavendish, who lifted it for the last time. The red stern galleries were nearer. Was that a woman's figure he saw on the topmost balcony? He looked hard; then he
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lowered the glass. Once more his eyes went over the ship. Rapidly they were bearing down on the Santa Anna as she fled before them. It was time to hail her. It was nearly nine o'clock and the two hours had passed. He lifted the trumpet to his lips and his voice echoed out over the ever narrowing stretch of water.
"Oh ship of Spain! Whence come you?"
There was no answering hail. The Santa Anna rolled heavily, and Cavendish put aside the trumpet. Deliberately, in his laconic tone, he spoke the words all the company were waiting for.
"Give her a shot piece, Master Moon."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Moon's crisp voice was loud. He prided himself on being ready. The ship was silent as Moon gave his orders. The crew waited. The matches were struck. The first shot rang out.
It fell short. Cavendish had expected it to. "We do her no harm," he said. He turned his head to see the Content. He judged the distance between him and the Santa Anna; he judged the Content's tack.
"Helm to starboard! Run a good berth ahead, Master Fuller!"
The Desire leaned in the wind. Five minutes passed. The Content was broad on the larboard quarter now.
"Master Moon! You may fire!"
"Mind your locks!" came Moon's voice instantly. There was a minute's pause. "Fire!"
The Desire's first broadside was fired. She shuddered. Flame belched from her sides; smoke rose. Cavendish squinted through the smoke to see. The heavy cannon balls had hit the Santa Anna's side and dropped; but the smaller shot had raked the deck and found its target.
"Her decks, Master Moon!" Cavendish shouted.
The guns mounted on the forecastle roared. Below, the gunners worked frantically. The Captain was bringing the ship into position for another broadside; the Desire was going to run past the Santa Anna on this tack. Moon waited breathlessly. The guns were aimed high, so they would sweep the Spanish deck.
"Fire!" Moon shouted.
Fire and smoke came from the guns of both ships. Cavendish waited for the shock which would tell him the Desire was hit. He tensed for it. A shot plowed through the sprit, cannon balls splashed into the water. The Desire had escaped a hit, almost miraculously; for a second he couldn't believe it. He stared at the
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smoke-clouded Santa Anna, and as he did, the Desire's crew let out a loud cheer. The Spaniard had been hurt.
Her mainmast had been hit. It had toppled over on itself, its sails flapping helplessly. She had sustained bad hits fore, and her bowsprit was gone. He wanted to compliment Moon but there wasn't time. He swung around and gave the order to fire to the gun crews in the sterncastles. The Desire was forward of the beam of the Santa Anna now; her stern guns thundered forth; in a few minutes she would be out of range. The first encounter had been more successful than he had dared to hope.
The Content was still on the quarter. Between her and the Desire was the Santa Anna. Cavendish held his breath; he heard the thunder of her guns coming almost on the heels of the Desire's firing. Through the sun the clouds of smoke rose; then he saw the Content lifting gracefully, her damage done, putting a safe distance between her and the huge Santa Anna. She had slipped in like a gull, her talons ready. Still on the quarter of the Desire, she came about, her sheeted cross jack holding her close to the wind. Both ships were safe.
The Content was obeying her orders almost like a live thing. She stood off, waiting. Cavendish raised his voice. "Trim all sails!"
The topmen obeyed. The great mainsail squared. Cavendish felt the wind from the west. He would run full before it; they would bear down on the Santa Anna before she realized the daring of the small attacker. A gust of wind filled the sprit; swiftly the Desire bore down on her quarry. Her fore guns spoke first; rapidly the water between the two ships narrowed. Moon fired all heavy ordnance; the Pacific swells lifted the Desire proudly. It was time to board.
The maneuver was so unexpected that the Santa Anna was caught. Her guns fired harmlessly into the water where the Desire had been.
"Make ready!" Cavendish shouted. He ran down to the boat deck.
There were only fifteen feet between the Spaniard and the Englishman.
"Lay her aboard!" Cavendish seized a heavy grappling iron; it swung from his hand and he felt it bite deep into the tough teak-wood of the Santa Anna's bulwarks. All along the side the grappling irons swung outward. Like a lovely leech the Desire was fastened to her prey.
The Santa Anna towered over her attacker. Men high in the
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Desire s nettings jumped the distance to her decks. Up the ropes, fifty men scrambled, with David leading them. He jumped down to the deck of the Santa Anna while the drums beat.
"St. George for England!" the man next to him cried.
David knew nothing except that in front of him was the enemy. Arrows whizzed past his head. He used a heavy broadsword which he swept in circling strokes. Under his feet the sanded deck was already bloodied. Musket fire rang out; from behind their close fights the Spanish surged forward at the small group of Englishmen, but David knew he was being protected. Men in the Desires shrouds were covering him with well-aimed arrows and gunshot. He and his men inched forward to meet the flashing swords of the enemy Spanish.
The man next to David fell. He was hurt, and David ordered him over the side. David himself engaged two Spaniards to protect the wounded man. But he couldn't watch him; once more he inched forward; he had killed two men, and he should kill more. That was part of the strategy. They couldn't blow the Santa Anna out of the water; she was too big. Besides that, she carried gold. What David and the boarding party must do was hold this deck for as long as they could and kill as many men as possible, for Tom wanted to cripple the Santa Anna slowly, methodically, and mercilessly. So she would wallow helplessly on the seas. He wanted to cripple her and her crew.