It was a breathless dawn, the sky like pale stretched silk, its limits hardly separate from the sky. The sun came up like a red button which, being constantly polished, at last glittered so brightly one could no longer look. In the night the land had receded. The sails of every ship hung like damp washing.
Although we had drawn together yesterday the scattering this night had been more complete, and the only vessel within hail was Maybird. Swiftsure was a mile or more away on our larboard beam, with two transports near by, the frigates and the rest of the fleet being strung out behind. I did not always wake so early, but without helm way the ship had swung so that~the rising sun came full on my face, and I got up at once and put a cloak over my bandages and went out on deck to get some cool air while it lasted.
There was a great peace such as sometimes comes at dawn, and the few sailors on deck did not disturb it. I stood there feeling completely at rest. My soul was calmed by the silence and the space, it yearned for the unreachable but without ambition or regret, in part disembodied yet seeming to find a new joy in the senses. I had been in battle and wounded, my wounds were mending, I was young and I was going home. The chief officer, a man called Lumsden, was on watch with a Flemish seaman at the helm. I went over to them. Three seagulls stood on our main yard but even they gave no cry.
I said to Lumsden: “Do you think we shall double Cape St Vincent today?”
He yawned. “Not a chance while this weather lasts, sun I doubt if we’ve made 10 miles in the dark hours.”
The man aloft in the cross-trees shouted something: it was a long singsong call in Flemish.
“What did he say?” Lumsden asked the helmsman.
“He says three ships to landward. He think they be Spanish.”
“Well, a lot of harm they’ll do us or we them while this calm lasts,” Lumsden said. “You couldn’t sail a skiff.”
I peered towards the land but could see nothing. The silk stretched taut and unbroken. One of the seagulls dropped off the yard and planed in delicate semicircles towards some refuse floating near, but without alighting saw that it was nothing edible and rose again with a lazy motion to resume his position on the ship.
“Was you on this trek to Suazo Bridge? ” Lumsden asked me.
“No.”
“Oh … Reckoned perhaps that was where you was wounded. They say we lost nigh on 200 men on the homeward way, most of ‘em drunk and fallen on so soon as they was separate from the rest. A nasty piece of “
The blackbearded Captain Smith was suddenly beside us. “What sort of Spanish ships?” he demanded of the helmsman. “Ask him that, and whither away.”
The sailor called a guttural question up to the sailor at the fighting top. There was a pause then, for the man on look-out seemed uncertain. Then he shouted.
“Five or six of them,” said the helmsman. “East by nor’-east; four miles or a thought more. In line astern.”
Smith shaded his eyes into the rising sun. “I fancy there’s something to be seen … Here, Gruyt, tell your man we want the type of ship as soon as ever Nay, I’ll go up myself.”
He jumped quickly onto the bulwark and swung himself into the shrouds. But before he could go far the look-out shouted again. It was one word and we all understood it well.
“Galleys …”
They came up rapidly. First they were like part of the land, then like islands, then in no time their insect shapes were clear.
I wondered how many English prisoners sweated at the glinting oars.
All the English ships had seen them now. Swiffsure fired her bow chasers; whether to try to ward off the enemy or as a signal to her flock to group around her we never knew. In any event we were helpless to group at all. Like trees planted on the blue silk we had no power either to challenge or to flee.
Smith sent a halfdozen of his crew leaping with orders to rouse the rest of the ship. Major George came up, the unbandaged side of his face bristling with the night’s beard.
“So Portocarrero escaped to some purpose. Where’s he making for d’you think?”
“Us,” said Captain Smith.
It looked as if he was right. We and Maybird were far ahead of the rest and were the obvious prey. Swiftsure continued to fire intermittently, being the only ship in the convoy with guns of sufficient range to make it worth a try, but the galleys held on. Soon the first of them was within two miles of us.
Peter of Anchusen had for armament two 5 lb. sakers with a range of 1500 paces, and three small breech-load ‘man killers’ of very short range. Maybird, though so much smaller, carried about the same. Both ships were now in great commotion, sailors and such of the wounded as could defend themselves milling about, priming muskets, handing out cutlasses. As soon as I was sure the leading galley was heading straight for us I went below. Lieutenant Fraser, still in much pain from his leg, was lying flat on his bunk and taking little heed of the alarm; Victor was sitting in a chair loading an old pistol someone had given him.
“Well, so it’s an ill wind that blows from no direction, Maugan. Move me closer to the porthole, will you.”
I pushed his chair forward. “Victor, I suggest you confine yourself to this place until we have beaten them off. I shall be just above you and no one will come down.”
“You were ever one for a bold front, dear Maugan. Confess we have as much chance as a duck among foxes. Then pray for wind.”
“I will.” I finished struggling painfully into my breastplate and patted his shoulder. “Good luck and shoot straight.”
I climbed up the companion ladder to the capstan deck. Of a sudden I felt terribly tired of fighting and killing, and fearful of injury and death. Weakness creeps on us unawares.
It had come now out of the happiness and content of half an hour ago. I prayed for some miracle to intervene: this sudden unfair attack when we were home-bound, and an attack on wounded men, had come at the wrong moment for courage and endurance.
The leading galley was now no more than-a mile off. I turned and saw that Maybird’s captain in a forlorn effort to escape had put down his two ship’s boats and they were manned with sailors breaking their backs to tow the little warship towards the safety of Swiftsure’s guns.
Lumsden came past me carrying a keg of powder, and following him was Major George. George’s cask was broken and spilling powder. I caught his arm.
“Take care! “
The side of his mouth clear of bandages creased in an angry grin. “A little surprise for ‘em, lad. We want to welcome ‘em aboard, lad “
“But the wounded below decks.”
“Would you have ‘em captives of Spain?”
Both our sakers spoke, and then two from Maybird. The shot fell short. The leading galley had slowed to allow two of her sisters to catch up; then together in line they came forward again, not firing, but not presenting any good target with their sweeping oars and narrow bows. Swiftsure fired again, but was far out of range. Slowly Maybird began to draw away from us, as the ship’s boats got her under way. As they neared us the two outside galleys turned in a slow arc to come on us from either side. This gave our armament plenty to do. In the distance I noticed one of the English frigates had adopted Maybird’s tactics and was trying to row towards us. I looked at the sun. It was beating down out of a sky leaden and silent with heat. Wind. Where is the wind? Wind only will save us. God send us wind.
As they came up the bow chasers of the galleys opened fire and two or three balls came aboard doing light damage. On our ship I suppose there were now seventy men waiting, crouching behind the bulwarks, lying prone on the quarter deck, up in the fighting tops, waiting.
At almost point blank range our sakers began to score; one ball ploughed through a group of Spaniards; then the first galley swung against us, drawing in her oars and jarring along our side. Grappling irons were thrown and at once hacked away, thrown again; the second galley shivered against our helm; the whole ship reeled and soon the enemy was swarming over the side.