As the ship dipped to her side the heavy spray splashed in on to the cabin floor.
De Ruyter shut it out.
“The dawn,” he said.
He shook hands with Cornelius. They looked into each other’s eyes, and without a word from either de Ruyter went up on the deck.
The sea was changing to a silver colour beneath the clear sky of a June dawn, the stars were faintly sparkling through a veil of fast rising mist, the colour of lilac flowers, that lay over the horizon.
Before the flagship lay the stretch of rippling waters and the indefinite, distant line of land; behind her, and to right and left, was the Fleet of the United Provinces, crowding all sail under a pressure of wind and blocking the sky with the straining canvas, the dark masts, and the flags bearing the lions of the Republic.
At many of the bulkheads the lamps still burnt with a pale and useless glare; but as the day strengthened these were extinguished silently like the last stars in the brightening heavens.
The Seven Provinces continued to lead. At four o’clock she sighted the enemy, lying at anchor off the coast of England.
By the maps it appeared that they were nearing Solebay, midway between Yarmouth and Harwich.