Blood began to appear everywhere; on the smooth planks, on the gay clothes of the officers, on the naked, glistening bodies of the gunners.
Several of the marines lay heavily over useless muskets in the nettings, their bodies jerking helplessly with the swaying of the ship. On the lower deck others remained where they had fallen, mostly on their faces, with the red stain spreading underneath them.
A gentle breeze rose and drove off The Royal Prince after nearly an hour of furious firing.
The English ship had suffered severely; her spars had gone; her sides were driven in, her foremast and fore-topmast had been shot away, and many of her guns were dismounted.
De Ruyter had lost only his mizzen-topmast and one of the lower yards, and of his crew comparatively few; but the dead could be seen piled high on the English ship.
Encouraged by the sight of the enemy, the Dutch turned on her another fierce cannonade that swept off her mizzen-mast and battered her hulls.
This time the English guns did not answer, and a low murmur of triumph went up from The Seven Provinces.
Her cannon impeded by her own falling spars, half the gunners down—dead and dying entangled in the rigging that lay along the deck, The Royal Prince was utterly unmanageable; her pilot could do nothing with her, she lay helpless, a tattered shape looming through the heavy smoke.
Her mainmast still stood, and there the red standard of England, riddled with shot, floated above the battle.