The flames seemed to crouch and hesitate for a moment, then leapt fiercely on to the piled-up wreckage of rigging and cordage.
The City of Groningen steered off her dangerous foe, and the gallant little fire-ship hastened from the reach of the ruin she had caused.
There was no hope for The Royal James.
Cries of angry despair rose from the English as they saw themselves abandoned in flaming isolation, and they might be seen rushing to the boats and endeavouring, under the captain’s orders, to flood the powder magazine. The flames twisted over the quarter-deck, feeding greedily on the broken masts, the tattered canvas, and the oaken planks.
“Lord Sandwich’s flagship is burning!”
As the news spread the very battle seemed hushed to watch the death agony of the great vessel.
Van Brakel, lying wounded on his deck, gave orders for the firing to cease, and bade his crew save such of the English as they could. But their boats had been shot to splinters; they could do nothing.
Vice-Admiral Sweers sent a pinnace to the rescue, but it made slow progress through the clogged and swelling sea.
Meanwhile the fire was encroaching over every portion of The Royal James. The soldiers and sailors began to hurl themselves into the sea. It was but a choice of deaths; most were instantly drowned in the waves their flaming ship stained with a crimson reflection.
One after another the red-hot guns exploded with a blaze of white flame, and from every porthole issued dark, slow smoke from the wet powder.