Sir Richard Grenville regarded him with a stern determined glance.
"What!" he cried. And then he laughed, and in a softer voice added: "No, no. I never yet turned tail on devil or Don, nor will I do so now. Rather would I die this day than dishonour myself, my country, or Her Majesty's ship!" He strode slowly across the deck and as slowly returned. Then he looked out over the rail at the approaching galleons. They now appeared in two well-ordered squadrons on his weather-bow, sailing down upon him between the two neighbour islands of Flores and Corvo. "Truly they are a brave sight," he went on, "as gallant a sight as mine eyes have rested upon these three years agone. But, mark you, Master Robinson, I mean not to fly from them, not I. 'Tis one against fifty-three, but, by thunder, I mean to adventure it! In despite of their so great strength I intend to pass in betwixt those two squadrons and force them to give me way!"
"Nay, 'tis impossible; 'twere rank madness to make the attempt," cried the master. "Sure 'tis no dishonour to fly before such overwhelming numbers. Cast about, sir, while yet there is time. Believe me, 'tis the better course."
But Sir Richard Grenville would not be persuaded, and the word was passed aft to the steersman to take the ship in between the two lines of galleons.
It was at this moment that Gilbert Oglander showed himself before his chief. He was about to ask some question, but Sir Richard cut him short.
"Bring me my casque, boy, and my breastplates and tassets, also my best sword!" Then to the master he added: "Let beat the men to their fighting quarters. Run out the guns, and let every one be manned by a brave son of Devon that will stick to his post while there be powder to shoot and ships to be shot."
None on board had expected this order. All were appalled by Sir Richard's boldness. But when once the word had gone forth that there was fighting to be done, there was not a man or a boy whose bodily health permitted him who did not fly to his particular post with joy at the thought of having it out with the hated Spaniards.
Already the Revenge was drifting onward to meet her foes. With her hundred eager fighting-men on her decks, and her ninety sick lying unserviceable on the ballast, she slowly made her way into the narrow channel between the oncoming galleons. The first four of them, either awed by her boldness or else not quite prepared, permitted her to pass, but immediately "sprang their luff" and fell under her lee, where they contented themselves with firing a few shots into one of the English victualling ships, the George Noble, of London, that with greater spirit than might have been expected of so small a craft, had detached herself from Her Majesty's ships and fallen behind to offer aid to the hard-pressed Revenge. Her captain, scorning the few shots that had rattled through his shrouds, now brought her under the Revenge's counter and called out to Sir Richard Grenville, asking him for commands.
"Nay, seek no commands of me," cried Grenville in reply. "But save yourself, in God's name, while there be time. As for me, why, prithee, leave me to my fortune. I can look after myself if any man can."
At this moment occurred the catastrophe which Captain Robinson and the sailing-master had clearly foreseen. The great galleon, San Philip, being to the windward of the Revenge, and coming speedily towards her, becalmed her sails, which flapped loose, flattened against her masts, hung down, and ceased to draw. The Revenge lost the way that was upon her, and she could neither move onward nor obey her helm. The San Philip was a huge and high-charged ship of fifteen hundred tons—three times the burden of the Revenge,—carrying three tiers of ordnance on a side, and eleven pieces in every tier. She had eight great guns peeping out of her chase-ports, and from these she belched forth a volley of cross-bar shot that crashed into Grenville's gallant little ship, making her tremble in every plank, yet doing but slight mischief. And at the same time the three galleons that were to his leeward luffed up, and fired their forward guns into his rigging. These ships were all high in the hull, and their guns were so trained that the shots passed over the Revenge's upper bulwarks, only severing a few ropes or clipping some splinters of timber from off her masts and yards. One of the nearest galleons was the admiral, or flag-ship, of the Biscayan squadron, a very mighty and powerful vessel, commanded by the great Spanish warrior Britandona.