As we crept on towards the unsuspecting merchant ship, I noticed that she presented a battered appearance, as if she had felt the full fury of the storm which we had ridden out so safely, and that she had not come out of it without much damage.
The foremast had been broken off, and now a great spar lashed to the stump had taken its place. About the middle of the vessel the bulwark showed a breach some five feet in length, and a piece of rough sailcloth had been fastened carelessly over it, so that the ragged edges of the broken wood were plainly seen jutting out from under it.
Doubtless the sailors were worn out with the stress of the working of their ship through the tempest, and this also accounted for the slackness of the watch and the ghostly quietness on board.
Otherwise, she was a splendid ship, the like of which was seen at no other time in these seas, save only when the wine fleet came each year to Galway. She was built with high castles both at the stern and at the bows; and she was, perhaps, of two hundred tons’ burthen, according to the measure of the English.
Her name, cut out of solid wood and painted a deep blue, was the Capitana. She flew the flag of Philip of Spain, and along with it at the stern were to be seen the ensigns of some gentlemen adventurers, who were in her, and who probably commanded her fighting men, or who had accompanied the expedition merely for the sake of seeing another part of the world.
For the galleon’s defence against the rovers of of the sea, who were to be found in great numbers off the French and English coasts, she showed her teeth in the guise of the black muzzles of twelve cannon, all formidable ordnance, and, armed with this equipment, as compared with that of The Cross of Blood, looked as if she might devour us at her leisure and with the utmost ease.
But it was not my purpose that these guns should ever be pointed at us, and so high were they out of the water—far above us, in fact—that there was no such terrible danger to be apprehended on this score. Besides, we were now too near her, and she was, in any case, unprepared.
When we had approached within four hundred yards of the Capitana, I gave orders that the sail of The Cross of Blood should be lowered to the deck quickly, and yet as quietly as might be, and that the rowers should get them to their oars, and speed us with all their might towards the Spanish ship.
So well was this effected that we were but, as it seemed, a stone’s throw from her, and the beak of the galley, as she rose to the swell, pointed straight for the breach made by the storm in the waist of the galleon, when the watch on board of her had their suspicions all too tardily aroused. If they had heard the noise made by the running of the tackle when the sail was got down, they had not grasped its meaning; but they could hardly fail to guess readily enough what our appearance indicated as we dashed towards them, our deck showing an array of arquebusiers and spearmen, standing to their weapons.
The men of the Capitana began to rush to and fro, and suddenly the clear notes of a trumpet blared forth from her poop—the all-too-late summons to arms. Her helmsmen, now alert to the danger which menaced them, endeavoured to swing her round on her heel into the wind, so as to keep us off.