"We surrender now and we'll rot in a Goa prison forever. Or be pulled apart on the strappado." Hawksworth glared back. "And I seem to recall the Quran says 'Do not falter when you've gained the upper hand.'"
"You do not have the upper hand, my Captain, and the Holy Quran speaks only of those who trust in Allah, the Merciful. . . ." His voice trailed off as he turned to stare at Hawksworth. "It is not common for a feringhi to know the Holy Quran. How is it you--?"
"I just spent two years in a Turkish prison, and I heard little else." Hawksworth turned and was testing the wind, weighing his options. The St. Sebastian was almost on them. Her cannon were already run out, and at any moment she would start coming about for a broadside. He could still hear the trucks of the cannon below decks, as the starboard battery was being run out, and he knew the portside crews were only now beginning to swab the last glowing shreds of metal from the cannon barrels.
Good God, there's no time to set the ordnance. They'll blow us to hell. He deliberated for a long moment, weighing his options. As he watched, the St. Sebastian began to shorten sail, preparing to come about and fire. Only minutes remained. Then he noticed that the wind on the burning Bon Ventura's superstructure was drifting her in the direction of the approaching St. Sebastian, and he hit on another gamble. They've shortened sail in order to come about, which means they're vulnerable. Now if I can make them try to take their bow across the wind, with their sails shortened . . .
"Mackintosh, take her hard about! Set the courses for a port tack."
Once again the Discovery heeled in the water, her stern deftly crossing the wind, and then she was back under full sail, still to windward of the burning galleon. The sudden tack had left the burning Bon Ventura directly between the English frigate and the approaching galleon. The Discovery pulled away, keeping the wind, forcing the galleon to tack also if she would engage them. Hawksworth watched, holding his breath as Portuguese seamen began to man the sheets, bringing the St. Sebastian's bow into the wind.
It was fatal. The approaching galleon had shortened too much sail in preparation to come about for the broadside, and now she lacked the momentum to cross the wind. Instead the sluggish, top-heavy warship hung in stays, her sails slack, her bulky bow fighting the wind, refusing to pay off onto the opposite tack. All the while the Bon Ventura was drifting inexorably toward her, flaming. I was right, Hawksworth thought. She didn't have the speed to bring her bow around. With his glass he watched the galleon's captain order her back to the original tack. But time had run out.
Blinding explosions suddenly illuminated the gunports of the burning Bon Ventura, as powder barrels on the gun decks ignited, first the upper and then the lower. In only moments the fire found the powder room aft of the orlop deck, and as the English seamen looked on spellbound the galleon seemed to erupt in a single cloud of fire, rocketing burning timbers and spars across the sea's surface. The mainmast, flaming like a giant taper, snapped and heaved slowly into the fo'c'sle. Then the superstructure on the stern folded and dropped through the main deck, throwing a plume of sparks high into the morning air.
Although the St. Sebastian had righted herself, she still had not regained speed, for now the sails had lost their luff and sagged to leeward. Why isn't she underway, Hawksworth asked himself, surely she'll circle and engage us? He looked again with the glass and the reason became clear. The Portuguese crewmen on the St. Sebastian had begun throwing themselves into the sea, terrified at the sight of the Bon Ventura's blazing hull drifting slowly across their bow. The wind had freshened again and was pushing the burning galleon rapidly now. The blaze had become an inferno, fueled by casks of coconut oil stored below decks on the galleon, and Hawksworth involuntarily shielded his eyes and face from the heat that, even at their distance, seared the Discovery. As he watched, the drifting Bon Ventura suddenly lurched crazily sideways, and then came the sound of a coarse, grinding impact, as her burning timbers sprayed across the decks of the St. Sebastian. In moments the second galleon was also an abandoned inferno, her crew long since afloat in the safety of the sea, clinging to debris and making for shore.
"Allah has been merciful twice to you in one morning, Captain. I had never before known the extent of His bounty. You are a man most fortunate." The pilot's words, spoken softly and with pronounced gravity, were almost drowned in the cheers that engulfed the decks and rigging of the Discovery.