"Spare them all you can, in God's name: but if they try to run us down, rake them we must, and God forgive us."
The two galleys came on abreast of each other, some forty yards apart. To out-maneuver their oars as he had done the ship's sails, Amyas knew was impossible. To run from them was to be caught between them and the ship.
He made up his mind, as usual, to the desperate game.
"Lay her head up in the wind, helmsman, and we will wait for them."
They were now within musket-shot, and opened fire from their bow-guns; but, owing to the chopping sea, their aim was wild. Amyas, as usual, withheld his fire.
The men stood at quarters with compressed lips, not knowing what was to come next. Amyas, towering motionless on the quarter-deck, gave his orders calmly and decisively. The men saw that he trusted himself, and trusted him accordingly.
The Spaniards, seeing him wait for them, gave a shout of joy—was the Englishman mad? And the two galleys converged rapidly, intending to strike him full, one on each bow.
They were within forty yards—another minute, and the shock would come. The Englishman's helm went up, his yards creaked round, and gathering way, he plunged upon the larboard galley.
"A dozen gold nobles to him who brings down the steersman!" shouted Cary, who had his cue.
And a flight of arrows from the forecastle rattled upon the galley's quarter-deck.