He had expected the Spaniard to strike at the first sight of the flag. There was about a cable between them, and with her top-gallant sails drawing well the Euryalus was beginning to pare the range away with each minute.
Something caught his eye, and he saw the quarter boat, black against the glittering water, while its crew, and presumably Williams, stood to cheer the one-sided battle.
The Spaniard’s quarter battery belched orange tongues again; this time three, perhaps four, had fired, and before the smoke had blown clear Bolitho felt the deck jump as a ball slammed into the Euryalus’s hull like a hammer.
“Bring her up a point again, Mr Partridge.” What was that fool of a Spaniard doing? It was sheer madness to risk any more fighting. If he continued to run before the wind Euryalus would overhaul him. If he stood away, she would rake his stern and dis-mast him in seconds.
More flashes, and this time a ball ploughed into the starboard gangway, and two seamen rolled screaming and kicking on the deck below, cut down by the flying splinters.
Bolitho said, “Lower batteries, Mr Keverne.” He held on, watching the defiant flag. Hoping. Then he snapped, “Broadside!”
The two lower gundecks had been given plenty of time. It had been almost a leisurely business as gun-captains had checked their crews, and the lieutenants had paced up and down, ducking beneath the massive deck beams to peer through the open ports, as with tired dignity the Euryalus turned slightly away from her enemy, showing the double line of guns like black teeth. The next instant, as lieutenants blew on their whistles and captains jerked their lanyards, every gun roared out as one, the whole ship quaking as if grinding across a submerged reef.
On the quarterdeck Bolitho watched the smoke billowing down towards the Spaniard, while above it he saw her mizzen tilt forward before plunging down over her poop, the crash audible even above the broadside’s echo, which still reverberated across the sea like thunder.
As the smoke drifted beyond the other ship he saw the gaping holes in her exposed bilge and along her quarter, the trail of rigging and broken spars alongside as she swung drunkenly down-wind, exposing her tall stern as if for the final, devastating blow.
But a voice yelled, “ ’E’s struck!” And the cheer was taken up below where the crews were already sponging out and reloading for the next broadside.
Bolitho said, “A brave captain.”.
“But stupid.” Broughton was peering towards the Spaniard as she continued to drift helplessly with her smoke, so pitiful after her original appearance of vitality and life.
“We will shorten sail at once, Mr Keverne, and keep her under our lee.” He waited until Keverne had passed his orders before adding, “Now we might discover what was important to him that needed defending so desperately.”
8
THE PRIZE
VICE-ADMIRAL Broughton snatched a telescope from the midshipman of the watch and strode briskly to Bolitho’s side.