Great Sea Stories | Page 4

chain-shot, round and canister, swept
the proud Don from stem to stern, while through the white cloud of smoke the
musket-balls, and the still deadlier clothyard arrows, whistled and rushed upon their
venomous errand. Down went the steersman, and every soul who manned the poop.
Down went the mizzen topmast, in went the stern-windows and quarter-galleries; and as
the smoke cleared away, the golden flag of Spain, which the last moment flaunted above
their heads, hung trailing in the water. The ship, her tiller shot away, and her helmsman
killed, staggered helplessly a moment, and then fell up into the wind.
"Well done, men of Devon!" shouted Amyas, as cheers rent the welkin.
"She has struck," cried some, as the deafening hurrahs died away.
"Not a bit," said Amyas. "Hold on, helmsman, and leave her to patch her tackle while we
settle the galleys."
On they shot merrily, and long ere the armada could get herself to rights again, were two
good miles to windward, with the galleys sweeping down fast upon them.
And two venomous-looking craft they were, as they shot through the short chopping sea
upon some forty oars apiece, stretching their long sword-fish snouts over the water, as if
snuffing for their prey. Behind this long snout, a strong square forecastle was crammed
with soldiers, and the muzzles of cannon grinned out through port-holes, not only in the
sides of the forecastle, but forward in the line of the galley's course, thus enabling her to
keep up a continual fire on a ship right ahead.
The long low waist was packed full of the slaves, some five or six to each oar, and down
the center, between the two banks, the English could see the slave-drivers walking up and
down a long gangway, whip in hand. A raised quarter-deck at the stern held more soldiers,
the sunlight flashing merrily upon their armor and their gun-barrels; as they neared, the
English could hear plainly the cracks of the whips, and the yells as of wild beasts which
answered them; the roll and rattle of the oars, and the loud "Ha!" of the slaves which
accompanied every stroke, and the oaths and curses of the drivers; while a sickening
musky smell, as of a pack of kenneled hounds, came down the wind from off those dens
of misery. No wonder if many a young heart shuddered as it faced, for the first time, the
horrible reality of those floating hells, the cruelties whereof had rung so often in English
ears from the stories of their own countrymen, who had passed them, fought them, and
now and then passed years of misery on board of them. Who knew but what there might
be English among those sun-browned, half-naked masses of panting wretches?

"Must we fire upon the slaves?" asked more than one, as the thought crossed him.
Amyas sighed.
"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.
Hit or not hit, the steersman lost his nerve, and shrank from the coming shock. The
galley's helm went up to port, and her beak slid all but harmless along Amyas's bow; a
long dull grind, and then loud crack on crack, as the Rose sawed slowly through the bank
of oars from stem to stern, hurling the wretched slaves in heaps upon each other; and ere
her mate on the other side could swing round to strike