the minister, and the other officers, did their utmost to keep up his spirits; some, like Raymond and Master Walker, by entering into his feelings; others, like Captain Wood, by bantering and quizzing.
“A sail! a sail!” was shouted from the mast-head, whence a bright lookout was constantly kept. Chase was made – the stranger was overtaken. She proved to be a Portugal, a straggler from a large squadron supposed to be far ahead.
Not a moment was to be lost. Every article of value was taken from her except the fittings of her chief cabin, some guns for signals, and provisions sufficient to last her till she could reach the Malabar coast. The admiral then ordered the prisoners to be placed in her. Waymouth had the duty of conveying them.
Donna Isabel spoke but little, keeping her head muffled in her hood. The English lieutenant tried to talk, but never had he felt so tongue-tied. This was not surprising. He could say nothing definite about the future, and he had little to say about the past. He carefully helped her up the side, and placed her on a seat on the deck of the Tiger. Don Joao was profuse in his expressions of gratitude for the treatment he and his daughter had received, and over and over again declared that it would afford him intense satisfaction to pay his ransom whenever demanded. Waymouth, like a true sailor, had hurried below to see what arrangements could be made for the comfort and convenience of Donna Isabel, and, having pointed out to the officers of the ship what was to be done, had returned on deck resolved to pour out all his feelings into her ear, when a gun from the admiral, repeated by the Lion, warned him that he must not delay another moment. All he could do was to bow low as he passed the lady and her father, utter a low farewell, and, leaping into his boat, pull back to the Lion as fast as his men could bend to their oars. The squadron instantly made all sail in chase of the enemy supposed to be ahead. For some time Waymouth had too much to do to look towards the ship on board which he had left the Portugal governor and his daughter, and when he did look she appeared but a speck on the horizon. He stood gazing, lost in a reverie. He was aroused by a slap on the shoulder.
“Look ahead! that’s the way we seamen set our faces,” said a voice near him, “quoting your own words, coz. We have changed places, methinks.”
Waymouth, looking round, saw Raymond and several other officers standing behind him. He heaved a sigh, and then joined in the laugh in which the rest were indulging. He had been too long at sea not to know the folly of growing angry under such circumstances. Besides, as he confessed to Raymond, he could not help feeling relieved at having no longer so important a charge. A brighter lookout than ever was kept on board the squadron, that they might not pass the enemy. Just before noon on the third day some strange sail were descried ahead. They increased in numbers: they were tall ships. There could be no doubt that they were those of the Portugal fleet they were in chase of, but far more numerous than they had been led to expect. Still undaunted, the brave admiral and his officers resolved to attack them. The Portugals saw the English approaching, and no longer, like caitiffs, flying before the foe, hauled their wind, and, forming a semicircle, prepared to receive them. In spite of the mighty superiority of the Portugals, the English sailed on in compact order, the men at their guns, their matches in their hands ready to open fire, every one in the fleet prepared for death or victory.
Chapter Three
The Portugal fleet, which the little English squadron was now rapidly approaching, looked formidable indeed, numbering as it did four times as many tall ships as the latter, but not a heart among the stout men who formed the crew of the Red Dragon, the Serpent, or the Lion, the Sunshine or Moonshine, quailed with the thoughts of combating against odds so great.
Good Master Walker, the minister of the Lion, went round among the crew as they stood at their quarters, reminding them that they were about to fight for their sovereign, their country, their honour, and their religion.
“And, dear lads,” he added, “now is not the time to preach to you; but I have taught you all faithfully the truth, and would beseech all who have listened to remember and adhere by it.”
The admiral had formed his line of battle, and, passing by each ship on his way to form the van, hailed through his speaking-trumpet, encouraging the crews to fight bravely for St. George and merry England, and promising them, if they gained the victory, the rich freights of all the ships they could capture. It was a bold feat of the gallant admiral thus to sail into the very midst of his foes, who he knew must surround him.
The Portugals were formed, as has been said, in a semicircle, with the concave side of their line turned toward the English, so that they might quickly overlap them – in a land fight an important point to gain, but at sea of slight advantage. The English were formed as a wedge; the Red Dragon led, the Serpent following, then came the two pinnaces, the Lion and Lion’s Whelp bringing up the rear.
As the hostile fleets drew near, drums began to beat and trumpets to bray forth their discordant sounds, when, with a loud crashing roar, the artillery on both sides opened. The great guns sent forth their round shots, and the culverins, sakers, falconets, and murtherers their death-dealing showers of iron and lead, causing havoc and destruction wherever they fell. Ill pleased were the Portugals with this proceeding. Numbers were falling on board every ship. In vain they called on their saints to improve their aim and strengthen their powder – the shot seemed to have no effect on the heretical Englishmen – the saints paid them no attention. They had found a Tartar, and surrounded him, but were as disagreeably placed as if they had been dancing round an exploding magazine. Bravely plied the gallant English their guns. As long as any one of them had legs to stand on or arms to work with he refused to desert his quarters. If one stopped for a moment from working his gun, it was to help a messmate bind a handkerchief round a wounded limb, or to tie one round his own leg or side. Officers and men vied with each other as to who should perform deeds most worthy of fame. The Portugals, on the contrary, though their trumpets brayed forth far louder than those of their foes, forgetful of their ancient renown, hastened below the instant they were wounded, however slight their hurts, crying out for the medico to come and help them; and some, when the English shots rattled on board, were seen to run away from their guns, even though unwounded. Still, numbers in so close a fight gave a great advantage to the Portugals.
The admiral’s ship, the Red Dragon, especially was hard pressed, the enemy seeming resolved to destroy her first, hoping thus to gain an easy victory over the rest. But the brave Lancaster was not a man to be daunted. As fresh foes pressed around him he kept shouting to his crew —
“The more the merrier, lads! the more the merrier! We’ve pills enough on board to dose them all till they’ll wish they’d come to some other doctor for their physic.”
Captain Wood, too, was scarcely less hard pressed. He had sent the Lion’s Whelp ahead to the support of the Sunshine and Moonshine, which seemed in danger of being altogether overwhelmed by the huge ships of the enemy which clustered around them, and thus the stout Lion had to encounter a whole host of foes by herself.
“Come one, come all!” shouted Captain Wood. “Brave lads, we are ready for them!”
“Ay, ay! one and all!” echoed Antony Waymouth. “Hurrah for merry England! Give it them, lads! A few more doses like that and they’ll cry peccavi and strike their flags.”
“Peccavimus you should have said,” remarked Raymond, whom Waymouth was passing as he hurried from gun to gun to assure himself that all were being fought to the best advantage.
“Ay, marry, not one, but fifty, will sing that song to-day, coz,” said Antony, laughing.
In truth, even in the heat of battle both officers and men indulged themselves in cutting jokes whenever an occasion occurred. Not, however, that the fight was any joking matter, for never in those seas had a more desperate one taken place. The brave men on board the Lion were falling thickly, some to rise no more, others to be carried below and placed in the hands of the surgeon,
