The King was glaring round him like a wounded boar.
"Grapple my ship with that," he cried, pointing to the crippled
Spaniard, "for I would have possession of her!"
But already the breeze had carried them past it, and a dozen
Spanish ships were bearing down full upon them.
"We cannot win back to her, lest we show our flank to these
others," said the shipman.
"Let her go her way!" cried the knights. "You shall have better
than her."
"By Saint George! you speak the truth," said the King, "for she is
ours when we have time to take her. These also seem very worthy
ships which are drawing up to us, and I pray you, master-shipman,
that you will have a tilt with the nearest."
A great carack was within a bowshot of them and crossing their
bows. Bunce looked up at his mast, and he saw that already it was
shaken and drooping. Another blow and it would be over the side
and his ship a helpless log upon the water. He jammed his helm
round therefore, and ran his ship alongside the Spaniard, throwing
out his hooks and iron chains as he did so.
They, no less eager, grappled the Philippa both fore and aft, and
the two vessels, linked tightly together, surged slowly over the
long blue rollers. Over their bulwarks hung a cloud of men locked
together in a desperate struggle, sometimes surging forward on to
the deck of the Spaniard, sometimes recoiling back on to the
King's ship, reeling this way and that, with the swords flickering
like silver flames above them, while the long-drawn cry of rage
and agony swelled up like a wolf's howl to the calm blue heaven
above them.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322