Her side bristled with crossbowmen, who shot
straight down on to the packed waist of the Lion, so that the dead
lay there in heaps. But the most dangerous of all was a swarthy
black-bearded giant in the tops, who crouched so that none could
see him, but rising every now and then with a huge lump of iron
between his hands, hurled it down with such force that nothing
would stop it. Again and again these ponderous bolts crashed
through the deck and hurtled down into the bottom of the ship,
starting the planks and shattering all that came in their way.
The Prince, clad in that dark armor which gave him his name, was
directing the attack from the poop when the shipman rushed wildly
up to him with fear on his face.
"Sire!" he cried. "The ship may not stand against these blows. A
few more will sink her! Already the water floods inboard."
The Prince looked up, and as he did so the shaggy beard showed
once more and two brawny arms swept downward. A great slug,
whizzing down, beat a gaping hole in the deck, and fell rending
and riving into the hold below. The master-mariner tore his
grizzled hair.
"Another leak!" he cried. "I pray to Saint Leonard to bear us up
this day! Twenty of my shipmen are bailing with buckets, but the
water rises on them fast. The vessel may not float another hour."
The Prince had snatched a crossbow from one of his attendants and
leveled it at the Spaniard's tops.
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