Armada. John Stack

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the chaos of the panicking slaves and they tore the flesh of their ankles as they fought against the shackles holding them fast. De Acuña closed his mind to the noise and fixed his attention on the formation of enemy galleons, watching as the next ship sailed into position to deliver a broadside. Around him the crew worked frantically to reload the medio cañónes, their single preloaded 20 pound shot long since expended.

      After the opening salvo the leading English galleons had formed into a ragged line and had in turn presented their guns to his squadron of galleys with devastating results. The next galleon swinging into position would be the sixth to make its attack run and de Acuña looked to the galleys on his flanks, his nerve faltering at the sight. The scuppers of each ship ran red, as if the galleys themselves were bleeding from the terrible wounds the enemy cannon balls had inflicted. More than one had been dismasted while the closest galley to the Asuncion was listing badly, its crew working desperately to pump out the ceaseless tide of seawater.

      De Acuña had known from the start the odds were impossibly stacked against him but he had nevertheless stood firm where others might have fled. Now that resolve was failing. The relentless cannonades of the enemy ships had pierced his courage, forcing him to accept his position was beyond hopeless and bordering on madness. He called the galley captain to his side.

      ‘Take the rowers in hand and signal the other galleys. We sail for El Puerto de Santa Maria.’

      The captain nodded and was away. De Acuña turned back to the enemy formation, his gaze falling on the galleon reaching the zenith of its attack run. Its cannons were run out and the baleful black eyes of the muzzles tracked the galleys of his command before disappearing behind an explosion of gun smoke. The boom of cannon was followed by the dreadful whine of round shot tearing through the air. De Acuña’s squadron reeled once more under the hammer blow, unable to respond in kind, and as they turned towards the shelter of El Puerto de Santa Maria, de Acuña could only hope his stand had given the supply fleet time to disperse into the shallows of the upper harbour.

      ‘Hard to starboard! Make way!’ Evardo roared with impotent fury, but it was too late and he was thrown to the deck as the Halcón collided with the trading carrack that had cut under the bow of the galleon. The momentum of the larger warship bore her on, locking the two vessels together in a tighter embrace. The bowsprit of the Halcón snapped off in the rigging of the carrack and the galleon pitched violently as its hull ground along the starboard bow of the smaller ship before coming to rest in a tangle of shattered spars.

      ‘God curse them,’ Evardo raved as he stumbled to the gunwale to look out over the carnage.

      The Halcón had been close to escape when the gunfire from the outer harbour had suddenly ceased. All eyes had turned to see the galleys of de Acuña disperse and the enemy ships advance towards the upper harbour. Many ships of the supply fleet had already fled into the confines of Puerto Real at the head of the upper harbour or were beating up the shallows to take shelter under the guns of the fort of Cadiz. The centre however was still in chaos, and when the enemy ships finally unfurled their banners to reveal themselves as English, the last threads of restraint had unravelled.

      From that moment the remaining supply ships reversed their efforts to flee and instead sailed closer to the Halcón, seeking protection under her guns, believing perhaps that the English would not attack the formidable warship.

      ‘Take in the sails and make ready to come about,’ Evardo shouted. His eyes darted to each point of his galleon and beyond to the approaching English ships. ‘Capitán, send men forward with axes and cut us free.’

      ‘We cannot flee,’ a calm voice said. ‘You must make ready to defend the ship from boarders.’

      Evardo spun around to Abrahan. His angry retort died on his lips as he absorbed the older man’s words.

      ‘We have only seventy-five men on board,’ he said, speaking aloud his concern and his reason for attempting to flee, ignoring the temptation to lament the absence of his soldiers.

      ‘Then you must find a way to tip the odds more in your favour,’ Abrahan replied, his relaxed tone giving Evardo strength and reason for patience. He looked to the men attacking the entangled rigging of the Halcón and realized that even if he succeeded in getting underway, the loss of the bowsprit and the sheer numbers of English galleons would make his capture inevitable. He needed time. De Recalde’s squadron was overdue and might only be hours away. Or perhaps word was already sweeping inland of the attack and reinforcements could soon be on hand. Either way Abrahan was right; his only option was to make a stand.

      He quickly assessed his own position, reversing his role so as to view the fight from the English side. Their galleons would not be able to approach the Halcón through such crowded waters, not without risking collision. They were also unlikely to fire upon the Halcón, viewing her as a prize, and Evardo’s face twisted in contempt as he contemplated such a fate for his ship. He concluded the enemy would therefore advance with boarding parties in smaller boats. The guns of the Halcón were preloaded, ready to deliver a single powerful broadside against an enemy galleon, but these guns, ranged over allied ships, would have unpredictable success against small nimble enemy boats. The only guns of value would be the falconete swivel guns but there were too few of these.

      The English would board, Evardo now accepted that as inevitable, but with Abrahan’s help, he could manipulate where that attack would take place. He smiled coldly, now seeing the battle to come from his own side, knowing what he must do to secure his ship. The English would attack, but instead of repelling them he would draw them in. He would allow them a foothold on his deck, let them board in numbers, and then unleash on them a blaze of hellfire to drive them back into the sea. The Halcón would not fall without a fight.

      Robert leaned into the turn as the Retribution came full about, beginning anew a figure-of-eight as it held station at the periphery of the melee. The galleon was flanked by the other larger ships of the English fleet, creating a partial blockade of the upper harbour while the smaller vessels, their crews complemented by additional men from the galleons, wreaked havoc amongst the tightly packed remnants of the Spanish supply fleet. There were over forty ships of every hue, from Spain and all her major allies and dominions, an unprecedented bounty on which the English crews continued to feed. Their appetite was insatiable even after hours of plunder, yet there were ships closer to the centre of the formation that were still untouched.

      The evening was foreshortened by a false horizon of clouds to the west behind which the sun had already fallen and the sky was rapidly darkening. Robert took his gaze from the pillage to look to the harbour mouth. The fort of Cadiz was firing its cannon sporadically. It was a futile gesture of defiance, a hollow warning against attacking the meagre flotilla of supply ships that had sought refuge there. Across the mouth, the Spanish galleys that had been driven off earlier had re-emerged from the refuge of shallow water but seemed unwilling to advance once more into the fray.

      Robert turned his attention to the chaotic scene of the supply fleet once more. He smiled. The prize from such an attack would be substantial and as the master of a galleon his share could well be in excess of a year’s pay on board his own ship, the Spirit. Drake’s unorthodox change in the established plan had been inspirational, for without supplies the Spanish war fleet in Lisbon were hamstrung and Robert whispered a prayer of thanks. England would surely be spared the threat of invasion for another season.

      ‘The wages of sin is death sayeth the Lord,’ Robert heard and he turned to see Seeley approach, his face twisted in a malicious grin. ‘Today, with His guiding hand, we have shown the papists that they are not safe from our wrath anywhere, on the Main, in the Atlantic and now in their own home waters.’

      Robert nodded, sharing СКАЧАТЬ