Armada

He looked to his galleys. They had already slipped their anchors and the finely balanced vessels were quickly coming up to their attack speed. He called to the captain to steer an intercept course to the Asuncion, eager to take command of the flotilla, knowing that every passing minute was one lost to the enemy, and he swiftly made the aft deck of his galley.

‘Signal the squadron to form rank and present their bows to the enemy. We must try to hold the line here at the harbour mouth.’

The crew of the Asuncion responded with alacrity while all around the other galleys separated to gain sea room, turning to bring their two fore mounted, preloaded, medio cañónes to bear.

De Acuña watched his squadron manoeuvre with pride, their movements precise and controlled although they were facing an enemy many times their superior in both number and firepower. The archaic strength of a galley to ram and board could only be used against becalmed galleons, not those with the wind to command. His squadron were following his orders without question, but de Acuña realized that before his ships had fired even a single shot, they were doomed to fight a losing battle.

Evardo heard the cannon’s report a mile away. Its sound was muted by distance and he looked to the mouth of the harbour. A fleet of sailing ships was on the cusp of entering. The welcoming salvo marked them as de Recalde’s squadron but Evardo noticed with curiosity that they were sailing under a full press of canvas, a seemingly unwise approach at speed into the confines of the harbour mouth.

‘Why such haste?’ Abrahan asked, echoing Evardo’s thoughts.

‘Perhaps he is carrying orders of some import,’ he suggested, seeing in Abrahan’s expression the same doubt he felt himself. He looked back to the harbour mouth, his gaze sweeping its breadth.

‘De Acuña’s galleys,’ he breathed, noticing their changing aspect, ‘they’re sallying out to intercept the fleet.’

Evardo hesitated for a moment longer.

‘Clear for action,’ he roared, walking swiftly to the centre of the quarterdeck. ‘Raise the anchor. Hoist top gallants and mizzen.’

The crew of the Halcón sprung into action. The men spilled out from below decks to take to the shrouds while below the capstan of the anchor rope began to turn under the strident commands of a deck officer.

Evardo looked to Abrahan and the older man nodded in tacit agreement of the call to arms. Suddenly the air was rent with the distant sound of cannon fire, its intensity ending all doubt. Many of the crew of the Halcón froze and looked to the harbour mouth.

‘As you were!’ Evardo roared, the crew reacting to the whip crack of his command. He looked aloft. ‘Masthead, report!’

‘At least a dozen warships, galleons,’ the lookout called, ‘with smaller sail to the rear.’

‘What flag?’ Evardo shouted.

‘I see none, Comandante.’

‘And de Acuña’s galleys?’

‘They are fanning out in front of the attackers to close the harbour mouth.’

Evardo looked to the distant fight. ‘Que coraje,’ he whispered, his chest filling with pride for de Acuña’s forlorn daring.

The Halcón pressed forward slightly as the first sails took the light wind, the galleon coming up short against the anchor rope until the flukes gave way. The crew hauled in the remaining line.

‘Shall I call for topsails and courses, Comandante?’ the ship’s captain asked as Evardo looked to the waters surrounding the Halcón. The supply ships on all sides were already slipping their anchor cables in panic, raising their sails oblivious to the proximity of the other boats around them.

‘Hoist no more sail until we clear these other boats,’ Evardo replied, cursing his lack of foresight in not placing the Halcón in more open water.

The galleon came up to steerage speed and Evardo watched the sea ahead as the captain called out his orders to the helmsman, the two men working together to try to thread the Halcón through the heaving labyrinth of ship infested waters. A sudden crash caused Evardo to spin around and he stared in anger at a collision between two merchantmen. The crews were calling across at each other in futile rage, while underneath, Evardo could feel the panic beginning to envelop the hapless supply fleet. He looked ahead once more at the ships cutting loose across the path of the Halcón, realizing with dread that they were all but trapped.

‘Bring the larboard broadside to bear, Mister Varian.’

‘Hard to larboard,’ Robert shouted to the captain’s command and the Retribution turned tightly to starboard, presenting its port broadside to the Spanish galleys. On the gun deck beneath the main, Larkin, the master-gunner, waited patiently for the galleon to settle on its new course. He called out for the gun crews to stand ready. They stood with their linstocks poised. A bead of smoke trailed from each slow match.