"Well, I'll be bugg—" started the boatswain.
"Ah yes, um, hello, madam," William intervened.
"Your servant, Lady Isabella." Packenham thrust himself forward and made an elegant leg, flourishing his helmet.
William had one of those strokes of genius that occasionally inflict otherwise sane human beings. He suddenly had a plan to kill two inconvenient birds with one metaphorical stone.
"Master Packenham, I believe the lady should have a gentleman to escort her, what with all these rough sailors around." The rough sailors grinned at their captain, not at all put out by his description of them. "Possibly if you took her up to the fo'c'sle and entertained her?"
"Excellent idea, Hawkins." Packenham offered her his arm.
"Thank you, Master . . .?"
"Packenham, madam. Christopher Packenham at your service."
William let them get out of earshot and then got down to business.
"Boatswain, search the ship thoroughly. Get me a list of the cargo and bring any valuables onto the deck. And boatswain" William raised his voice so that all the sea dogs on board the urca could hear him. "Looting is theft, not just of our backers but also of our shipmates. I will hang any man who steals. Be sure of it."
"Aye, aye, sir. You heard the cap'n. I want three men in each group at all times. And if I catch any man stealing then the cap'n's rope will be the least of his problems."
One of the surrendered officers asked the urca's captain in Spanish, "Are they French Huguenots?"
The Spanish captain replied in the same language. "Not French, these are English heretics. Pirates from the bastard-queen in London."
William's sword was at his throat in a second.
"Not pirates, Captain, but privateers with a commission from Elizabeth. You would all be dead if we were pirates. I would advise you to speak respectfully of Her Majesty. Many of my men speak Spanish, and they would kill a papist who spoke ill of the Queen as soon as they would step on a beetle." William spoke in the same language.
"Matthews," William said to one of his sailors.
"Sir!"
"Take three men and hold the prisoners aft."
"Aye, aye, sir."
William walked down in the waist of the urca to examine the ship's guns. It might be worth craning them across to the Swallow. The Spanish mounted ship's guns on two-wheeled land carriages, an arrangement that took up a great deal of space. They tied the gun carriage to the hull, which meant that the gun could not be aimed or reloaded without unlashing the whole assembly.
Spanish practice was to have only one crewman on each gun. Soldiers occupied the space in a Spanish vessel that was taken up by gun crews on an English ship. The guns would fire only once as the ship closed, before the soldiers boarded an enemy vessel to capture it. Spanish gun carriages made sense when sea battles were fought the old way but fast, race-built English galleons, with their heavy culverins, had brought a new style of ranged fighting that made such tactics obsolete.
The Spanish cannon were old and badly made. The bore on the one nearest to William was off centre. William could not remember any of the Spanish heavy guns firing during the battle but scorch marks showed that the touchhole had been ignited.
"Sweet Jesus," he said, in horror. "The charge must still be in the barrel."
William gave up any intention to remove the weapons. They were scrap metal and hence, at this distance from England, near worthless.
The Spanish must have been carrying the guns loaded. The guns might have misfired because the different constituent powders in the charge had separated or maybe because the gunpowder was waterlogged. Saltpetre in gunpowder had a wondrous affinity for water.
"Captain," said the boatswain, behind him.
William turned and the boatswain touched his forehead.
"Most of the cargo are hides but we found these."
Grinning sailors hauled chests, some of which seemed agreeably heavy.
William broke open one. Bright pale yellow bars gleamed.
"Venezuelan gold," breathed the boatswain.
The Spanish province of Venezuela had some of the last productive gold mines left in the New World. William opened one of the lighter chests to find pearls.
"It's not a queen's ransom but I think our backers are going to turn a dainty profit," William said with satisfaction.
One of the boatswain's mates tapped his superior on the shoulder and whispered urgently to him.
"We have a problem," said the boatswain.
"And it was all going so well," said William.
"Our culverins holed her in at least two places below the waterline. The hull must be rotten with tropical worm because water is pouring in," said the boatswain.
Spanish urcas had hulls stressed to withstand expansion pressures from the inside as they carried cargo such as grain, which might swell when wet. Their hulls were not designed to withstand high-velocity objects punching in from the outside. This made them wondrously vulnerable to culverin fire.
"Can we plug it?" asked William.
"You can ask the carpenter but I doubt we can stop her sinking. We will never get this ship across the Atlantic. One storm." The boatswain shrugged.
William swore horribly. The urca was worth as much as the goods in her hold. "Get as many of the hides out as possible before they are ruined."
"Captain, we found this in a rear cabin," said a sailor, joining the group.
William took the object. It was a small mirror, about six inches by one foot. Twisted gold decorated the rim. The gold was worked into fabulous beats whose eyes were picked out in blue diamonds.
"Venezualan sea diamonds," said the bosun.
"I have heard of them but never thought I would see one. I half believed that they were a myth. There must be a dozen here. I wonder what this is worth?" asked William.
"Mayhap as much as all the pearls together, mayhap more," said the boatswain.
"That mirror is my private property, Captain," said Isabella.
William had not noticed that Packenham and the Spanish lady had circumnavigated the deck and were now behind him.
"I told Lady Isabella that she could keep her personal items," said the young aristocrat.
"Did you, Packenham?" asked William mildly. "Lady Isabella, you can retain your clothes and the jewels on your person. All else is forfeit."
"See here, Hawkins, I gave my word," said Packenham, heatedly.
"It was not yours to give, Packenham. I command here and I decide what is booty."
Packenham looked about to his toadies for support but they avoided his gaze. All the crew had shares. Packenham would get no support for giving away prize money.
"Assemble the prisoners," William ordered.
"Captain," William spoke in Spanish. "This ship is sinking and I do not believe it can be saved. I will have water and food put in your boat. You should easily make the next Spanish colony up the coast."
The Spaniard looked surprised. He had probably expected to be slaughtered out of hand. William knew Englishmen who would have done just that, either to remove witnesses or just to kill papists on general principles.
The man bowed. "Thank you, Captain. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
Not to be outdone in courtesy, William bowed back. "Captain William Hawkins of the Swallow."
"Hawkins? Are you any relation to the famous English corsair, John Hawkins?"
"John Hawkins is my cousin. Captain, satisfy my curiosity if you will. Why did you fight so hard? You must have realised that your chances of escape were slim."
The Spanish captain shrugged and refused to answer but his eyes looked over William's shoulder with something like fear in them. William turned. Behind Packenham and Isabella, the Swallow manoeuvred into position alongside to receive the bulk cargo. William could see nothing to fear. Never mind. It was not an important point.
"That just leaves you, lady," William said to Isabella. "You can go with your countrymen in the boat but it will be an uncomfortable trip with no privacy. Or you may travel with us back to England, on the Swallow."
"I believe I will be better off with you, Captain. Especially, with this noble gentleman to look after me." She smiled at Packenham, who positively preened.
William translated Isabella's choice for the Spanish crew. Their captain looked relieved. William thought that the aristocratic Spanish lady must have been a demanding passenger.
"Boatswain, please have the Lady Isabella's properties transferred to the Swallow. Put them " William's eyes glazed as he tried to work out how to accommodate a lady in the Swallow's already overcrowded accommodation. "Put the lady in Master Packenham's cabin. He will have to bunk down forrard with the petty officers. Place the chests of valuables in my cabin."
Packenham opened his mouth, presumably to protest, when Isabella intervened. "How kind of you, Master Packenham. How will I ever thank you?"
"Think nothing of it, dear lady," said Packenham, kissing her hand. "My heart flies to your service."
"I think I am going to heave," said the boatswain, sotto voce.
"Boatswain, put provision for the prisoners in their boat and let them go. Fire the ship when we leave," said William.
The Swallow pulled away under cruising sail towing the pinnace behind. William stood aft and forced himself to watch the death of a ship, a death that he had ordered. Black smoke ran up in a wavy line to the heavens. The Spanish longboat raised a sail and stood in back to the shore.
William turned away and turned his mind to getting the Swallow in condition for the long transoceanic voyage back to Europe. Such journeys had only been possible for the last hundred years or so and English mariners had bare decades of experience. Sea voyages like this were very far from routine.
"Captain, there is something wrong," said the master. "The Spanish longboat is sinking."
William looked back over the rail. "Something seems to be pulling it under. Get the ship about."
The boat rolled over as he watched and upended, going under by the stern.
"Never mind, Master. It's too late. There can be no survivors."
"What in Hades happened?" asked the master. "Did she hit a reef?"
"I don't know. It didn't seem so, mayhap it was one of those whirlpools such as Homer described." William didn't sound convinced.
The master nudged William and pointed to the fo'c'sle. Isabella stood looking back at the death of her countrymen without a flicker of emotion. William shivered. "Someone has just walked over my grave."
The voyage dragged on. The days slipped endlessly by as the Swallow surged ever eastwards, holding the same tack for days at a time.
At least once a week, William hosted supper in the captain's cabin for Packenham, the Lady Isabella, and Master Smethwick. Tonight, he had the gunner and boatswain as guests as well, both looking somewhat uneasy. The food was much the same as always, salted fish and meats, but the wine was good. In fact, it was the finest vintage the Spanish Empire could provide, courtesy of their merchant marine.
"I have never been to England. For some years, I have thought that it is time that I visited the north. Will we be sailing straight to England, Master Smethwick?" Isabella addressed the master.
"Alas no. lady, ships sail down lines of latitude so we will make landfall in the Old World and then sail north. We will need to reprovision the vessel as well."
"I have never understood why you mariners don't simply carry more food, Hawkins. Why don't you make the ships bigger?" asked Packenham, jabbing at William with his knife for emphasis.
"We would simply pack more crew into a bigger ship and so need even more food and water," said William.
Packenham opened his mouth but William carried on quickly to forestall the obvious question. "We need large crews to fight the ship. We also have large gun batteries that take up space and are heavy so need to be ballasted. Our tactics require repeated firing so we need space for shot and powder. Race-built English galleons are built for speed, so they are narrow relative to their length. There is never enough room in their tight hulls for adequate supplies."
"The Spanish seem to manage well enough," Packenham sniffed.
"They have small crews, low firepower, and nice wide hulls," said William.
"And when they fight us, they lose," added the boatswain.
"Aye, it's a comfortable life on a Spanish galleon. Until you meet an English one with culverins," said the gunner with a wolfish grin.
"So where will we take on supplies?" asked Isabella.
"The Canaries are out," said William ruefully. "The Spanish authorities won't deal with us. So I fancy we will make for the Portuguese Azores."
"Surely Philip has persuaded the Portuguese not to resupply English ships or the embargo at the Canaries is useless," said Isabella.
"Oh, I am sure he has persuaded the government in Lisbon but there are many little isolated islands in the Azores with impoverished governors." William winked.
For a sweet course, the cook had saved some grapefruit. They were leathery with age but he had marinated them in wine to make them palatable. After dinner, William's steward served sherry. William did not care much for the sweet drink but it was expected. He toyed with his mug appearing to drink while his guests had a refill.
"Oh, my dress," said Isabella, as sweet sherry cascaded over her.
"Sorry, ma'am, but you jogged my arm," said the steward.
"Hush your insolence fellow, before I have you flogged," Packenham added to the chorus.
"No harm done. Such events are commonplace on a ship at sea." Sometimes William felt like a ringmaster in a circus of especially truculent players.
There was a degree of commotion while the steward cleaned up, during which William managed to slip his sherry into the boatswain's mug. The boatswain did not care all that much for sherry either but it was alcoholic, so William doubted if the petty officer would mind.
William saw his guests out and then studied his charts by lantern light. He was trying to estimate the ship's longitude by dead reckoning but the method was hopelessly inaccurate. However, he decided that they would turn the ship north tomorrow, until they picked up the line of latitude that led to the Azores.
He blew the lantern out and climbed into his bunk. William always slept easily at sea. Ship life was physically demanding, but he never completely relaxed into that carefree state where golden sleep does reign. The working of the wooden ship against the ocean, the murmuring of the watch, and the sound of the wind in the rigging, all was an orchestra that played through his unconscious. Any change in this familiar retinue of players was as loud as a culverin discharge.
Something changed and he woke instantly. His mind rotated through the catalogue of sound. The slap of water against the groaning timbers showed that the Swallow was still on her easterly course and that the swell was much the same. But sea air moved over his face. His cabin door was open to the elements.
William lay perfectly still and opened his eyes. A dark silhouette moved across the starfield in the doorway. Dim light spilled out of a small lantern. The intruder moved over to the treasure chests and began to look through them. William was astonished. What on earth made some thief think they could just rifle through the captain's cabin in such a cavalier manner?
William slowly moved his arm, searching for a weapon. The bunk creaked and the intruder froze. William produced a snore and the thief turned back to his investigations. William couldn't find his dagger in the dark but his fingers curled around a pewter mug.
The captain hurled himself at the dark figure. The intruder reacted with lightning speed, so that William's blow hit his shoulder, rather than his head. The intruder smashed his elbow backwards into William's stomach, with incredible strength. William was smashed off his feet back into a bulkhead. He bent over, retching. The thief had gone by the time he could stand upright. William staggered out of his cabin but all was quiet on the deck so he went back to his bunk and slept fitfully.
The next day he searched the cabin. As far as he could see, nothing had been taken.
"Where's the boatswain?" William asked to a passing sailor.
The man grinned, "He still be abed, captain."
William made his way forward to the boatswain's bunk. The man lay stretched out snoring horribly.
"Wake up, man. What's wrong with you?" asked William.
The boatswain grunted and slept on.
"Brownlow, get me some water," William said to a seaman.
The grinning sailor fetched a bucket of seawater and William threw it over the petty officer, who finally stirred. William shook him. "Wake up, man. Sweet Jesu, how much more did you have to drink after you left me last night?"
"Nothing, Cap'n, absolutely nothing. I was tired and went straight to sleep."
William sniffed suspiciously. The man did not smell of drink. Besides he had seen the boatswain drink his way up one side of the Barbican in Plymouth, back down the other, and still stand his watch the next day.
"Are you ill, man? Do you have a chill?"
"No, Cap'n. I don't understand it."
"Come to my cabin, if you are finally awake." The captain left the deck.
"Aye, aye, sir," said the boatswain. He noticed the sailor grinning at him. "Brownlow, you lazy wretch. Be about your business or I'll find something for you to do."
"Aye aye, boatswain." The sailor vanished as the boatswain was not noted for idle threats and was quite capable of dreaming up some truly awful task.
The boatswain made his way aft to the captain's cabin and knocked at the door.
"Come in. Last night I had a thief in here. The bastard gave me one almighty crack in the ribs," said William
"The bold rogue. I will strip the back of the whoreson when I find him. What did he take?"
"As far as I can tell, nothing. He seemed to be looking for something specific, rather than just general looting. Are you sure you drank nothing last night after leaving my cabin?"
"On my life, Cap'n."
"I was afraid of that. I slipped my last drink into yours."
"I saw you. Can't stand sherry either."
"You drank it though."
"Ah well, I wouldn't want to insult you, Cap'n." The grin slowly faded from the boatswain's face. "The old opium in the drink trick?"
"It would explain why someone thought that I would sleep soundly, and you did."
"But that means that the thief was part of the supper party. There were only your officers, the gentleman, and the lady present. I trust the other officers with my life."
"As do I," said William. "I cannot imagine why Packenham would turn thief. His family own St. Austell and most of the mines on the surrounding moors."
"That just leaves the Lady Isabella."
"A lady didn't do this," said William, pulling open his shirt. The beginnings of a livid bruise discoloured his ribs.
"'Course, the thief and the cozenor might be two different people," said the boatswain, thoughtfully.
"I want a trusted man on my cabin door at all times, day and night. Arrange it, will you, boatswain?"
"Aye, aye, sir."
The boatswain moved the Swallow onto a northern tack, adjusting the rigging and sails until the master was satisfied that he was getting the best out of the ship. After a few days, Smethwick decreed that the ship had reached the latitude of the Azores and they changed back to an eastern tack to run down the latitude line.
"Land ho off the starboard bow." The cry came from the foremast.
William ran forward and gazed at the horizon. He imagined that he saw a faint smudge of cloud on the horizon. Nothing for it, he needed more height. He climbed up the foremast rigging. The lookout hauled him up the last few feet onto the boards. William breathed heavily; this voyage had wrecked his wind. He heard what might have been a chuckle. William looked suspiciously at the sailor who carefully arranged his face into respectful blandness.
"Over there, sir."
William stared in the indicated direction. There was no doubt about it. A plume of cloud hung over a dark mass.
"Master Smethwick," William yelled.
"Sir."
"Most excellent navigation."
"Thank you, sir." The master gazed up at the captain with a pleased expression. William was a fair navigator himself, which made his praise doubly welcome. In truth, the master had done well. Finding the small archipelago of the Azores in the vastness of the Atlantic was no mean achievement.
The land mass split into separate islands. The Azores lay in a chain from northwest to southeast. The twin islands of Fayal and Pico were to port and Sao Miguel and Santa Maria to starboard. The primary island with the governor's palace was on the island of Terceira on the side of the chain nearest to Portugal. Generally, English ships avoided Terceira so as not to embarrass the governor.
Out to the north west lay the small island of Flores and the islet of Corvo. The Swallow changed course for Flores. By late afternoon, she cruised under reefed sails into the anchorage at Ponta Delgada. Normally, as soon as an English galleon appeared, boats poured out of the anchorage in competition to sell their goods. This trip, the port was quiet and only the Swallow moved quietly over the glassy water, leaving ripples in its wake.
"I don't like this, Master Smethwick. Something is wrong," William said. "Gunner!"
"Sir."
"Load the swivel guns, just in case we have to defend ourselves."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The Swallow dropped anchor and they waited. After some little time, a boat put out from the port and rowed out to the ship.
A badly dressed official in a soiled sash clambered up the ship.
"My felicitations to Governor Santoza," William said in Spanish, bowing to the man. Spanish was the trade language of the southern lands. Santoza was the local customs official but he was politely referred to as the "governor" of the island.
"Ah. Governor Santoza has had an accident. The captain of the militia is in charge until a new governor is sent from Terceira."
"The port is very quiet. Where are all the traders?" William asked.
The official looked at William sideways. "You have sailed in from the Americas, Captain?"
"We have been at sea for some time," said William, guardedly.
The official nodded. "Then you will not have heard. Cardinal Henry has died."
Cardinal Henry assumed the throne of Portugal when King Sebastian was killed in the Battle of al-Qasr al Kabir in Morocco. Sebastian had thought to emulate Spain in a crusade against the Moors, but with disastrous results. Henry had spent every shilling in the Portuguese treasury on ransoming the surviving Portuguese nobles from captivity. He had no money left to bribe the Pope to release him from his clerical vows so he had no wife and hence no legitimate heir. This was a nightmare scenario for a country, and one that haunted the English with their own Virgin Queen.
"So who is now King?" asked William.
The official shrugged. "Philip of Spain has a claim through the female line and Dom Antonio of Crato through a male line from a boy born on the wrong side of the blanket. Terceira has backed Dom Antonio but Antonio's Portuguese forces have been defeated by the Spanish army in a great battle at Alcantara."
"My God, if Spain has got control of the Portuguese Empire and fleet then the Netherlands and England could be hard-pressed," said the master, who had been following the conversation.
"You didn't answer my question. Where are all the traders?" asked William.
"They were frightened by your ship. It might have been Spanish." The official gave another eloquent shrug.
"I will need permission to fill up water casks and I need to buy provisions," said William.
"Help yourself to water. I will arrange for traders to come but it will take a little time."
"You have two days. After that I will take other action." William looked meaningfully at the culverins and then at the town.
The official seemed disinclined to continue the conversation and climbed back into his boat, which rowed raggedly away.
"The old governor was always very helpful to English ships. I wonder what sort of accident he had," said the master, to no one in particular.
"Boatswain," said William. "Start refilling our water casks. I want the shore party fully armed. Everyone else is to stay aboard the Swallow."
"Aye aye, sir."
Traders turned up by the second day but with meagre stocks of food. William protested to the official who promised more would be forthcoming soon.
On the third day, William was hailed from the main mast.
"Sails, at the promontory."
Triangular lateen sails belonging to three ships nosed around along the southern promontory that protected the anchorage. As the ships cleared the land, their hulls became visible.
"Spanish frigates! War galleys, by God," said William. "Where's the boatswain?"
"Still ashore with the caskmen," said a sailor.
"Get a recall pennant up. Master gunner!"
"Sir."
"Fire a swivel gun to get the shore party's attention. Load the main armament. Any gunner who takes more than fifteen minutes is demoted."
"Sir."
The swivel gun went off with a crash.
"They are perfectly positioned to come in on our stern and shoot us to pieces," said the master. "That papist bastard in a sash has sold us out. He dribbled out just enough food to keep us here, while he alerted the Spanish."
"I can't run and leave the shore party," said William. "Raise the bow anchor and man the pinnace. Get a cable on the ship's bows. We will swing her from the stern."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Master gunner," William yelled across the ship. "The dons have decided to give your men some target practice. An extra share of loot to the first gun crew to put a shot into a Spaniard."
The gun crews cheered and went about their work with redoubled vigour. The galleys lowered their sails. Oars unshipped and the beat of timing drums carried across the waters.
"What is happening, Captain?" Isabella appeared on the rear deck.
"We are about to fight, madam. Master Packenham, get the lady below where she will be safe.
"Signalman," William yelled. "Raise the bloody flag. We must give the dons fair warning in case they want to run away, eh lads?"
Another cheer greeted this sally.
"May I not stay and watch, Captain? I have never seen a naval battle and your men seem supremely confident," said Isabella.
"Madam, all the advantages lie with the galleys in this sheltered anchorage. They will try to use their oars to manoeuvre into the Swallow's unprotected rear and shoot the ship to pieces with their heavy frontal cannon."
"I see. Does this mean that you will have to surrender?"
"Surrender? And spend the rest of my life as a slave manning the oars yonder?" William gestured at the Spanish ships. "No, madam, I intend to fight. Drake has devised a trick that may yet serve us well."
The galleys cruised in towards the rear of the Swallow, their oars rippling like a centipede's legs. The pinnace crew rowed against the inertia of the galleon's weight. Slowly, the Swallow pivoted to point its broadside at the attacking galleys.
"Run out the starboard guns," William ordered. "Fire as they bear."
The gun trolleys ran out on their pulleys with a great squeal.
A galley crew fired. Four cannon went off one after the other. Three plashes to the Swallow's rear marked the fall of shot.
William stood legs apart, hand on hips, and laughed. "Three misses and a lost ball, gunner. What say you to shooting like that?"
"The dons are improving, sir. They'll soon be almost as good as a Danish merchantman."
"Stand by," said the rear culverin gunner. The crew opened their mouths and covered their ears.
The culverin went off with a great concussion. The gun recoiled inboard, to be caught on its ropes. The shot fell between two galleys.
"Range excellent but more care needed on the bearing, gunner."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The men worked furiously to recharge their weapon. The next culverin fired, and the next. The fourth to fire was echoed by the first firing again. Shot whipped up the water but, end on, the galleys presented a difficult target. The galleys fired continuously. Balls struck all round the Swallow. A sail snapped and split as it was hit.
"Captain, boat putting out from the shore," said a sailor. The figure of the boatswain manned the tiller, urging on the rowers.
"Hard pounding, sir," said the master.
"Aye, Master Smethwick, but we'll see who can pound the hardest."
The artillery exchange reached a crescendo. A shot smashed through the rail and blasted splinters across the deck forward, felling sailors. A second shot glanced off a culverin in front of William, eviscerating one of the crew and spraying blood and gore across the deck.
"Damn them, gunner, these are my best breeches. I'll trouble you to punish the Spaniards for that assault on my wardrobe," said William. The captain was drenched in blood from the waist down.
A shot ripped open the front of a galley. Another smashed down a mainmast. "Oh good shooting, gunner," William said.
The galleys broke first and turned away to row out of arc, presenting their vulnerable sides. The gunner took over a culverin and aimed carefully. The shot smashed through an oar bank and the galley seemed to fold in on itself as the sea rushed in. A cheer rolled across the Swallow's deck.
"They must build those things from paper," said the boatswain.
"I see you have decided to join us," said William. "If you have finished your holiday ashore, boatswain, mayhap you could raise the sails and get us on our way."
The two remaining galleys turned back into the attack as the Swallow slowly picked up speed.
"Alter course to port," William said.
The course change lined the Swallow up for the open sea. It also took the ship right past the galley flotilla. More shots hit the Swallow at minimum range, killing sailors but doing little damage to the ship. The Swallow's culverins crashed out a reply in a single broadside. For a moment, billowing white smoke hid the targets. It slowly cleared. One of the galleys was gutted from end to end. William could see figures struggling in the water as the Swallow headed out to sea.
"Some of those poor bastards are probably English slaves," said the master.
"I know," said William. "But if it were me, I would rather take my chances with King Neptune than live as a slave."
The ship ran past Ponta Delgada and the gunner yelled up at William. "Shall I put some shot into those treacherous bastards?"
"If I could be sure each discharge would hit one of the swine who tricked us I would have you fire and damn the consequences. But we would only probably kill a few poor fishermen and smash up their cottages. English ships will pass this way again and I would not leave a legacy of hatred for us. As for handing out a lesson . . ." William gestured aft where a single serviceable galley picked up survivors from the water. A powerful fighting squadron had been smashed in a bare hour by the firepower of a single English galleon. The message would ring clearly among those who lived their lives by the wide ocean.
"Master Smethwick."
"Yes, Captain."
"North, Master, go north. Take us back to England. Take us home."