Sir Nigel

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  XVII. THE SPANIARDS ON THE SEA

  Day had not yet dawned when Nigel was in the chamber of Chandospreparing him for his departure and listening to the last cheery wordsof advice and direction from his noble master. That same morning, beforethe sun was half-way up the heaven, the King's great nef Philippa,bearing within it the most of those present at his banquet the nightbefore, set its huge sail, adorned with the lions and the lilies, andturned its brazen beak for England. Behind it went five smaller cogscrammed with squires, archers and men-at-arms.

  Nigel and his companions lined the ramparts of the castle and wavedtheir caps as the bluff, burly vessels, with drums beating and trumpetsclanging, a hundred knightly pennons streaming from their decks and thered cross of England over all, rolled slowly out to the open sea. Thenwhen they had watched them until they were hull down they turned, withhearts heavy at being left behind, to make ready for their own moredistant venture.

  It took them four days of hard work ere their preparations werecomplete, for many were the needs of a small force sailing to a strangecountry. Three ships had been left to them, the cog Thomas of Romney,the Grace Dieu of Hythe, and the Basilisk of Southampton, into each ofwhich one hundred men were stowed, besides the thirty seamen who formedthe crew. In the hold were forty horses, amongst them Pommers, muchwearied by his long idleness, and homesick for the slopes of Surreywhere his great limbs might find the work he craved. Then the food andthe water, the bow-staves and the sheaves of arrows, the horseshoes, thenails, the hammers, the knives, the axes, the ropes, the vats of hay,the green fodder and a score of other things were packed aboard. Alwaysby the side of the ships stood the stern young knight Sir Robert,checking, testing, watching and controlling, saying little, for he was aman of few words, but with his eyes, his hands, and if need be his heavydog-whip, wherever they were wanted.

  The seamen of the Basilisk, being from a free port, had the old feudagainst the men of the Cinque Ports, who were looked upon by the othermariners of England as being unduly favored by the King. A ship of theWest Country could scarce meet with one from the Narrow Seas withoutblood flowing. Hence sprang sudden broils on the quay side, when withyell and blow the Thomases and Grace Dieus, Saint Leonard on their lipsand murder in their hearts, would fall upon the Basilisks. Then amid thewhirl of cudgels and the clash of knives would spring the tiger figureof the young leader, lashing mercilessly to right and left like a tameramong his wolves, until he had beaten them howling back to their work.Upon the morning of the fourth day all was ready, and the ropes beingcast off the three little ships were warped down the harbor by their ownpinnaces until they were swallowed up in the swirling folds of a Channelmist.

  Though small in numbers, it was no mean force which Edward haddispatched to succor the hard-pressed English garrisons in Brittany.There was scarce a man among them who was not an old soldier, and theirleaders were men of note in council and in war. Knolles flew his flagof the black raven aboard the Basilisk. With him were Nigel and his ownSquire John Hawthorn. Of his hundred men, forty were Yorkshire Dalesmenand forty were men of Lincoln, all noted archers, with old Wat ofCarlisle, a grizzled veteran of border warfare, to lead them.

  Already Aylward by his skill and strength had won his way to anunder-officership amongst them, and shared with Long Ned Widdington,a huge North Countryman, the reputation of coming next to famousWat Carlisle in all that makes an archer. The men-at-arms too werewar-hardened soldiers, with Black Simon of Norwich, the same who hadsailed from Winchelsea, to lead them. With his heart filled with hatredfor the French who had slain all who were dear to him, he followedlike a bloodhound over land and sea to any spot where he might gluthis vengeance. Such also were the men who sailed in the other ships,Cheshire men from the Welsh borders in the cog Thomas, and Cumberlandmen, used to Scottish warfare, in the Grace Dieu.

  Sir James Astley hung his shield of cinquefoil ermine over the quarterof the Thomas. Lord Thomas Percy, a cadet of Alnwick, famous alreadyfor the high spirit of that house which for ages was the bar upon thelandward gate of England, showed his blue lion rampant as leader of theGrace Dieu. Such was the goodly company Saint-Malo bound, who warpedfrom Calais Harbor to plunge into the thick reek of a Channel mist.

  A slight breeze blew from the eastward, and the highended, round-bodiedcraft rolled slowly down the Channel. The mist rose a little at times,so that they had sight of each other dipping and rising upon a sleek,oily sea, but again it would sink down, settling over the top, shroudingthe great yard, and finally frothing over the deck until even the wateralongside had vanished from their view and they were afloat on a littleraft in an ocean of vapor. A thin cold rain was falling, and the archerswere crowded under the shelter of the overhanging poop and forecastle,where some spent the hours at dice, some in sleep, and many in trimmingtheir arrows or polishing their weapons.

  At the farther end, seated on a barrel as a throne of honor, withtrays and boxes of feathers around him, was Bartholomew the bowyer andFletcher, a fat, bald-headed man, whose task it was to see that everyman's tackle was as it should be, and who had the privilege of sellingsuch extras as they might need. A group of archers with their staves andquivers filed before him with complaints or requests, while half a dozenof the seniors gathered at his back and listened with grinning faces tohis comments and rebukes.

  "Canst not string it?" he was saying to a young bowman. "Then surely thestring is overshort or the stave overlong. It could not by chance be thefault of thy own baby arms more fit to draw on thy hosen than to dress awarbow. Thou lazy lurdan, thus is it strung!" He seized the stave bythe center in his right hand, leaned the end on the inside of his rightfoot, and then, pulling the upper nock down with the left hand, slidthe eye of the string easily into place. "Now I pray thee to unstring itagain," handing it to the bowman.

  The youth with an effort did so, but he was too slow in disengaging hisfingers, and the string sliding down with a snap from the upper nockcaught and pinched them sorely against the stave. A roar of laughter,like the clap of a wave, swept down the deck as the luckless bowmandanced and wrung his hand.

  "Serve thee well right, thou redeless fool!" growled the old bowyer."So fine a bow is wasted in such hands. How now, Samkin? I can teach youlittle of your trade, I trow. Here is a bow dressed as it should be; butit would, as you say, be the better for a white band to mark the truenocking point in the center of this red wrapping of silk. Leave it and Iwill tend to it anon. And you, Wat? A fresh head on yonder stele?Lord, that a man should carry four trades under one hat, and be bowyer,fletcher, stringer and headmaker! Four men's work for old Bartholomewand one man's pay!"

  "Nay, say no more about that," growled an old wizened bowman, with abrown-parchment skin and little beady eyes. "It is better in these daysto mend a bow than to bend one. You who never looked a Frenchman in theface are pricked off for ninepence a day, and I, who have fought fivestricken fields, can earn but fourpence."

  "It is in my mind, John of Tuxford, that you have looked in the facemore pots of mead than Frenchmen," said the old bowyer. "I am swinkingfrom dawn to night, while you are guzzling in an alestake. How now,youngster? Overbowed? Put your bow in the tiller. It draws at sixtypounds--not a pennyweight too much for a man of your inches. Lay morebody to it, lad, and it will come to you. If your bow be not stiff, howcan you hope for a twenty-score flight. Feathers? Aye, plenty and of thebest. Here, peacock at a groat each. Surely a dandy archer like you, TomBeverley, with gold earrings in your ears, would have no feathering butpeacocks?"

  "So the shaft fly straight, I care not of the feather," said the bowman,a tall young Yorkshireman, counting out pennies on the palm of his hornyhand.

  "Gray goose-feathers are but a farthing. These on the left are ahalfpenny, for they are of the wild goose, and the second feather of afenny goose is worth more than the pinion of a tame one. These in thebrass tray are dropped feathers, and a dropped feather is better thana plucked one. Buy a score of these, lad, and cut them saddle-backed orswine-backed, the one for a dead shaft
and the other for a smooth flyer,and no man in the company will swing a better-fletched quiver over hisshoulder."

  It chanced that the opinion of the bowyer on this and other pointsdiffered from that of Long Ned of Widdington, a surly straw-beardedYorkshireman, who had listened with a sneering face to his counsel. Nowhe broke in suddenly upon the bowyer's talk. "You would do better tosell bows than to try to teach others how to use them," said he; "forindeed, Bartholomew, that head of thine has no more sense within it thanit has hairs without. If you had drawn string for as many months as Ihave years you would know that a straight-cut feather flies smootherthan a swine-backed, and pity it is that these young bowmen have none toteach them better!"

  This attack upon his professional knowledge touched the old bowyer onthe raw. His fat face became suffused with blood and his eyes glaredwith fury as he turned upon the archer. "You seven-foot barrel of lies!"he cried. "All-hallows be my aid, and I will teach you to open yourslabbing mouth against me! Pluck forth your sword and stand out onyonder deck, that we may see who is the man of us twain. May I nevertwirl a shaft over my thumb nail if I do not put Bartholomew's mark uponyour thick head!"

  A score of rough voices joined at once in the quarrel, some upholdingthe bowyer and others taking the part of the North Countryman. Ared-headed Dalesman snatched up a sword, but was felled by a blow fromthe fist of his neighbor. Instantly, with a buzz like a swarm of angryhornets, the bowmen were out on the deck; but ere a blow was struckKnolles was amongst them with granite face and eyes of fire.

  "Stand apart, I say! I will warrant you enough fighting to cool yourblood ere you see England once more. Loring, Hawthorn, cut any man downwho raises his hand. Have you aught to say, you fox-haired rascal?" Hethrust his face within two inches of that of the red man who had firstseized his sword. The fellow shrank back, cowed, from his fierceeyes. "Now stint your noise, all of you, and stretch your long ears.Trumpeter, blow once more!"

  A bugle call had been sounded every quarter of an hour so as to keep intouch with the other two vessels who were invisible in the fog. Now thehigh clear note rang out once more, the call of a fierce sea-creature toits mates, but no answer came back from the thick wall which pent themin. Again and again they called, and again and again with bated breaththey waited for an answer.

  "Where is the Shipman?" asked Knolles. "What is your name, fellow? Doyou dare call yourself master-mariner?"

  "My name is Nat Dennis, fair sir," said the gray-bearded old seaman. "Itis thirty years since first I showed my cartel and blew trumpet fora crew at the water-gate of Southampton. If any man may call himselfmaster-mariner, it is surely I."

  "Where are our two ships?"

  "Nay, sir, who can say in this fog?"

  "Fellow, it was your place to hold them together."

  "I have but the eyes God gave me, fair sir, and they cannot see througha cloud."

  "Had it been fair, I, who am a soldier, could have kept them in company.Since it was foul, we looked to you, who are called a mariner, to do so.You have not done it. You have lost two of my ships ere the venture isbegun."

  "Nay, fair sir, I pray you to consider--"

  "Enough words!" said Knolles sternly. "Words will not give me back mytwo hundred men. Unless I find them before I come to Saint-Malo, I swearby Saint Wilfrid of Ripon that it will be an evil day for you! Enough!Go forth and do what you may!"

  For five hours with a light breeze behind them they lurched through theheavy fog, the cold rain still matting their beards and shining on theirfaces. Sometimes they could see a circle of tossing water for a bowshotor so in each direction, and then the wreaths would crawl in upon themonce more and bank them thickly round. They had long ceased to blow thetrumpet for their missing comrades, but had hopes when clear weathercame to find them still in sight. By the shipman's reckoning they werenow about midway between the two shores.

  Nigel was leaning against the bulwarks, his thoughts away in thedingle at Cosford and out on the heather-clad slopes of Hindhead, whensomething struck his ear. It was a thin clear clang of metal, pealingout high above the dull murmur of the sea, the creak of the boom and theflap of the sail. He listened, and again it was borne to his ear.

  "Hark, my lord!" said he to Sir Robert. "Is there not a sound in thefog?"

  They both listened together with sidelong heads. Then it rang clearlyforth once more, but this time in another direction. It had been on thebow; now it was on the quarter. Again it sounded, and again. Now it hadmoved to the other bow; now back to the quarter again; now it was near;and now so far that it was but a faint tinkle on the ear. By this timeevery man on board, seamen, archers and men-at-arms, were crowding thesides of the vessel. All round them there were noises in the darkness,and yet the wall of fog lay wet against their very faces. And the noiseswere such as were strange to their ears, always the same high musicalclashing.

  The old shipman shook his head and crossed himself.

  "In thirty years upon the waters I have never heard the like," saidhe. "The Devil is ever loose in a fog. Well is he named the Prince ofDarkness."

  A wave of panic passed over the vessel, and these rough and hardy menwho feared no mortal foe shook with terror at the shadows of their ownminds. They stared into the cloud with blanched faces and fixed eyes, asthough each instant some fearsome shape might break in upon them. Andas they stared there came a gust of wind. For a moment the fog-bank roseand a circle of ocean lay before them.

  It was covered with vessels. On all sides they lay thick upon itssurface. They were huge caracks, high-ended and portly, with red sidesand bulwarks carved and crusted with gold. Each had one great sail setand was driving down channel on the same course at the Basilisk. Theirdecks were thick with men, and from their high poops came the weirdclashing which filled the air. For one moment they lay there, thiswondrous fleet, surging slowly forward, framed in gray vapor. The nextthe clouds closed in and they had vanished from view. There was a longhush, and then a buzz of excited voices.

  "The Spaniards!" cried a dozen bowmen and sailors.

  "I should have known it," said the shipman. "I call to mind on theBiscay Coast how they would clash their cymbals after the fashion of theheathen Moor with whom they fight; but what would you have me do, fairsir? If the fog rises we are all dead men."

  "There were thirty ships at the least," said Knolles, with a moody brow."If we have seen them I trow that they have also seen us. They will layus aboard."

  "Nay, fair sir, it is in my mind that our ship is lighter and fasterthan theirs. If the fog hold another hour we should be through them."

  "Stand to your arms!" yelled Knolles. "Stand to your arms--! They are onus!"

  The Basilisk had indeed been spied from the Spanish Admiral's shipbefore the fog closed down. With so light a breeze, and such a fog,he could not hope to find her under sail. But by an evil chance not abowshot from the great Spanish carack was a low galley, thin and swift,with oars which could speed her against wind or tide. She also hadseen the Basilisk and it was to her that the Spanish leader shouted hisorders. For a few minutes she hunted through the fog, and then sprangout of it like a lean and stealthy beast upon its prey. It was the sightof the long dark shadow gliding after them which had brought that wildshout of alarm from the lips of the English knight. In another instantthe starboard oars of the galley had been shipped, the sides of the twovessels grated together, and a stream of swarthy, red-capped Spaniardswere swarming up the sides of the Basilisk and dropped with yells oftriumph upon her deck.

  For a moment it seemed as if the vessel was captured without a blowbeing struck, for the men of the English ship had run wildly in alldirections to look for their arms. Scores of archers might be seen underthe shadow of the forecastle and the poop bending their bowstaves tostring them with the cords from their waterproof cases. Others werescrambling over saddles, barrels and cases in wild search of theirquivers. Each as he came upon his arrows pulled out a few to lend to hisless fortunate comrades. In mad haste the men-at-arms also were feelingand
grasping in the dark corners, picking up steel caps which would notfit them, hurling them down on the deck, and snatching eagerly at anyswords or spears that came their way.

  The center of the ship was held by the Spaniards; and having slain allwho stood before them, they were pressing up to either end before theywere made to understand that it was no fat sheep but a most fierce oldwolf which they had taken by the ears.

  If the lesson was late, it was the more thorough. Attacked on both sidesand hopelessly outnumbered, the Spaniards, who had never doubted thatthis little craft was a merchant-ship, were cut off to the last man.It was no fight, but a butchery. In vain the survivors ran screamingprayers to the saints and threw themselves down into the galleyalongside. It also had been riddled with arrows from the poop of theBasilisk, and both the crew on the deck and the galley-slaves in theoutriggers at either side lay dead in rows under the overwhelmingshower from above. From stem to rudder every foot of her was furredwith arrows. It was but a floating coffin piled with dead and dying men,which wallowed in the waves behind them as the Basilisk lurched onwardand left her in the fog.

  In their first rush on to the Basilisk, the Spaniards had seized six ofthe crew and four unarmed archers. Their throats had been cut andtheir bodies tossed overboard. Now the Spaniards who littered the deck,wounded and dead, were thrust over the side in the same fashion. One randown into the hold and had to be hunted and killed squealing under theblows like a rat in the darkness. Within half an hour no sign was leftof this grim meeting in the fog save for the crimson splashes uponbulwarks and deck. The archers, flushed and merry, were unstringingtheir bows once more, for in spite of the water glue the damp air tookthe strength from the cords. Some were hunting about for arrows whichmight have stuck inboard, and some tying up small injuries received inthe scuffle. But an anxious shadow still lingered upon the face of SirRobert, and he peered fixedly about him through the fog.

  "Go among the archers, Hawthorne," said he to his Squire. "Charge themon their lives to make no sound! You also, Loring. Go to the afterguardand say the same to them. We are lost if one of these great ships shouldspy us."

  For an hour with bated breath they stole through the fleet, stillhearing the cymbals clashing all round them, for in this way theSpaniards held themselves together. Once the wild music came from abovetheir very prow, and so warned them to change their course. Once alsoa huge vessel loomed for an instant upon their quarter, but they turnedtwo points away from her, and she blurred and vanished. Soon the cymbalswere but a distant tinkling, and at last they died gradually away.

  "It is none too soon," said the old shipman, pointing to a yellowishtint in the haze above them. "See yonder! It is the sun which winsthrough. It will be here anon. Ah! said I not so?"

  A sickly sun, no larger and far dimmer than the moon, had indeed shownits face, with cloud-wreaths smoking across it. As they looked up itwaxed larger and brighter before their eyes--a yellow halo spread roundit, one ray broke through, and then a funnel of golden light poureddown upon them, widening swiftly at the base. A minute later they weresailing on a clear blue sea with an azure cloud-flecked sky above theirheads, and such a scene beneath it as each of them would carry in hismemory while memory remained.

  They were in mid-channel. The white and green coasts of Picardy and ofKent lay clear upon either side of them. The wide channel stretched infront, deepening from the light blue beneath their prow to purple on thefar sky-line. Behind them was that thick bank of cloud from which theyhad just burst. It lay like a gray wall from east to west, and throughit were breaking the high shadowy forms of the ships of Spain. Four ofthem had already emerged, their red bodies, gilded sides and paintedsails shining gloriously in the evening sun. Every instant a freshgolden spot grew out of the fog, which blazed like a star for aninstant, and then surged forward to show itself as the brazen beak ofthe great red vessel which bore it. Looking back, the whole bank ofcloud was broken by the widespread line of noble ships which werebursting through it. The Basilisk lay a mile or more in front of themand two miles clear of their wing. Five miles farther off, in thedirection of the French coast, two other small ships were runningdown Channel. A cry of joy from Robert Knolles and a hearty prayerof gratitude to the saints from the old shipman hailed them as theirmissing comrades, the cog Thomas and the Grace Dieu.

  But fair as was the view of their lost friends, and wondrous theappearance of the Spanish ships, it was not on those that the eyes ofthe men of the Basilisk were chiefly bent. A greater sight lay beforethem--a sight which brought them clustering to the forecastle with eagereyes and pointing fingers. The English fleet was coming forth from theWinchelsea Coast. Already before the fog lifted a fast galleass hadbrought the news down Channel that the Spanish were on the sea, and theKing's fleet was under way. Now their long array of sails, gay withthe coats and colors of the towns which had furnished them, lay brightagainst the Kentish coast from Dungeness Point to Rye. Nine and twentyships were there from Southampton, Shoreham, Winchelsea, Hastings, Rye,Hythe, Romney, Folkestone, Deal, Dover and Sandwich. With their greatsails slued round to catch the wind they ran out, whilst the Spanish,like the gallant foes that they have ever been, turned their headslandward to meet them. With flaunting banners and painted sails, blaringtrumpets and clashing cymbals, the two glittering fleets, dipping andrising on the long Channel swell, drew slowly together.

  King Edward had been lying all day in his great ship the Philippa, amile out from the Camber Sands, waiting for the coming of the Spaniards.Above the huge sail which bore the royal arms flew the red cross ofEngland. Along the bulwarks were shown the shields of forty knights, theflower of English chivalry, and as many pennons floated from the deck.The high ends of the ship glittered with the weapons of the men-at-arms,and the waist was crammed with the archers. From time to time a crash ofnakers and blare of trumpets burst from the royal ship, and was answeredby her great neighbors, the Lion on which the Black Prince flew hisflag, the Christopher with the Earl of Suffolk, the Salle du Roi ofRobert of Namur, and the Grace Marie of Sir Thomas Holland. Farther offlay the White Swan, bearing the arms of Mowbray, the Palmer of Deal,flying the Black Head of Audley, and the Kentish man under the LordBeauchamp. The rest lay, anchored but ready, at the mouth of WinchelseaCreek.

  The King sat upon a keg in the fore part of his ship, with little Johnof Richmond, who was no more than a schoolboy, perched upon his knee.Edward was clad in the black velvet jacket which was his favorite garb,and wore a small brown-beaver hat with a white plume at the side. A richcloak of fur turned up with miniver drooped from his shoulders. Behindhim were a score of his knights, brilliant in silks and sarcenets,some seated on an upturned boat and some swinging their legs from thebulwark.

  In front stood John Chandos in a party-colored jupon, one foot raisedupon the anchor-stock, picking at the strings of his guitar and singinga song which he had learned at Marienburg when last he helped theTeutonic knights against the heathen. The King, his knights, and eventhe archers in the waist below them, laughed at the merry lilt andjoined lustily in the chorus, while the men of the neighboring shipsleaned over the side to hearken to the deep chant rolling over thewaters.

  But there came a sudden interruption to the song. A sharp, harsh shoutcame down from the lookout stationed in the circular top at the end ofthe mast. "I spy a sail--two sails!" he cried.

  John Bunce the King's shipman shaded his eyes and stared at the longfog-bank which shrouded the northern channel. Chandos, with his fingersover the strings of his guitar, the King, the knights, all gazed in thesame direction. Two small dark shapes had burst forth, and then aftersome minutes a third.

  "Surely they are the Spaniards?" said the King.

  "Nay, sire," the seaman answered, "the Spaniards are greater ships andare painted red. I know not what these may be."

  "But I could hazard a guess!" cried Chandos. "Surely they are the threeships with my own men on their way to Brittany."

  "You have hit it, John," said the King. "But look, I pray you! Wha
t inthe name of the Virgin is that?"

  Four brilliant stars of flashing light had shone out from differentpoints of the cloud-bank. The next instant as many tall ships hadswooped forth into the sunshine. A fierce shout rang from the King'sship, and was taken up all down the line, until the whole coast fromDungeness to Winchelsea echoed the warlike greeting. The King sprang upwith a joyous face.

  "The game is afoot, my friends!" said he. "Dress, John! Dress, Walter!Quick all of you! Squires, bring the harness! Let each tend to himself,for the time is short."

  A strange sight it was to see these forty nobles tearing off theirclothes and littering the deck with velvets and satins, whilst thesquire of each, as busy as an ostler before a race, stooped and pulledand strained and riveted, fastening the bassinets, the legpieces, thefront and the back plates, until the silken courtier had become the manof steel. When their work was finished, there stood a stern group ofwarriors where the light dandies had sung and jested round Sir John'sguitar. Below in orderly silence the archers were mustering under theirofficers and taking their allotted stations. A dozen had swarmed up totheir hazardous post in the little tower in the tops.

  "Bring wine, Nicholas!" cried the King. "Gentlemen, ere you close yourvisors I pray you to take a last rouse with me. You will be dry enough,I promise you, before your lips are free once more. To what shall wedrink, John?"

  "To the men of Spain," said Chandos, his sharp face peering like a gauntbird through the gap in his helmet. "May their hearts be stout and theirspirits high this day!"

  "Well said, John!" cried the King, and the knights laughed joyously asthey drank. "Now, fair sirs, let each to his post! I am warden here onthe forecastle. Do you, John, take charge of the afterguard. Walter,James, William, Fitzallan, Goldesborough, Reginald--you will stay withme! John, you may pick whom you will and the others will bide with thearchers. Now bear straight at the center, master-shipman. Ere yondersun sets we will bring a red ship back as a gift to our ladies, or neverlook upon a lady's face again."

  The art of sailing into a wind had not yet been invented, nor was thereany fore-and-aft canvas, save for small headsails with which a vesselcould be turned. Hence the English fleet had to take a long slant downchannel to meet their enemies; but as the Spaniards coming before thewind were equally anxious to engage there was the less delay. Withstately pomp and dignity, the two great fleets approached.

  It chanced that one fine carack had outstripped its consorts and camesweeping along, all red and gold, with a fringe of twinkling steel, agood half-mile before the fleet. Edward looked at her with a kindlingeye, for indeed she was a noble sight with the blue water creaming underher gilded prow.

  "This is a most worthy and debonair vessel, Master Bunce," said he tothe shipman beside him. "I would fain have a tilt with her. I pray youto hold us straight that we may bear her down."

  "If I hold her straight, then one or other must sink, and it may beboth," the seaman answered.

  "I doubt not that with the help of our Lady we shall do our part," saidthe King. "Hold her straight, master-shipman, as I have told you."

  Now the two vessels were within arrow flight, and the bolts from thecrossbowmen pattered upon the English ship. These short thick devil'sdarts were everywhere humming like great wasps through the air, crashingagainst the bulwarks, beating upon the deck, ringing loudly on the armorof the knights, or with a soft muffled thud sinking to the socket in avictim.

  The bowmen along either side of the Philippa had stood motionlesswaiting for their orders, but now there was a sharp shout from theirleader, and every string twanged together. The air was full of theirharping, together with the swish of the arrows, the long-drawn keeningof the bowmen and the short deep bark of the under-officers. "Steady,steady! Loose steady! Shoot wholly together! Twelve score paces! Tenscore! Now eight! Shoot wholly together!" Their gruff shouts brokethrough the high shrill cry like the deep roar of a wave through thehowl of the wind.

  As the two great ships hurtled together the Spaniard turned away a fewpoints so that the blow should be a glancing one. None the less it wasterrific. A dozen men in the tops of the carack were balancing a hugestone with the intention of dropping it over on the English deck. With ascream of horror they saw the mast cracking beneath them. Over it went,slowly at first, then faster, until with a crash it came down on itsside, sending them flying like stones from a sling far out into the sea.A swath of crushed bodies lay across the deck where the mast had fallen.But the English ship had not escaped unscathed. Her mast held, it istrue, but the mighty shock not only stretched every man flat upon thedeck, but had shaken a score of those who lined her sides into the sea.One bowman was hurled from the top, and his body fell with a dreadfulcrash at the very side of the prostrate King upon the forecastle. Manywere thrown down with broken arms and legs from the high castles ateither end into the waist of the ship. Worst of all, the seams had beenopened by the crash and the water was gushing in at a dozen places.

  But these were men of experience and of discipline, men who had alreadyfought together by sea and by land, so that each knew his place and hisduty. Those who could staggered to their feet and helped up a score ormore of knights who were rolling and clashing in the scuppers unable torise for the weight of their armor. The bowmen formed up as before. Theseamen ran to the gaping seams with oakum and with tar. In ten minutesorder had been restored and the Philippa, though shaken and weakened,was ready for battle once more. The King was glaring round him like awounded boar.

  "Grapple my ship with that," he cried, pointing to the crippledSpaniard, "for I would have possession of her!"

  But already the breeze had carried them past it, and a dozen Spanishships 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 thanher."

  "By Saint George! you speak the truth," said the King, "for she is ourswhen we have time to take her. These also seem very worthy ships whichare drawing up to us, and I pray you, master-shipman, that you will havea 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 anddrooping. Another blow and it would be over the side and his ship ahelpless log upon the water. He jammed his helm round therefore, and ranhis ship alongside the Spaniard, throwing out his hooks and iron chainsas he did so.

  They, no less eager, grappled the Philippa both fore and aft, and thetwo vessels, linked tightly together, surged slowly over the long bluerollers. Over their bulwarks hung a cloud of men locked together ina desperate struggle, sometimes surging forward on to the deck of theSpaniard, sometimes recoiling back on to the King's ship, reeling thisway 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 howlto the calm blue heaven above them.

  But now ship after ship of the English had come up, each throwing itsiron over the nearest Spaniard and striving to board her high red sides.Twenty ships were drifting in furious single combat after the mannerof the Philippa, until the whole surface of the sea was covered witha succession of these desperate duels. The dismasted carack, whichthe King's ship had left behind it, had been carried by the Earl ofSuffolk's Christopher, and the water was dotted with the heads of hercrew. An English ship had been sunk by a huge stone discharged froman engine, and her men also were struggling in the waves, none havingleisure to lend them a hand. A second English ship was caught betweentwo of the Spanish vessels and overwhelmed by a rush of boarders so thatnot a man of her was left alive. On the other hand, Mowbray and Audleyhad each taken the caracks which were opposed to them, and the battle inthe center, after swaying this way and that, was turning now in favor ofthe Islanders.

  The Black Prince, with the Lion, the Grace Marie and four other shipshad swept round to turn the Spanish flank; but the movement was seen,and the Spaniards had ten ships with wh
ich to meet it, one of them theirgreat carack the St. Iago di Compostella. To this ship the Prince hadattached his little cog and strove desperately to board her, but herside was so high and the defense so desperate that his men could neverget beyond her bulwarks but were hurled down again and again with aclang and clash to the deck beneath. Her side bristled with crossbowmen,who shot straight down on to the packed waist of the Lion, so that thedead lay there in heaps. But the most dangerous of all was a swarthyblack-bearded giant in the tops, who crouched so that none could seehim, but rising every now and then with a huge lump of iron between hishands, hurled it down with such force that nothing would stop it. Againand again these ponderous bolts crashed through the deck and hurtleddown into the bottom of the ship, starting the planks and shattering allthat came in their way.

  The Prince, clad in that dark armor which gave him his name, wasdirecting the attack from the poop when the shipman rushed wildly up tohim with fear on his face.

  "Sire!" he cried. "The ship may not stand against these blows. A fewmore will sink her! Already the water floods inboard."

  The Prince looked up, and as he did so the shaggy beard showed once moreand two brawny arms swept downward. A great slug, whizzing down, beata gaping hole in the deck, and fell rending and riving into the holdbelow. The master-mariner tore his grizzled hair.

  "Another leak!" he cried. "I pray to Saint Leonard to bear us up thisday! Twenty of my shipmen are bailing with buckets, but the water riseson them fast. The vessel may not float another hour."

  The Prince had snatched a crossbow from one of his attendants andleveled it at the Spaniard's tops. At the very instant when the seamanstood erect with a fresh bar in his hands, the bolt took him full inthe face, and his body fell forward over the parapet, hanging therehead downward. A howl of exultation burst from the English at the sight,answered by a wild roar of anger from the Spaniards. A seaman had runfrom the Lion's hold and whispered in the ear of the shipman. He turnedan ashen face upon the Prince.

  "It is even as I say, sire. The ship is sinking beneath our feet!" hecried.

  "The more need that we should gain another," said he. "Sir Henry Stokes,Sir Thomas Stourton, William, John of Clifton, here lies our road!Advance my banner, Thomas de Mohun! On, and the day is ours!"

  By a desperate scramble a dozen men, the Prince at their head, gaineda footing on the edge of the Spaniard's deck. Some slashed furiously toclear a space, others hung over, clutching the rail with one hand andpulling up their comrades from below. Every instant that they could holdtheir own their strength increased, till twenty had become thirty andthirty forty, when of a sudden the newcomers, still reaching forth totheir comrades below, saw the deck beneath them reel and vanish in aswirling sheet of foam. The Prince's ship had foundered.

  A yell went up from the Spaniards as they turned furiously upon thesmall band who had reached their deck. Already the Prince and his menhad carried the poop, and from that high station they beat back theirswarming enemies. But crossbow darts pelted and thudded among theirranks till a third of their number were stretched upon the planks. Linedacross the deck they could hardly keep an unbroken front to the leaping,surging crowd who pressed upon them. Another rush, or another afterthat, must assuredly break them, for these dark men of Spain, hardenedby an endless struggle with the Moors, were fierce and stubbornfighters. But hark to this sudden roar upon the farther side of them--

  "Saint George! Saint George! A Knolles to the rescue!" A small crafthad run alongside and sixty men had swarmed on the deck of the St. Iago.Caught between two fires, the Spaniards wavered and broke. The fightbecame a massacre. Down from the poop sprang the Prince's men. Up fromthe waist rushed the new-corners. There were five dreadful minutes ofblows and screams and prayers with struggling figures clinging to thebulwarks and sullen splashes into the water below. Then it was over, anda crowd of weary, overstrained men leaned panting upon their weapons, orlay breathless and exhausted upon the deck of the captured carack.

  The Prince had pulled up his visor and lowered his beaver. He smiledproudly as he gazed around him and wiped his streaming face. "Where isthe shipman?" he asked. "Let him lead us against another ship."

  "Nay, sire, the shipman and all his men have sunk in the Lion," saidThomas de Mohun, a young knight of the West Country, who carried thestandard. "We have lost our ship and the half of our following. I fearthat we can fight no more."

  "It matters the less since the day is already ours," said the Prince,looking over the sea. "My noble father's royal banner flies upon yonderSpaniard. Mowbray, Audley, Suffolk, Beauchamp, Namur, Tracey, Stafford,Arundel, each has his flag over a scarlet carack, even as mine floatsover this. See, yonder squadron is already far beyond our reach. Butsurely we owe thanks to you who came at so perilous a moment to our aid.Your face I have seen, and your coat-armor also, young sir, though Icannot lay my tongue to your name. Let me know that I may thank you."

  He had turned to Nigel, who stood flushed and joyous at the head of theboarders from the Basilisk.

  "I am but a Squire, sire, and can claim no thanks, for there is nothingthat I have done. Here is our leader."

  The Prince's eyes fell upon the shield charged with the Black Raven andthe stern young face of him who bore it. "Sir Robert Knolles," said he,"I had thought you were on your way to Brittany."

  "I was so, sire, when I had the fortune to see this battle as I passed."

  The Prince laughed. "It would indeed be to ask too much, Robert, thatyou should keep on your course when much honor was to be gathered soclose to you. But now I pray you that you will come back with us toWinchelsea, for well I know that my father would fain thank you for whatyou have done this day."

  But Robert Knolles shook his head. "I have your father's command,sire, and without his order I may not go against it. Our people arehard-pressed in Brittany, and it is not for me to linger on the way. Ipray you, sire, if you must needs mention me to the King, to crave hispardon that I should have broken my journey thus."

  "You are right, Robert. God-speed you on your way! And I would that Iwere sailing under your banner, for I see clearly that you will takeyour people where they may worshipfully win worship. Perchance I alsomaybe in Brittany before the year is past."

  The Prince turned to the task of gathering his weary people together,and the Basilisks passed over the side once more and dropped down on totheir own little ship. They poled her off from the captured Spaniardand set their sail with their prow for the south. Far ahead of them weretheir two consorts, beating towards them in the hope of giving help,while down Channel were a score of Spanish ships with a few of theEnglish vessels hanging upon their skirts. The sun lay low on the water,and its level beams glowed upon the scarlet and gold of fourteen greatcaracks, each flying the cross of Saint George, and towering high abovethe cluster of English ships which, with brave waving of flags andblaring of music, were moving slowly towards the Kentish coast.