Armada

The wind ebbed for a moment and de Acuna’s nose wrinkled at the stench from the galley slaves. There were 144 of them chained to their oars on the open main deck. De Acuna looked upon them with disgust. They sat languidly at their oars, their heads bowed in silence with only the occasional rasping cough emanating from their ranks. They were condemned men, sentenced to serve at the oars of the Asuncion at the King’s pleasure and de Acuna thought again of how welcome the governor’s house would be after the confines of the galley.

The day on board his command ship had been like any other over the previous month; long and tedious, but thankfully it was coming to an end. The sun was already dropping at pace towards the western horizon behind El Puerto de Santa Maria on the far side of the harbour mouth. He looked to the supply fleet anchored a mile further up the harbour, their individual hulls and masts indistinguishable save for the 1,000 ton Genoese merchantman and one of a pair of galleons he knew to be amongst them, its high castles silhouetted against the evening sky.

De Acuna’s gaze remained fixed on the distant galleon, a magnificent evolving breed of ship so different to the aged galleys of his command. At Lepanto the galley had reigned supreme but now they were rapidly becoming obsolete in an age where warships were not only measured by the number of men and cannon they could carry, but also how far they could project that power. The sturdy ocean-going galleons had pushed the borders of the Spanish Empire to the four corners of the globe but its success had left ships such as the Asuncion languishing in home waters, relegated to guarding merchants and victuallers, a loathsome task for the once noble galley and its comandante.

‘Ships approaching bearing north-west,’ a lookout called and de Acuna spun around to look beyond the harbour mouth and the tip of the headland of Cadiz. A fleet of sail were strung out across the sea lane to the harbour, their number difficult to gauge. De Acuna smiled. Juan Martinez de Recalde’s squadron, he thought to himself. Their arrival from the Bay of Biscay was long overdue. He called the galley’s captain to his side.

‘Signal the El Gato. Tell them to come alongside,’ he ordered and the captain called to the patache, a small sailing ship attending the galleys.

The El Gato tacked swiftly into position and de Acuna transhipped onto the nimble craft, ignoring the salute of its captain as he ordered him to make haste to the edge of the harbour mouth. De Acuna wanted to welcome the commander of the Biscayan squadron personally, knowing how influential and powerful de Recalde was. As the El Gato swung away, de Acuna made his way to the foredeck, his eyes searching for de Recalde’s flagship, the Santa Ana, a magnificent 760 ton galleon that had been launched only the year before.

The oncoming ships bore on, now less than a mile away, and de Acuna’s eyes narrowed as he noticed for the first time that none of them had their masthead banners unfurled. He scanned the broad front of the squadron, searching again for the flagship, but the galleon in the van looked unlike any he had seen before. He felt a slight chill of unease but quickly dismissed it, angry at his sudden nervousness. The Santa Ana could be sailing at the rear of the squadron, or might even have disengaged at Lisbon.

De Acuna kept his attention on the lead galley. Its decks were frantic with activity and its sails remained unfurled although the harbour mouth was almost upon them. The gap fell to four hundred yards and de Acuna could now make out individual figures on the fo’c’sle. His eyes narrowed against the wind as he tried to focus, unease creeping up his spine once more. They were spaced out along the gunwale and seemed to be…muskets! They were carrying muskets!

‘Bear away!’ de Acuna shouted and he gazed in horror as an eruption of smoke burst forth from the bow chasers of the galleon, followed a heartbeat later by the boom of cannon.

The sea in front of the El Gato exploded and water flew up in a torrential spray. The salvo fell mercifully short and the patache heeled over into the turn, its nimble hull, under a full press of canvas, sailing swiftly out of the path of the incoming ships. De Acuna counted the number of enemy ships, his anger at the deviousness of the surprise attack overriding his alarm that such a powerful fleet was arrayed against him. For a moment he wondered who they could be, but he realized quickly there was no other foe who would dare to attack one of the greatest ports in Spain. The galleons were English!

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 canones to bear.

De Acuna 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 Acuna 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 Acuna’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 Halcon 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 Halcon 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 Acuna’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 Acuna’s forlorn daring.

The Halcon 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 Halcon. 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 Halcon in more open water.

The galleon came up to steerage speed and Evardo watched the sea ahead as the captain called out his