In order to avoid clashes among the common soldiers, the fortified
island was assigned for the English to {137} disembark. It was the
12th of August, 1568. Darkness fell with the warm velvet caress of a
tropic sea. Half the crew had landed, half the cannon been trundled
ashore for the vessels to be beached next day, when Hawkins noticed
torches--a thousand torches--glistening above the mailed armor of a
thousand Spanish soldiers marching down from the fort and being swiftly
transferred to the frigates. A blare of Spanish trumpets blew to arms!
The waters were suddenly alight with the flare of five fire-rafts
drifting straight where the disarmed English fleet lay moored. Hawkins
had just called his page to hand round mugs of beer, when a cannon-shot
splintering through the mast arms overhead ripped the tankard out of
his hand.[2]
"God and Saint George," thundered the enraged Englishman, "down with
the traitorous devils!"
No time to save sailors ashore! The blazing rafts had already bumped
keels with the moored fleet. No chance to raise anchors! The Spanish
frigates were already abreast in a life-and-death grapple, soldiers
boarding the English decks, sabring the crews, hurling hand grenades
down the hatches to blow up the powder magazines.
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