Sailors from Rainbow and from our ship were swarming up San Andrea to try to capture her unburned, but so far none had been able to board San Felipe. Just then a pinnace from Nonpareil shot through a gap in the struggling swarming sea and threw a line aboard. Men swarmed up, intent to put out the fire; but the feared explosion took place on the main gun deck of the flagship and one of the masts blazing like a firebrand fell and hit the pinnace square amidships, killing five and burning others. In seconds the pinnace herself was aflame and sinking; men plunged in the water and swam beside their Spanish enemies towards the nearest boat.
Now a group of Dutch flyboats came on the scene, darting into the swarming channel, and with pistols, hatchets and knives began to slaughter the Spanish soldiers and sailors as they swam and struggled in the water. Too many years of cruelty in the Lowlands, too many memories of suffering and massacre, too many relatives helplessly murdered in Antwerp and elsewhere, were bearing their grim fruit. Nor did the Dutch take kindly to opposition from their allies, and ugly scenes grew in the melee.
It looked as if San Andrea and San Tomaso would be ours unburned; boarding parties were already on the enemy decks. Essex, standing plain on the top deck of Due Repulse had been joined by Sir Francis Vere; they were turning their thoughts to an assault on the town. Soldiers were being mustered in flyboats and transports. The admiral and the general went down to join them, and themselves embarked on Essex’s barge. No signal came to Warspite to assist or to participate, but Ralegh ordered the two regiments aboard Warspite to join the landing fleet, and then collapsed in the chair Bell had brought up for him.
“The treasure ships … Force our way through now and take them. Nothing to stop us a few frigates all in disorder. We should strike now.”
“Well, they cannot get away, sir,” Captain Oakes said, “except through this narrow channel which we command.”
“These canals beyond Carraca? They are deep enough?”
“Oh, by no means. No ship of any draught could attempt it.”
“They’re moving offs” said Victor, pointing to the transports. “Hark at them.”
The landing flotilla was leaving the ships and rowing towards the beach. In the van was Essex’s barge with his banner flying, and a dozen gentlemen in armour escorting him. Sir Francis Vere as head of the land forces stood at his side. Behind came a group of boats in three lines abreast in the most orderly manner. All was silence, no cheering, no trumpets, no firing, nothing but the regular roll and beat of drums. Oars kept pace with the beat, and at minute intervals the drums stopped and the oars stopped; with a preliminary roll they would begin again. There must have been 2,000 men in the boats.
This was a discipline quite different from the individual bravery of the naval commanders; this strange ominous advance was the stranger in contrast with the wild indiscriminate sea battle.
Ralegh said suddenly: “Victor, go at once and see my Lord of Essex. Ask him to grant me permission to send forces to capture the treasure pota while the army mounts its attack on Cadiz … Take Maugan with you.”
“What of yourself?” I said. “This wound …”
“It’s nothing mortal. The surgeon will see to it. Go. I want the answer.”
The water we were rowed through was littered with burning fragments; rags and spars and corpses drifted past. A hand clasped a wooden staff but the owner of the hand was gone. A hat with its soaked feather trailing; bloodstained sailcloth; bubbles of vomit.
The army had a start on us; they were making for a sandy bay just below Fort Puntal, but no fire was coming from the fort. As we caught up the last line of transports Essex had already jumped ashore and his standard bearer was beside him; regiments began to disembark and quickly assembled in rigid lines on the sand. We had to swing wide to avoid the transports, and by the time we were ashore most of the troops had landed.
We ran towards Essex, who was surrounded by a group of officers, and it was several minutes before we could gain his attention.
Victor saluted. “Your Lordship, Sir Walter Ralegh presents his respectful compliments and asks permission to dispatch a force to capture the treasure pota while it is still undefended.”
Essex was flushed, his eyes a-glitter with success. “We do not yet know what number shall be needed to capture the city. That must be our first thought.”
“My lord,” said a captain, “I submit that a force be detached nevertheless. Seizure of the city may take days.”
“It may or it may not, Monson. Splitting our power now may just mean a failure on both fronts.”
“Let Raleghtake it on, sir. He and Crosse and two other ships could overcome the resistance and put skeleton crews aboard.”
Essex glanced along the lines of soldiers, standing in their breastplates and helmets and waiting for the next order. “Where is the Lord Admiral? He should be here soon with the rest of the troops. I cannot grant anyone permission to override our original instructions.”
Sir Francis Vere said: “He came up in his pinnace just before I left. I think he’ll be with Lord Thomas Howard.”
“Very well. You go, Monson and you, Ashley. Convey the Rear Admiral’s request and mine also that a sufficient force be dispatched to deal with the Rota. Tell the Lord Admiral also that we wait his reinforcements minute by minute.”
“Have we your permission to stay with you, my Lord?” Victor asked.
“What? Yes, yes. Monson, send a man to warspite with this message. But remember, I give no sanction to Ralegh. Let it come from the Lord Admiral or not at all! “
Orders rapped out along the lines and the soldiers began to advance towards the city of Cadiz, led by the Earl of Essex with his guant tireless stride. It was grim going. The sun was still high and the day at its hottest; the sand dunes that confronted us gave back one step for every two we climbed our armour became insufferable, our muscles leaden, sweat soaked us and soaked us again, men stumbled and all but fell from the heat.
But we got to the top of the last ridge unchallenged. Before us to our right some half-mile away were the walls of Cadiz. A regiment of the enemy was assembled outside the walls, flags waving, horsemen on their flanks and infantry posted ahead to delay our advance.
I could see Vere urging some plan on Essex. What little I had seen of this dark-faced, sardonic man gave me already to understand why he had been a force in the Netherlands.
We began to advance, first over the soft fiery sand, then athwart the shore road to the city. A battalion of 200 men under Sir John Wingfield was thrown out ahead of us while the rest paused and waited. It seemed that Wingfield’s task was to drive in the advance infantry so that a full-scale battle could develop; but he far exceeded his orders and burst right through to the main body of the enemy. Then realisinghis mistake, and finding himself in danger of being surrounded, he ordered a hasty and undisciplined retreat.
The Spanish, encouraged beyond themselves by their success, counter-attacked with vigour, driving Wingfield’s men in a rabble before them. But after a while at a bugle note Wingfield’s forlorn 200 suddenly rallied again, falling into line with a discipline strange in routed men, and another battalion under Sir Matthew Morgan violently attacked the enemy flanks, now themselves exposed. Then Vere sounded the advance for the rest of his army.
It was one of the oldest stratagems in the world of war, but once again it succeeded. The Spanish line broke and fled, horse and foot together, towards the city gates. Here true panic took hold, for the wave of men first to reach the gates crowded in, and then, seeing us so close on the heels of this cavalry, ordered the gates shut, so that some four or five hundred of their own men were left outside. These, abandoning their equipment and their horses, began to swarm up ropes lowered for them. However, the gates were again opened to admit the flood and slammed shut just before the first English reached them.