They were almost alongside now, but no Portuguese infantry would pour down the side of the forecastle onto their decks. The galleon's decks were a hemorrhage of the wounded and dying.
"By Jesus, 'tis a sight for English eyes." Edward Malloyre's blackened face, streaked with sweat, bobbed up through the hatch over the gun deck, and he surveyed the wreckage of the _Bon Ventura_. "Had to give 'er a look, Cap'n. See if my lads earn'd their biscuit." He beamed with open pride.
"Malloyre, how does it stand below decks?" Hawksworth yelled from the quarterdeck.
"Starboard side's swabbed out. How shall we load 'em, sir?" Malloyre leaned backward to gain a better look at the galleon, which now towered above them.
"Round shot, and run them out fast as you can."
"Aye, sir. An' no more close quarters if you please. Ne'er want to be this close to one o' the bastards again." Malloyre started to retreat through the hatch, but then he turned, paused for a second, and yelled at Hawksworth. "Beggin' your pardon, Cap'n. I knew all along 'twas best to pull alongside and lay 'em wi' crossbar. Just wanted to give the lads a bit o' a scare. Keep 'em jumpin'."
Hawksworth waved his hand and watched as Malloyre's pudgy frame dropped through the gun-deck hatch like a rabbit diving for its warren.
Mackintosh was standing on the main deck, his tangled red mane blackened with smoke, watching as the _Discovery _drifted slowly toward the side of the bobbing galleon. Then, when they were only feet away, he signaled the bosun, and a line of English seamen lit the waiting fuses and began to loft clay powder pots across the waist of the _Bon Ventura_, now almost above their heads. When they had finished, he passed orders and the _Discovery _began to pull away, before her sails could ignite. Then one by one the powder pots started to explode, spewing burning sulphur over the Portuguese vessel's decks.
Hawksworth watched the carnage, and asked himself if he had been right to do what he'd done. They'd have sunk us. Cut down the men and taken the officers and merchants to a Goa prison. And then what? We couldn't have sunk them with cannon in a week. The only choice was fire.
Then he turned to see the _St. Sebastian _making toward them. Her cannon were already run out, and at any moment she would start coming about for a broadside. Again he felt the throb in his thigh, and it triggered a wave of fear that swept upward from his stomach. The Indian pilot stood next to him, also watching the approaching galleon.