Suddenly he found he was close to the breech of a gun and the Spanish were vanishing: the man he was just going to attack leapt on to the barrel, flung away his cutlass and vaulted over the side into the sea with a curious, despairing wail. A dozen more figures on either side followed him, and Ramage realized that the only men now left on the main deck were a wildly dancing group still shouting "Calypso! "
He shouted: "Stand fast, Calypsos! " but his voice came out as a scream which rasped his throat. "Stand fast! " he repeated but it was still too shrill. He took a deep breath but he was panting too hard to be able to hold it for a moment. He knew he was on the edge of losing consciousness and the pain in his stomach made him pause. His hand came away dry, but the pain seemed to be worsening.
The immediate fighting was over but the ship had not been secured: not all the Spaniards had leapt over the side - the majority of them feared water more than a cutlass blade. There had been more than a hundred on board - perhaps even double that number. Some were probably hiding down on the lower deck.
Now Aitken was reporting the fo'c'sle clear of Spaniards; Southwick was waiting for orders, wiping the blade of his sword on his sleeve. Time was racing past and he tried to guess whether the alarm would have been raised in the town across the water. There had been no shots - an indication of how unprepared the Spanish had been. The ring of steel against steel would not carry far, but a fisherman out there in the darkness sitting in his boat, tending net or line, would have heard and even now might be rowing to raise the alarm.
A mile to row in the darkness, ten minutes to persuade anyone in authority in Santa Cruz to listen to him, and another ten minutes to rouse out armed men and get them into boats, then a mile to row to the anchorage . . . there was no direct danger from the town. But a galloping horseman could warn the forts . . . Yet there was nothing to be gained from rushing; he had to risk an alert fisherman, or a suspicious sentry on the walls of Santa Fe. Wagstaffe could be relied on to wait in position, and all would be quiet in the town; at least, that was what Ramage hoped. The fox had managed to get into the hen run and was now swallowing the fattest bird, but he still had to finish the meal and then get out again. He had to keep calm and work methodically. First, clear the lower deck of Spaniards, and for that lanterns were needed. Then muskets to guard them - there was no time to send prisoners on shore.
He sent a dozen seamen across to the Calypso to fetch lanterns; a couple of dozen went over for muskets but were warned that they were to do nothing until all the Spaniards had been captured. As guards they were to fire only as a last resort, because the sound of musket shots would carry across the water and raise the alarm . . .
By the time the lanterns arrived Ramage had divided his men into three groups, one under Aitken to get to the lower deck down the fore hatch, another which he would lead himself down the after hatch, and a smaller group under Southwick to cover the main hatch to prevent the Spaniards scrambling up the ladder to the main deck.
A look over the starboard side revealed a couple of dozen Spaniards swimming close to the ship and shouting for help. Ramage ordered some seamen to throw them ropes and take them to the fo'c'sle under guard as soon as they were hauled on board. They had leapt overboard to avoid being spitted by British cutlasses; now the same British seamen were saving them from drowning.
The parties of men were now waiting ready at the three hatches, each with half a dozen lanterns whose light threw strange and conflicting shadows. Those weird angles were the shadow of the cranked pump handle, and that broad band came from the main mast. Aloft the light caught the underside of the yards and the furled sails, with the shrouds and ratlines looking like nets reaching up to the stars.
Ramage stared down the after hatch. The lower deck was a dark, silent pit. The lanterns lit the ladder but beyond that he pictured frightened men in the darkness clutching their cutlasses - there had been no time for them to grab muskets or pistols -and staring up at the pools of light in the hatchways. How much fight was there left in the Spaniards? Knowing they were trapped, would they be desperate or resigned? Was there a leader down there to rally them? Or, he thought for a moment, a leader who could speak for them all and negotiate?
He was far from sure how many of his own men had been killed or badly wounded: there were many bodies lying round the deck. Just then the light of a lantern reflected on his cutlass blade and showed the stain on the metal, and he knew he wanted no more killing if he could avoid it.
He called to Southwick, who came trotting aft: "Take over here for a moment. Don't go down the hatch."
As he walked to the main hatch Ramage called to Aitken, telling him to stand fast. Like the after hatch, the main hatch was a regular black pit; 12-pounder shot gleamed round the coamings, sitting in semi-circular depressions cut in the wood, like large black oranges on display.
Anyone standing at the edge of the hatchway and shouting at the Spaniards below was lit up by the lanterns, a perfect target, towering over them like a figurehead. Well, he had already decided the Spaniards would not have had time to pick up muskets or pistols; in a minute or two he would know if he had been wrong. The possibility of a shot coming upwards out of the hatch reminded him of the dull pain gripping his stomach, but there was still no blood.
Yet would the Spaniards be crouching round the main hatch? Would they bunch themselves amidships where they could be trapped by parties coming down the fore and after hatches? No, he realized; they would be right forward, waiting for their enemy to come down the fore hatch.
He walked the few more paces that brought him to the small fore hatch where Aitken waited with his men, obviously uncertain what Ramage intended to do. But Ramage knew that while he was prepared to lead men in a wild dash down the ladder, he had little appetite for perching on the coaming like the target in a shooting contest. It had to be done though, and he found himself standing at the edge and taking a deep breath.
"Below there! " he called in Spanish. "Your ship is captured. Throw away your weapons and come up on deck unarmed."
"Let our captain speak to us, " someone answered.
"Your captain is dead, " Ramage said harshly, for the moment less concerned with the truth than persuading the Spaniards to make up their minds quickly. "And so are your officers. You must surrender! "
"No! Help will soon arrive! The soldiers are back in Santa Cruz - they will come on board in the morning."
"By then you will all be dead, " Ramage said, speaking slowly and evenly. "You have only two choices: to live by surrendering, or to die when we come down there after you."
He paused for several moments, letting the Spaniards absorb his words. "If you want to live, you must come up on deck without your arms. If you want to die - well, the moment I give the order, two hundred men will come down there and slaughter you. You saw what happened up here."
A dozen voices began talking; more joined in and several men began shouting to make themselves heard. Ramage listened carefully. There seemed to be no quarrelling; although he could not distinguish the words he was sure they were all agreeing with some decision. Suddenly there was a silence broken by the same Spanish voice.
"You will kill us if we surrender?"
"Of course not. You will be prisoners."
"How can we be sure you will not kill us?"
"You cannot be sure, " Ramage said, "but we have just been saving the lives of some of your shipmates by pulling them out of the water. Do you want to talk to them?"