Even as the skipper of the Swallow signalled the whole side of the Spaniard burst into flame and smoke.
The Swallow staggered under the blow, recovered an instant, then listed ominously to larboard.
"Hell!" roared Leigh.

"She's bilging!" and Sir Oliver saw the Spaniard standing off again, as if satisfied with what she had done.

The mate's gun was never fired, nor was the broadside from below.

Indeed that sudden list had set the muzzles pointing to the sea; within three minutes of it they were on a level with the water.

The Swallow had received her death-blow, and she was settling down.
Satisfied that she could do no further harm, the Spaniard luffed and hove to, awaiting the obvious result and intent upon picking up what slaves she could to man the galleys of his Catholic Majesty on the Mediterranean.
Thus the fate intended Sir Oliver by Lionel was to be fulfilled; and it was to be shared by Master Leigh himself, which had not been at all in that venal fellow's reckoning..