She was not two furlongs away, and she held dead upon her course, till at last those galleys saw _that she would not sink alone_.

Like a bull with shut eyes she held dead upon her furious course! Confusion arose upon the Spanish ships, whistles were blown, men shouted, overseers ran down the planks flogging the slaves, lifted oars shone red in the light of the dying sun as they beat the water wildly.
The prows began to back and separate, five feet, ten feet, a dozen feet perhaps; then straight into that tiny streak of open water, like a stone from the hand of the slinger, like an arrow from a bow, rushed the wind-flung _Margaret_.
What happened?
Go ask it of the fishers of San Lucar and the pirates of Bonanza, where the tale has been told for generations.

The great oars snapped like reeds, the slaves were thrown in crushed and mangled heaps, the tall deck of the port galley was ripped out of her like rent paper by the stout yards of the stooping _Margaret_, the side of the starboard galley rolled up like a shaving before a plane, and the _Margaret_ rushed through.
Smith, the captain, looked aft to where, ere they sank, the two great ships, like wounded swans, rolled and fluttered on the foaming bar.

Then he put his helm about, called the carpenter, and asked what water she made.
"None, Sir," he answered; "but she will want new tarring.

It was oak against eggshells, and we had the speed." "Good!" said Smith, "shallows on either side; life or death, and I thought I could make room.