irm, and met the
onset of the first comers of the Spanish fleet. A fierce combat, yard-arm
to yard-arm, ensued. Klaaszoon's mainmast went by the board, but
Haultain, with five ships, all that could be rallied, coming to the
rescue, the assailants for a moment withdrew. Five Dutch vessels of
moderate strength were now in action against the eighteen great galleons
of Fazardo. Certainly it was not an even game, but it might have been
played with more heart and better skill. There was but a half-hour of
daylight left when Klaaszoon's crippled ship was again attacked. This
time there was no attempt to offer him assistance; the rest of the Dutch
fleet crowding all the sails their masts would bear, and using all the
devices of their superior seamanship, not to harass the enemy, but to
steal as swiftly as possible out of his way. Honestly confessing that
they dared not come into the fight, they bore away for dear life in every
direction. Night came on, and the last that the fugitives knew of the
events off Cape St. Vincent was that stout Regnier Klaaszoon had been
seen at sunset in the midst of the Spanish fleet; the sound of his
broadsides saluting their ears as they escaped.

Left to himself, alone in a dismasted ship, the vice-admiral never
thought of yielding to the eighteen Spanish galleons. To the repeated
summons of Don Luis Fazardo that he should surrender he remained
obstinately deaf. Knowing that it was impossible for him to escape, and
fearing that he might blow up his vessel rather than surrender, the enemy
made no attempt to board. Spanish chivalry was hardly more conspicuous on
this occasion than Dutch valour, as illustrated by Admiral Haultain. Two
whole days and nights Klaaszoon drifted about in his crippled ship,
exchanging broadsides with his antagonists, and with his colours flying
on the stump of his mast. The fact would seem incredible, were it not
attested by perfectly trustworthy contemporary accounts. At last his hour
seemed to have come. His ship was sinking; a final demand for surrender,
with promise of quarter, was made. Out of his whole crew but sixty
remained alive; many of them badly wounded.

He quietly announced to his officers and men his decision never to
surrender, in which all concurred. They knelt together upon the deck, and
the admiral made a prayer, which all fervently joined. With his own hand
Klaaszoon then lighted the powder magazine, and the ship was blown into
the air. Two sailors, a