During the week's fighting Geoffrey and Lionel Vickars had taken
such part as they could in the contest; but as there had been
no hand to hand fighting, the position of the volunteers on board
the fleet had been little more than that of spectators. The crews
worked the guns and manoeuvred the sails, and the most the lads
could do was to relieve the ship boys in carrying up powder and
shot, and to take round drink to men serving the guns. When not
otherwise engaged they had watched with intense excitement the
manoeuvres of their own ship and of those near them, as they swept
down towards the great hulls, delivered their broadsides, and then
shot off again before the Spaniards had had time to discharge more
than a gun or two. The sails had been pierced in several places,
but not a single shot had struck the hull of the vessel. In the
last day's fighting, however, the Active became entangled among
several of the Spanish galleons, and being almost becalmed by their
lofty hulls, one of them ran full at her, and rolling heavily in
the sea, seemed as if she would overwhelm her puny antagonist.
Geoffrey was standing at the end of the poop when the mizzen rigging
became entangled in the stern gallery of the Spaniard, and a moment
later the mast snapped off, and as it fell carried him overboard.
For a moment he was half stunned, but caught hold of a piece of
timber shot away from one of the enemy's ships, and clung to it
mechanically.
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