Tregembo swore. 'That's good shooting for Dagoes,' he said. It was only then that Drinkwater realised he was under fire.

As Cyclops crossed the stern of the two-decker in chase of the frigate the battleships had tried a ranging shot. Suddenly there was a rush of air and the sound of two corks being drawn from bottles. Looking up Drinkwater saw a hole in the fore-topsail and another in the main. It was uncomfortably close. As their sterns rose to the following seas the Spaniards were firing at the oncoming British silhouetted against the setting sun.

Drinkwater shivered. The brief winter warmth was gone and the fresh breeze had become a gale. He looked again at the Spanish fleet. They were appreciably nearer. Then he saw two plumes of white rise under the Spaniard's quarter. Their own guns were silent. He looked interrogatively at Tregembo.

'What the…?' Then the seaman pointed.

To starboard, hidden from the huddling midshipman by the mast, Resolution, a newly coppered seventy-four, was passing the frigate. Conditions now favoured the heavier ships. Resolution was overhauling the Spaniards rapidly and beyond her Edgar and Defence were bearing down on the enemy. Before the sun set behind a bank of cloud its final rays picked out the Resolution.

The almost horizontal light accentuated every detail of the scene. The sea, piling up from the west, its shadowed surfaces a deep indigo, constantly moving and flashing golden where it caught the sun, seemed to render the warship on it a thing of stillness. The Resolution's hull was dark with the menace of her larboard batteries as she passed scarcely two cables from Cyclops. Her sails drew out, pulling the great vessel along, transmitting their power down through the masts and rigging until the giant oak hull with its weight of artillery and 750 men made ten knots through the water.