At least four thousand soldiers were in D’Avila’s ships, besides seamen. there were seven hundred in the St. Augustine, four hundred and fifty in Our Lady of Vega, and so on in proportion.  There were also one or two hundred noble volunteers who came thronging on board, scenting the battle from afar, and desirous of having a hand in the destruction of the insolent Dutchmen.

It was about one in the afternoon.  There was not much wind, but the Hollanders, slowly drifting on the eternal river that pours from the Atlantic into the Mediterranean, were now very near.  All hands had been piped on board every one of the ships, all had gone down on their knees in humble prayer, and the loving cup had then been passed around.

Heemskerk, leading the way towards the Spanish admiral, ordered the gunners of the bolus not to fire until the vessels struck each other.  “Wait till you hear it crack,” he said, adding a promise of a hundred florins to the man who should pull down the admiral’s flag.  Avila, notwithstanding his previous merriment, thought it best, for the moment, to avoid the coming collision.  Leaving to other galleons, which he interposed between himself and the enemy, the task of summarily sinking the Dutch fleet, he cut the cable of the St. Augustine and drifted farther into the bay.  Heemskerk, not allowing himself to be foiled in his purpose, steered past two or three galleons, and came crashing against the admiral.  Almost simultaneously, Pretty Lambert laid himself along her quarter on the other side.  The St. Augustine fired into the AEolus as she approached, but without doing much damage.  The Dutch admiral, as he was coming in contact, discharged his forward guns, and poured an effective volley of musketry into his antagonist.

The St. Augustine fired again, straight across the centre of the bolus, at a few yards’ distance.  A cannon-ball took off the head of a sailor, standing near Heemskerk, and carried away the admiral’s leg, close to the body.  He fell on deck, and, knowing himself to be mortally wounded, implored the next in command on board, Captain Verhoef, to fight his ship to the last, and to conceal his death from the rest of the fleet.  Then prophesying a glorious victory for republic, and piously commending his soul to his Maker, he soon breathed his last.  A cloak was thrown over him, and the battle raged.  The few who were aware that the noble Heemskerk was gone, burned to avenge his death, and to obey the dying commands of their beloved chief.  The rest of the Hollanders believed themselves under his directing influence, and fought as if his eyes were upon them.  Thus the spirit of the departed hero still watched over and guided the battle.