Westward Ho! Or, The Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, in the County of Devon, in the Reign of Her Most Glorious Majesty Queen Elizabeth

by Charles Kingsley

  CHAPTER XXXI

  THE GREAT ARMADA

  "Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep, Her march is o'er the mountain wave, Her home is on the deep."

  CAMPBELL, Ye Mariners of England.

  And now began that great sea-fight which was to determine whether Poperyand despotism, or Protestantism and freedom, were the law which God hadappointed for the half of Europe, and the whole of future America. Itis a twelve days' epic, worthy, as I said in the beginning of this book,not of dull prose, but of the thunder-roll of Homer's verse: but havingto tell it, I must do my best, rather using, where I can, the words ofcontemporary authors than my own.

  "The Lord High Admirall of England, sending a pinnace before, calledthe Defiance, denounced war by discharging her ordnance; and presentlyapproaching with in musquet-shot, with much thundering out of his ownship, called the Arkroyall (alias the Triumph), first set upon theadmirall's, as he thought, of the Spaniards (but it was Alfonso deLeon's ship). Soon after, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher played stoutlywith their ordnance on the hindmost squadron, which was commanded byRecalde." The Spaniards soon discover the superior "nimbleness of theEnglish ships;" and Recalde's squadron, finding that they are gettingmore than they give, in spite of his endeavors, hurry forward to jointhe rest of the fleet. Medina the Admiral, finding his ships scatteringfast, gathers them into a half-moon; and the Armada tries to keep solemnway forward, like a stately herd of buffaloes, who march on across theprairie, disdaining to notice the wolves which snarl around their track.But in vain. These are no wolves, but cunning hunters, swiftly horsed,and keenly armed, and who will "shamefully shuffle" (to use Drake's ownexpression) that vast herd from the Lizard to Portland, from Portlandto Calais Roads; and who, even in this short two hours' fight, have mademany a Spaniard question the boasted invincibleness of this Armada.

  One of the four great galliasses is already riddled with shot, to thegreat disarrangement of her "pulpits, chapels," and friars thereinassistant. The fleet has to close round her, or Drake and Hawkinswill sink her; in effecting which manoeuvre, the "principal galleon ofSeville," in which are Pedro de Valdez and a host of blue-blooded Dons,runs foul of her neighbor, carries away her foremast, and is, in spiteof Spanish chivalry, left to her fate. This does not look like victory,certainly. But courage! though Valdez be left behind, "our Lady," andthe saints, and the bull Caena Domini (dictated by one whom I dare notname here), are with them still, and it were blasphemous to doubt. Butin the meanwhile, if they have fared no better than this against athird of the Plymouth fleet, how will they fare when those fortybelated ships, which are already whitening the blue between them and theMewstone, enter the scene to play their part?

  So ends the first day; not an English ship, hardly a man, is hurt.It has destroyed for ever, in English minds, the prestige of boastfulSpain. It has justified utterly the policy which the good Lord Howardhad adopted by Raleigh's and Drake's advice, of keeping up a runningfight, instead of "clapping ships together without consideration," inwhich case, says Raleigh, "he had been lost, if he had not been betteradvised than a great many malignant fools were, who found fault with hisdemeanor."

  Be that as it may, so ends the first day, in which Amyas and the otherBideford ships have been right busy for two hours, knocking holes in ahuge galleon, which carries on her poop a maiden with a wheel, and bearsthe name of Sta. Catharina. She had a coat of arms on the flag at hersprit, probably those of the commandant of soldiers; but they were shotaway early in the fight, so Amyas cannot tell whether they were DeSoto's or not. Nevertheless, there is plenty of time for privaterevenge; and Amyas, called off at last by the admiral's signal, goesto bed and sleeps soundly.

  But ere he has been in his hammock an hour, he is awakened by Cary'scoming down to ask for orders.

  "We were to follow Drake's lantern, Amyas; but where it is, I can'tsee, unless he has been taken up aloft there among the stars for a newDrakium Sidus."

  Amyas turns out grumbling: but no lantern is to be seen; only a suddenexplosion and a great fire on board some Spaniard, which is graduallygot under, while they have to lie-to the whole night long, with nearlythe whole fleet.

  The next morning finds them off Torbay; and Amyas is hailed by apinnace, bringing a letter from Drake, which (saving the spelling, whichwas somewhat arbitrary, like most men's in those days) ran somewhatthus:--

  "DEAR LAD,--I have been wool-gathering all night after five great hulks,which the Pixies transfigured overnight into galleons, and this morningagain into German merchantmen. I let them go with my blessing; andcoming back, fell in (God be thanked!) with Valdez' great galleon;and in it good booty, which the Dons his fellows had left behind, likefaithful and valiant comrades, and the Lord Howard had let slip pasthim, thinking her deserted by her crew. I have sent to Dartmouth a sightof noblemen and gentlemen, maybe a half-hundred; and Valdez himself, whowhen I sent my pinnace aboard must needs stand on his punctilios, andpropound conditions. I answered him, I had no time to tell with him; ifhe would needs die, then I was the very man for him; if he would live,then, buena querra. He sends again, boasting that he was Don PedroValdez, and that it stood not with his honor, and that of the Dons inhis company. I replied, that for my part, I was Francis Drake, and mymatches burning. Whereon he finds in my name salve for the wounds ofhis own, and comes aboard, kissing my fist, with Spanish lies of holdinghimself fortunate that he had fallen into the hands of fortunate Drake,and much more, which he might have kept to cool his porridge. But I havemuch news from him (for he is a leaky tub); and among others, this,that your Don Guzman is aboard of the Sta. Catharina, commandant of hersoldiery, and has his arms flying at her sprit, beside Sta. Catharina atthe poop, which is a maiden with a wheel, and is a lofty built ship of3 tier of ordnance, from which God preserve you, and send you like luckwith.

  "Your deare Friend and Admirall,

  "F. Drake.

  "She sails in this squadron of Recalde. The Armada was minded to smokeus out of Plymouth; and God's grace it was they tried not: but theirorders from home are too strait, and so the slaves fight like a bullin a tether, no farther than their rope, finding thus the devil a hardmaster, as do most in the end. They cannot compass our quick handlingand tacking, and take us for very witches. So far so good, and betterto come. You and I know the length of their foot of old. Time and lightwill kill any hare, and they will find it a long way from Start toDunkirk."

  "The admiral is in a gracious humor, Leigh, to have vouchsafed you solong a letter."

  "St. Catherine! why, that was the galleon we hammered all yesterday!"said Amyas, stamping on the deck.

  "Of course it was. Well, we shall find her again, doubt not. Thatcunning old Drake! how he has contrived to line his own pockets, eventhough he had to keep the whole fleet waiting for him."

  "He has given the lord high admiral the dor, at all events."

  "Lord Howard is too high-hearted to stop and plunder, Papist though heis, Amyas."

  Amyas answered by a growl, for he worshipped Drake, and was not too justto Papists.

  The fleet did not find Lord Howard till nightfall; he and Lord Sheffieldhad been holding on steadfastly the whole night after the Spanishlanterns, with two ships only. At least there was no doubt now of theloyalty of English Roman Catholics, and indeed, throughout the fight,the Howards showed (as if to wipe out the slurs which had been cast ontheir loyalty by fanatics) a desperate courage, which might have thrustless prudent men into destruction, but led them only to victory. Soon alarge Spaniard drifts by, deserted and partly burnt. Some of the men arefor leaving their place to board her; but Amyas stoutly refuses. He has"come out to fight, and not to plunder; so let the nearest ship to herhave her luck without grudging." They pass on, and the men pull longfaces when they see the galleon snapped up by their next neighbor,and towed off to Weymouth, where she proves to be the ship of Migueld'Oquenda, the vice-admiral, which they saw last night, all but blown upby some desperate Netherland gunner, who, being "misused
," was minded topay off old scores on his tyrants.

  And so ends the second day; while the Portland rises higher and clearerevery hour. The next morning finds them off the island. Will they tryPortsmouth, though they have spared Plymouth? The wind has shiftedto the north, and blows clear and cool off the white-walled downs ofWeymouth Bay. The Spaniards turn and face the English. They must meanto stand off and on until the wind shall change, and then to try forthe Needles. At least, they shall have some work to do before they roundPurbeck Isle.

  The English go to the westward again: but it is only to return on theopposite tack; and now begin a series of manoeuvres, each fleet tryingto get the wind of the other; but the struggle does not last long, andere noon the English fleet have slipped close-hauled between the Armadaand the land, and are coming down upon them right before the wind.

  And now begins a fight most fierce and fell. "And fight they didconfusedly, and with variable fortunes; while, on the one hand, theEnglish manfully rescued the ships of London, which were hemmed inby the Spaniards; and, on the other side, the Spaniards as stoutlydelivered Recalde being in danger." "Never was heard such thundering ofordnance on both sides, which notwithstanding from the Spaniardsflew for the most part over the English without harm. Only Cock, anEnglishman" (whom Prince claims, I hope rightfully, as a worthy ofDevon), "died with honor in the midst of the enemies in a small ship ofhis. For the English ships, being far the lesser, charged the enemy withmarvellous agility; and having discharged their broadsides, flew forthpresently into the deep, and levelled their shot directly, withoutmissing, at those great and unwieldy Spanish ships." "This was the mostfurious and bloody skirmish of all" (though ending only, it seems, inthe capture of a great Venetian and some small craft), "in which thelord admiral fighting amidst his enemies' fleet, and seeing one of hiscaptains afar off (Fenner by name, he who fought the seven Portugals atthe Azores), cried, 'O George, what doest thou? Wilt thou now frustratemy hope and opinion conceived of thee? Wilt thou forsake me now?' Withwhich words he being enflamed, approached, and did the part of a mostvaliant captain;" as, indeed, did all the rest.

  Night falls upon the floating volcano; and morning finds them far pastPurbeck, with the white peak of Freshwater ahead; and pouring out pastthe Needles, ship after ship, to join the gallant chase. For now fromall havens, in vessels fitted out at their own expense, flock thechivalry of England; the Lords Oxford, Northumberland, and Cumberland,Pallavicin, Brooke, Carew, Raleigh, and Blunt, and many anotherhonorable name, "as to a set field, where immortal fame and honor was tobe attained." Spain has staked her chivalry in that mighty cast; not anoble house of Arragon or Castile but has lent a brother or a son--andshall mourn the loss of one: and England's gentlemen will measure theirstrength once for all against the Cavaliers of Spain. Lord Howard hassent forward light craft into Portsmouth for ammunition: but they willscarce return to-night, for the wind falls dead, and all the evening thetwo fleets drift helpless with the tide, and shout idle defiance at eachother with trumpet, fife, and drum.

  The sun goes down upon a glassy sea, and rises on a glassy sea again.But what day is this? The twenty-fifth, St. James's-day, sacred to thepatron saint of Spain. Shall nothing be attempted in his honor bythose whose forefathers have so often seen him with their bodily eyes,charging in their van upon his snow-white steed, and scattering Paynimswith celestial lance? He might have sent them, certainly, a favoringbreeze; perhaps, he only means to try their faith; at least the galleysshall attack; and in their van three of the great galliasses (the fourthlies half-crippled among the fleet) thrash the sea to foam with threehundred oars apiece; and see, not St. James leading them to victory, butLord Howard's Triumph, his brother's Lion, Southwell's Elizabeth Jonas,Lord Sheffield's Bear, Barker's Victory, and George Fenner's Leicester,towed stoutly out, to meet them with such salvoes of chain-shot,smashing oars, and cutting rigging, that had not the wind sprung upagain toward noon, and the Spanish fleet come up to rescue them, theyhad shared the fate of Valdez and the Biscayan. And now the fightbecomes general. Frobisher beats down the Spanish admiral's mainmast;and, attacked himself by Mexia and Recalde, is rescued by Lord Howard;who, himself endangered in his turn, is rescued in his turn; "whileafter that day" (so sickened were they of the English gunnery) "nogalliasse would adventure to fight."

  And so, with variable fortune, the fight thunders on the livelongafternoon, beneath the virgin cliffs of Freshwater; while myriadsea-fowl rise screaming up from every ledge, and spot with their blackwings the snow-white wall of chalk; and the lone shepherd hurries downthe slopes above to peer over the dizzy edge, and forgets the wheatearfluttering in his snare, while he gazes trembling upon glimpses of tallmasts and gorgeous flags, piercing at times the league-broad veil ofsulphur-smoke which welters far below.

  So fares St. James's-day, as Baal's did on Carmel in old time, "Eitherhe is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is on a journey; or peradventurehe sleepeth, and must be awaked." At least, the only fire by which hehas answered his votaries, has been that of English cannon: and theArmada, "gathering itself into a roundel," will fight no more, but makethe best of its way to Calais, where perhaps the Guises' faction mayhave a French force ready to assist them, and then to Dunkirk, to joinwith Parma and the great flotilla of the Netherlands.

  So on, before "a fair Etesian gale," which follows clear and brightout of the south-southwest, glide forward the two great fleets, pastBrighton Cliffs and Beachy Head, Hastings and Dungeness. Is it a battleor a triumph? For by sea Lord Howard, instead of fighting is rewarding;and after Lord Thomas Howard, Lord Sheffield, Townsend, and Frobisherhave received at his hands that knighthood, which was then morehonorable than a peerage, old Admiral Hawkins kneels and rises up SirJohn, and shaking his shoulders after the accolade, observes to therepresentative of majesty, that his "old woman will hardly know herselfagain, when folks call her My Lady."

  And meanwhile the cliffs are lined with pike-men and musketeers, and byevery countryman and groom who can bear arms, led by their squires andsheriffs, marching eastward as fast as their weapons let them, towardsthe Dover shore. And not with them alone. From many a mile inland comedown women and children, and aged folk in wagons, to join their feebleshouts, and prayers which are not feeble, to that great cry of mingledfaith and fear which ascends to the throne of God from the spectators ofBritain's Salamis.

  Let them pray on. The danger is not over yet, though Lord Howard has hadnews from Newhaven that the Guises will not stir against England, andSeymour and Winter have left their post of observation on the Flemishshores, to make up the number of the fleet to an hundred and fortysail--larger, slightly, than that of the Spanish fleet, but of not morethan half the tonnage, or one third the number of men. The Spaniards aredispirited and battered, but unbroken still; and as they slide to theiranchorage in Calais Roads on the Saturday evening of that most memorableweek, all prudent men know well that England's hour is come, and thatthe bells which will call all Christendom to church upon the morrowmorn, will be either the death-knell or the triumphal peal of theReformed faith throughout the world.

  A solemn day that Sabbath must have been in country and in town. Andmany a light-hearted coward, doubtless, who had scoffed (as many did) atthe notion of the Armada's coming, because he dare not face the thought,gave himself up to abject fear, "as he now plainly saw and heard that ofwhich before he would not be persuaded." And many a brave man, too, ashe knelt beside his wife and daughters, felt his heart sink to the verypavement, at the thought of what those beloved ones might be enduring afew short days hence, from a profligate and fanatical soldiery, or fromthe more deliberate fiendishness of the Inquisition. The massacre of St.Bartholomew, the fires of Smithfield, the immolation of the Moors,the extermination of the West Indians, the fantastic horrors of thePiedmontese persecution, which make unreadable the too truthful pagesof Morland,--these were the spectres, which, not as now, dim and distantthrough the mist of centuries, but recent, bleeding from still gapingwounds, flitted before the eyes of every Englishman,
and filled hisbrain and heart with fire.

  He knew full well the fate in store for him and his. One false step, andthe unspeakable doom which, not two generations afterwards, befell theLutherans of Magdeburg, would have befallen every town from London toCarlisle. All knew the hazard, as they prayed that day, and many a daybefore and after, throughout England and the Netherlands. And none knewit better than she who was the guiding spirit of that devoted land,and the especial mark of the invaders' fury; and who, by some Divineinspiration (as men then not unwisely held), devised herself the daringstroke which was to anticipate the coming blow.

  But where is Amyas Leigh all this while? Day after day he has beenseeking the Sta. Catharina in the thickest of the press, and cannot comeat her, cannot even hear of her: one moment he dreads that she has sunkby night, and balked him of his prey; the next, that she has repairedher damages, and will escape him after all. He is moody, discontented,restless, even (for the first time in his life) peevish with his men. Hecan talk of nothing but Don Guzman; he can find no better employment,at every spare moment, than taking his sword out of the sheath, andhandling it, fondling it, talking to it even, bidding it not to fail himin the day of vengeance. At last, he has sent to Squire, the armorer,for a whetstone, and, half-ashamed of his own folly, whets and polishesit in bye-corners, muttering to himself. That one fixed thought ofselfish vengeance has possessed his whole mind; he forgets England'spresent need, her past triumph, his own safety, everything but hisbrother's blood. And yet this is the day for which he has been longingever since he brought home that magic horn as a fifteen years boy; theday when he should find himself face to face with an invader, andthat invader Antichrist himself. He has believed for years with Drake,Hawkins, Grenville, and Raleigh, that he was called and sent into theworld only to fight the Spaniard: and he is fighting him now, in such acause, for such a stake, within such battle-lists, as he will neversee again: and yet he is not content, and while throughout that gallantfleet, whole crews are receiving the Communion side by side, and risingwith cheerful faces to shake hands, and to rejoice that they are sharersin Britain's Salamis, Amyas turns away from the holy elements.

  "I cannot communicate, Sir John. Charity with all men? I hate, if everman hated on earth."

  "You hate the Lord's foes only, Captain Leigh."

  "No, Jack, I hate my own as well."

  "But no one in the fleet, sir?"

  "Don't try to put me off with the same Jesuit's quibble which that falseknave Parson Fletcher invented for one of Doughty's men, to drug hisconscience withal when he was plotting against his own admiral. No,Jack, I hate one of whom you know; and somehow that hatred of him keepsme from loving any human being. I am in love and charity with no man,Sir John Brimblecombe--not even with you! Go your ways in God's name,sir! and leave me and the devil alone together, or you'll find my wordsare true."

  Jack departed with a sigh, and while the crew were receiving theCommunion on deck, Amyas sate below in the cabin sharpening his sword,and after it, called for a boat and went on board Drake's ship to asknews of the Sta. Catharina, and listened scowling to the loud chants andtinkling bells, which came across the water from the Spanish fleet. Atlast, Drake was summoned by the lord admiral, and returned with a secretcommission, which ought to bear fruit that night; and Amyas, who hadgone with him, helped him till nightfall, and then returned to his ownship as Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, to the joy and glory of every soul onboard, except his moody self.

  So there, the livelong summer Sabbath-day, before the little high-walledtown and the long range of yellow sandhills, lie those two mightyarmaments, scowling at each other, hardly out of gunshot. Messengerafter messenger is hurrying towards Bruges to the Duke of Parma, forlight craft which can follow these nimble English somewhat better thantheir own floating castles; and, above all, entreating him to put to seaat once with all his force. The duke is not with his forces at Dunkirk,but on the future field of Waterloo, paying his devotions to St. Maryof Halle in Hainault, in order to make all sure in his Pantheon, andalready sees in visions of the night that gentle-souled and pure-lippedsaint, Cardinal Allen, placing the crown of England on his head. Hereturns for answer, first, that his victual is not ready; next, that hisDutch sailors, who have been kept at their post for many a week at thesword's point, have run away like water; and thirdly, that over andabove all, he cannot come, so "strangely provided" of great ordnance andmusketeers are those five-and-thirty Dutch ships, in which round-sternedand stubborn-hearted heretics watch, like terriers at a rat's hole, theentrance of Nieuwport and Dunkirk. Having ensured the private patronageof St. Mary of Halle, he will return to-morrow to make experience of itseffects: but only hear across the flats of Dixmude the thunder of thefleets, and at Dunkirk the open curses of his officers. For while hehas been praying and nothing more, the English have been praying, andsomething more; and all that is left for the Prince of Parma is, tohang a few purveyors, as peace offerings to his sulking army, and then"chafe," as Drake says of him, "like a bear robbed of her whelps."

  For Lord Henry Seymour has brought Lord Howard a letter of command fromElizabeth's self; and Drake has been carrying it out so busily all thatSunday long, that by two o'clock on the Monday morning, eight fire-ships"besmeared with wild-fire, brimstone, pitch, and resin, and all theirordnance charged with bullets and with stones," are stealing down thewind straight for the Spanish fleet, guided by two valiant men of Devon,Young and Prowse. (Let their names live long in the land!) The ships arefired, the men of Devon steal back, and in a moment more, the heaven isred with glare from Dover Cliffs to Gravelines Tower; and weary-heartedBelgian boors far away inland, plundered and dragooned for many ahideous year, leap from their beds, and fancy (and not so far wronglyeither) that the day of judgment is come at last, to end their woes, andhurl down vengeance on their tyrants.

  And then breaks forth one of those disgraceful panics, which so oftenfollow overweening presumption; and shrieks, oaths, prayers, andreproaches, make night hideous. There are those too on board whorecollect well enough Jenebelli's fire-ships at Antwerp three yearsbefore, and the wreck which they made of Parma's bridge across theScheldt. If these should be like them! And cutting all cables, hoistingany sails, the Invincible Armada goes lumbering wildly out to sea, everyship foul of her neighbor.

  The largest of the four galliasses loses her rudder, and drifts helplessto and fro, hindering and confusing. The duke, having (so the Spaniardssay) weighed his anchor deliberately instead of leaving it behind him,runs in again after awhile, and fires a signal for return: but histruant sheep are deaf to the shepherd's pipe, and swearing and prayingby turns, he runs up Channel towards Gravelines picking up stragglerson his way, who are struggling as they best can among the flats andshallows: but Drake and Fenner have arrived as soon as he. When Monday'ssun rises on the quaint old castle and muddy dykes of Gravelines town,the thunder of the cannon recommences, and is not hushed till night.Drake can hang coolly enough in the rear to plunder when he thinks fit;but when the battle needs it, none can fight more fiercely, among theforemost; and there is need now, if ever. That Armada must never beallowed to re-form. If it does, its left wing may yet keep the Englishat bay, while its right drives off the blockading Hollanders fromDunkirk port, and sets Parma and his flotilla free to join them, and tosail in doubled strength across to the mouth of Thames.

  So Drake has weighed anchor, and away up Channel with all his squadron,the moment that he saw the Spanish fleet come up; and with him Fennerburning to redeem the honor which, indeed, he had never lost; and ereFenton, Beeston, Crosse, Ryman, and Lord Southwell can join them, theDevon ships have been worrying the Spaniards for two full hours intoconfusion worse confounded.

  But what is that heavy firing behind them? Alas for the great galliasse!She lies, like a huge stranded whale, upon the sands where now standsCalais pier; and Amyas Preston, the future hero of La Guayra, ispounding her into submission, while a fleet of hoys and drumblers lookon and help, as jackals might the lion.

  Soon, on
the south-west horizon, loom up larger and larger two mightyships, and behind them sail on sail. As they near a shout greets theTriumph and the Bear; and on and in the lord high admiral glides statelyinto the thickest of the fight.

  True, we have still but some three-and-twenty ships which can cope atall with some ninety of the Spaniards: but we have dash, and daring, andthe inspiration of utter need. Now, or never, must the mighty strugglebe ended. We worried them off Portland; we must rend them in piecesnow; and in rushes ship after ship, to smash her broadsides through andthrough the wooden castles, "sometimes not a pike's length asunder,"and then out again to re-load, and give place meanwhile to another. Thesmaller are fighting with all sails set; the few larger, who, once in,are careless about coming out again, fight with top-sails loose, andtheir main and foreyards close down on deck, to prevent being boarded.The duke, Oquenda, and Recalde, having with much ado got clear of theshallows, bear the brunt of the fight to seaward; but in vain. The daygoes against them more and more, as it runs on. Seymour and Winter havebattered the great San Philip into a wreck; her masts are gone by theboard; Pimentelli in the San Matthew comes up to take the mastiffsoff the fainting bull, and finds them fasten on him instead; but theEvangelist, though smaller, is stouter than the Deacon, and of all theshot poured into him, not twenty "lackt him thorough." His masts aretottering; but sink or strike he will not.

  "Go ahead, and pound his tough hide, Leigh," roars Drake off the poopof his ship, while he hammers away at one of the great galliasses. "Whatright has he to keep us all waiting?"

  Amyas slips in as best he can between Drake and Winter; as he passes heshouts to his ancient enemy,--

  "We are with you, sir; all friends to-day!" and slipping round Winter'sbows, he pours his broadside into those of the San Matthew, and thenglides on to re-load; but not to return. For not a pistol shot toleeward, worried by three or four small craft, lies an immense galleon;and on her poop--can he believe his eyes for joy?--the maiden and thewheel which he has sought so long!

  "There he is!" shouts Amyas, springing to the starboard side of theship. The men, too, have already caught sight of that hated sign; acheer of fury bursts from every throat.

  "Steady, men!" says Amyas, in a suppressed voice. "Not a shot! Re-load,and be ready; I must speak with him first;" and silent as the grave,amid the infernal din, the Vengeance glides up to the Spaniard'squarter.

  "Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto!" shouts Amyas from themizzen rigging, loud and clear amid the roar.

  He has not called in vain. Fearless and graceful as ever, the tall,mail-clad figure of his foe leaps up upon the poop-railing, twenty feetabove Amyas's head, and shouts through his vizor,--

  "At your service, sir whosoever you may be."

  A dozen muskets and arrows are levelled at him; but Amyas frowns themdown. "No man strikes him but I. Spare him, if you kill every other soulon board. Don Guzman! I am Captain Sir Amyas Leigh; I proclaim you atraitor and a ravisher, and challenge you once more to single combat,when and where you will."

  "You are welcome to come on board me, sir," answers the Spaniard, in aclear, quiet tone; "bringing with you this answer, that you lie in yourthroat;" and lingering a moment out of bravado, to arrange his scarf, hesteps slowly down again behind the bulwarks.

  "Coward!" shouts Amyas at the top of his voice.

  The Spaniard re-appears instantly. "Why that name, senor, of allothers?" asks he in a cool, stern voice.

  "Because we call men cowards in England, who leave their wives to beburnt alive by priests."

  The moment the words had passed Amyas's lips, he felt that they werecruel and unjust. But it was too late to recall them. The Spaniardstarted, clutched his sword-hilt, and then hissed back through hisclosed vizor,--

  "For that word, sirrah, you hang at my yardarm, if Saint Mary gives megrace."

  "See that your halter be a silken one, then," laughed Amyas, "for Iam just dubbed knight." And he stepped down as a storm of bullets rangthrough the rigging round his head; the Spaniards are not as punctiliousas he.

  "Fire!" His ordnance crash through the stern-works of the Spaniard; andthen he sails onward, while her balls go humming harmlessly through hisrigging.

  Half-an-hour has passed of wild noise and fury; three times has theVengeance, as a dolphin might, sailed clean round and round the Sta.Catharina, pouring in broadside after broadside, till the guns areleaping to the deck-beams with their own heat, and the Spaniard's sidesare slit and spotted in a hundred places. And yet, so high has been hisfire in return, and so strong the deck defences of the Vengeance, that afew spars broken, and two or three men wounded by musketry, are all herloss. But still the Spaniard endures, magnificent as ever; it is thebattle of the thresher and the whale; the end is certain, but the workis long.

  "Can I help you, Captain Leigh?" asked Lord Henry Seymour, as he passeswithin oar's length of him, to attack a ship ahead. "The San Matthew hashad his dinner, and is gone on to Medina to ask for a digestive to it."

  "I thank your lordship: but this is my private quarrel, of which Ispoke. But if your lordship could lend me powder--"

  "Would that I could! But so, I fear, says every other gentleman in thefleet."

  A puff of wind clears away the sulphurous veil for a moment; the sea isclear of ships towards the land; the Spanish fleet are moving again upChannel, Medina bringing up the rear; only some two miles to their righthand, the vast hull of the San Philip is drifting up the shore with thetide, and somewhat nearer the San Matthew is hard at work at her pumps.They can see the white stream of water pouring down her side.

  "Go in, my lord, and have the pair," shouts Amyas.

  "No, sir! Forward is a Seymour's cry. We will leave them to pay theFlushingers' expenses." And on went Lord Henry, and on shore went theSan Philip at Ostend, to be plundered by the Flushingers; while theSan Matthew, whose captain, "on a hault courage," had refused to savehimself and his gentlemen on board Medina's ship, went blunderingmiserably into the hungry mouths of Captain Peter Vanderduess and fourother valiant Dutchmen, who, like prudent men of Holland, contrived tokeep the galleon afloat till they had emptied her, and then "hung up herbanner in the great church of Leyden, being of such a length, that beingfastened to the roof, it reached unto the very ground."

  But in the meanwhile, long ere the sun had set, comes down the darknessof the thunderstorm, attracted, as to a volcano's mouth, to that vastmass of sulphur-smoke which cloaks the sea for many a mile; and heaven'sartillery above makes answer to man's below. But still, through smokeand rain, Amyas clings to his prey. She too has seen the northwardmovement of the Spanish fleet, and sets her topsails; Amyas calls tothe men to fire high, and cripple her rigging: but in vain: for three orfour belated galleys, having forced their way at last over the shallows,come flashing and sputtering up to the combatants, and take his fireoff the galleon. Amyas grinds his teeth, and would fain hustle into thethick of the press once more, in spite of the galleys' beaks.

  "Most heroical captain," says cary, pulling a long face, "if we do, weare stove and sunk in five minutes; not to mention that Yeo says he hasnot twenty rounds of great cartridge left."

  So, surely and silent, the Vengeance sheers off, but keeps as nearas she can to the little squadron, all through the night of rain andthunder which follows. Next morning the sun rises on a clear sky, witha strong west-north-west breeze, and all hearts are asking what the daywill bring forth.

  They are long past Dunkirk now; the German Ocean is opening before them.The Spaniards, sorely battered, and lessened in numbers, have, duringthe night, regained some sort of order. The English hang on their skirtsa mile or two behind. They have no ammunition, and must wait for more.To Amyas's great disgust, the Sta. Catharina has rejoined her fellowsduring the night.

  "Never mind," says Cary; "she can neither dive nor fly, and as long asshe is above water, we--What is the admiral about?"

  He is signalling Lord Henry Seymour and his squadron. Soon theytack, and come down the wind for the coast
of Flanders. Parma must beblockaded still; and the Hollanders are likely to be too busy with theirplunder to do it effectually. Suddenly there is a stir in the Spanishfleet. Medina and the rearmost ships turn upon the English. What can itmean? Will they offer battle once more? If so, it were best to getout of their way, for we have nothing wherewith to fight them. So theEnglish lie close to the wind. They will let them pass, and return totheir old tactic of following and harassing.

  "Good-bye to Seymour," says Cary, "if he is caught between them andParma's flotilla. They are going to Dunkirk."

  "Impossible! They will not have water enough to reach his light craft.Here comes a big ship right upon us! Give him all you have left, lads;and if he will fight us, lay him alongside, and die boarding."

  They gave him what they had, and hulled him with every shot; but hishuge side stood silent as the grave. He had not wherewithal to returnthe compliment.

  "As I live, he is cutting loose the foot of his mainsail! the villainmeans to run."

  "There go the rest of them! Victoria!" shouted Cary, as one afteranother, every Spaniard set all the sail he could.

  There was silence for a few minutes throughout the English fleet;and then cheer upon cheer of triumph rent the skies. It was over. TheSpaniard had refused battle, and thinking only of safety, was pressingdownward toward the Straits again. The Invincible Armada had cast awayits name, and England was saved.

  "But he will never get there, sir," said old Yeo, who had come upon deckto murmur his Nunc Domine, and gaze upon that sight beyond all humanfaith or hope: "Never, never will he weather the Flanders shore, againstsuch a breeze as is coming up. Look to the eye of the wind, sir, and seehow the Lord is fighting for His people!"

  Yes, down it came, fresher and stiffer every minute out of the graynorth-west, as it does so often after a thunder-storm; and the sea beganto rise high and white under the "Claro Aquilone," till the Spaniardswere fain to take in all spare canvas, and lie-to as best they could;while the English fleet, lying-to also, awaited an event which was inGod's hands and not in theirs.

  "They will be all ashore on Zealand before the afternoon," murmuredAmyas; "and I have lost my labor! Oh, for powder, powder, powder! to goin and finish it at once!"

  "Oh, sir," said Yeo, "don't murmur against the Lord in the very day ofHis mercies. It is hard, to be sure; but His will be done."

  "Could we not borrow powder from Drake there?"

  "Look at the sea, sir!"

  And, indeed, the sea was far too rough for any such attempt. TheSpaniards neared and neared the fatal dunes, which fringed the shore formany a dreary mile; and Amyas had to wait weary hours, growling like adog who has had the bone snatched out of his mouth, till the day woreon; when, behold, the wind began to fall as rapidly as it had risen. Asavage joy rose in Amyas's heart.

  "They are safe! safe for us! Who will go and beg us powder? A cartridgehere and a cartridge there?--anything to set to work again!"

  Cary volunteered, and returned in a couple of hours with some quantity:but he was on board again only just in time, for the south-wester hadrecovered the mastery of the skies, and Spaniards and English weremoving away; but this time northward. Whither now? To Scotland? Amyasknew not, and cared not, provided he was in the company of Don Guzman deSoto.

  The Armada was defeated, and England saved. But such great undertakingsseldom end in one grand melodramatic explosion of fireworks, throughwhich the devil arises in full roar to drag Dr. Faustus forever into theflaming pit. On the contrary, the devil stands by his servants to thelast, and tries to bring off his shattered forces with drums beating andcolors flying; and, if possible, to lull his enemies into supposing thatthe fight is ended, long before it really is half over. All which thegood Lord Howard of Effingham knew well, and knew, too, that Medina hadone last card to play, and that was the filial affection of that dutifuland chivalrous son, James of Scotland. True, he had promised faith toElizabeth: but that was no reason why he should keep it. He had beenhankering and dabbling after Spain for years past, for its absolutionwas dear to his inmost soul; and Queen Elizabeth had had to warn him,scold him, call him a liar, for so doing; so the Armada might still findshelter and provision in the Firth of Forth. But whether Lord Howardknew or not, Medina did not know, that Elizabeth had played her cardcunningly, in the shape of one of those appeals to the purse, which, toJames's dying day, overweighed all others save appeals to his vanity."The title of a dukedom in England, a yearly pension of 5000 pounds, aguard at the queen's charge, and other matters" (probably more houndsand deer), had steeled the heart of the King of Scots, and sealed theFirth of Forth. Nevertheless, as I say, Lord Howard, like the rest ofElizabeth's heroes, trusted James just as much as James trusted others;and therefore thought good to escort the Armada until it was safely pastthe domains of that most chivalrous and truthful Solomon. But on the4th of August, his fears, such as they were, were laid to rest. TheSpaniards left the Scottish coast and sailed away for Norway; and thegame was played out, and the end was come, as the end of such mattersgenerally comes, by gradual decay, petty disaster, and mistake; tillthe snow-mountain, instead of being blown tragically and heroically toatoms, melts helplessly and pitiably away.