the royal or official
squadron under Lord Howard, the volunteers under Francis Drake.
Displaying his consecrated standard, the Duke Medina endeavoured to
interpose between the two sections of the opposing flotilla, thinking
to destroy them separately at his ease; but he was readily
circumvented in his design, finding to his cost that the English
vessels could sail closer to the wind than his own, and could be
manipulated more quickly, while their guns carried further. His
cumbrous ships also were too much crowded with men, being fitter for
transport than for action; the fighters were impeded by the press, and
every effective shot from the enemy's guns found many victims. The
English managed to keep at a distance while they delivered their
raking broadsides, which, according to the Spanish notions, was
against all principles of chivalrous sea warfare. But, as Froude says,
"it was effective, it was perplexing, it was deadly." Drake and Howard
did not wish to come to closer quarters with their formidable foes; a
near embrace of those heavy galleons, fully manned with brave men,
might soon have brought disaster; the struggle would have been too
unequal. It is the art of the weaker to be elusive. The engagement
lasted till late on Sunday afternoon, by which time the squadrons had
drifted past Plymouth Sound. Not many hours later the _Capitana_,
England's first prize, was being towed into Dartmouth harbour, giving
a welcome booty in bullion and powder. The Armada had received a first
blow, from which it never recovered; though recovery might yet have
been possible if the winds had not fought for the English. The
Spaniards' first taste of the West Country had probably satisfied
them, but other death-traps lay to the eastward. The later story of
the Armada belongs to distant Scottish and Irish coasts, whereon many
of its finest vessels drifted; it is a story of calamity, blunder, and
stubborn bravery; all the courage was not on one side of the
conflict--perhaps the Spanish were as great in their failure as the
English in their success.

The shores of Whitesand Bay, though so beautiful, are treacherous both
to the seaman and the bather; their beaches have often been strewn
with wreckage. The Bay is fully exposed to south-westerly winds, which
often hurl tremendous seas upon its coast, and many a good vessel has
been driven to its destruction. There are shifting sands here also,
which are the source of peril to unwary bathers; a