to
lead the body of the fleet; but it appeared next morning that the
Vice-Admiral had but seemed to give way, and that his ambition was still
to be ahead of Raleigh himself. As Raleigh returned to sleep on board
the 'War Sprite,' the town of Cadiz was all ablaze with lamps, tapers,
and tar barrels, while there came faintly out to the ears of the English
sailors a murmur of wild festal music.

Next day was the 21st of June. As Mr. St. John pleasantly says, 'that
St. Barnabas' Day, so often the brightest in the year, was likewise the
brightest of Raleigh's life.' At break of day, the amazed inhabitants of
Cadiz, and the sailors who had caroused all night on shore and now
hurried on board the galleons, watched the magnificent squadron sweep
into the harbour of their city. First came the 'War Sprite' itself; next
the 'Mary Rose,' commanded by Sir George Carew; then Sir Francis Vere in
the 'Rainbow,' carrying a sullen heart of envy with him; then Sir Robert
Southwell in the 'Lion,' Sir Conyers Clifford in the 'Dreadnought,' and
lastly, as Raleigh supposed, Robert Dudley (afterwards Duke of
Northumberland, and a distinguished author on naval tactics) in the
'Nonparilla.' As a matter of fact, the Vice-Admiral, hoping to contrive
to push in front, had persuaded Dudley to change ships with him. These
six vessels were well in advance of all the rest of the fleet. In front
of them, ranged under the wall of Cadiz, were seventeen galleys lying
with their prows to flank the English entrance, as Raleigh ploughed on
towards the galleons. The fortress of St. Philip and other forts along
the wall began to scour the channel, and with the galleys concentrated
their fire upon the 'War Sprite.' But Raleigh disdained to do more than
salute the one and then the other with a contemptuous blare of trumpets.
'The "St. Philip,"' he says, 'the great and famous Admiral of Spain, was
the mark I shot at, esteeming those galleys but as wasps in respect of
the powerfulness of the others.'

The 'St. Philip' had a special attraction for him. It was six years
since his dear friend and cousin, Sir Richard Grenville, under the lee
of the Azores, with one little ship, the 'Revenge,' had been hemmed in
and crushed by the vast fleet of Spain, and it was the 'St. Philip' and
the 'St. Andrew' that had been foremost in that act of murder. Now
before Raleigh there rose the same lumbering monsters of the deep, that
very 'St. Philip' and 'St. Andrew' which had look