was a feather worth
picking up. The galleass was the most splendid vessel of her kind
afloat, Don Hugo one of the greatest of Spanish grandees.

Howard was making a double mistake. He took the galleass at last, after
three hours' fighting. Don Hugo was killed by a musket ball. The vessel
was plundered, and Howard's men took possession, meaning to carry her
away when the tide rose. The French authorities ordered him off,
threatening to fire upon him; and after wasting the forenoon, he was
obliged at last to leave her where she lay. Worse than this, he had lost
three precious hours, and had lost along with them, in the opinion of
the Prince of Parma, the honours of the great day.

Drake and Hawkins knew better than to waste time plucking single
feathers. The fire-ships had been more effective than they could have
dared to hope. The enemy was broken up. The Duke was shorn of half his
strength, and the Lord had delivered him into their hand. He had got
under way, still signalling wildly, and uncertain in which direction to
turn. His uncertainties were ended for him by seeing Drake bearing down
upon him with the whole English fleet, save those which were loitering
about the galleass. The English had now the advantage of numbers. The
superiority of their guns he knew already, and their greater speed
allowed him no hope to escape a battle. Forty ships alone were left to
him to defend the banner of the crusade and the honour of Castile; but
those forty were the largest and the most powerfully armed and manned
that he had, and on board them were Oquendo, De Leyva, Recalde, and
Bretandona, the best officers in the Spanish navy next to the lost Don
Pedro.

It was now or never for England. The scene of the action which was to
decide the future of Europe was between Calais and Dunkirk, a few miles
off shore, and within sight of Parma's camp. There was no more
manoeuvring for the weather-gage, no more fighting at long range.
Drake dashed straight upon his prey as the falcon stoops upon its
quarry. A chance had fallen to him which might never return; not for the
vain distinction of carrying prizes into English ports, not for the ray
of honour which would fall on him if he could carry off the sacred
banner itself and hang it in the Abbey at Westminster, but a chance so
to handle the Armada that it should never be seen again in English
waters, and deal such a blow on Philip that the Spanish Empire should
reel with it. The English shi