to Spain.’  The story of the tremendous catastrophe—­the defeat of the Armada—­by which the decline of this dominion was heralded is well known.  It is memorable, not only because of the harm it did to Spain, but also because it revealed the rise of another claimant to maritime pre-eminence—­the English nation.  The effects of the catastrophe were not at once visible.  Spain still continued to look like the greatest power in the world; and, though the English seamen were seen to be something better than adventurous pirates—­a character suggested by some of their recent exploits—­few could have comprehended that they were engaged in building up what was to be a sea-power greater than any known to history.

[Footnote 35:  Prescott, Ferdinandand_Isabella_, Introd. sects. i. ii.]

[Footnote 36:  G. W. Prothero, in M. Hume’s Spain, 1479-1788, p. 65.]

They were carrying forward, not beginning the building of this.  ‘England,’ says Sir J. K. Laughton, ’had always believed in her naval power, had always claimed the sovereignty of the Narrow Seas; and more than two hundred years before Elizabeth came to the throne, Edward III had testified to his sense of its importance by ordering a gold coinage bearing a device showing the armed strength and sovereignty of England based on the sea.’[37] It is impossible to make intelligible the course of the many wars which the English waged with the French in the Middle Ages unless the true naval position of the former is rightly appreciated.  Why were Crecy, Poitiers, Agincourt—­not to mention other combats—­fought, not on English, but on continental soil?  Why during the so-called ‘Hundred Years’ War’ was England in reality the invader and not the invaded?  We of the present generation are at last aware of the significance of naval defence, and know that, if properly utilised, it is the best security against invasion that a sea-surrounded state can enjoy.  It is not, however, commonly remembered that the same condition of security existed and was properly valued in mediaeval times.  The battle of Sluys in 1340 rendered invasion of England as impracticable as did that of La Hogue in 1692, that of Quiberon Bay in 1759, and that of Trafalgar in 1805; and it permitted, as did those battles, the transport of troops to the continent to support our allies in wars which, had we not been strong at sea, would have been waged on the soil of our own country.  Our early continental wars, therefore, are proofs of the long-established efficiency of our naval defences.  Notwithstanding the greater attention paid, within the last dozen years or so, to naval affairs, it is doubtful if the country generally even yet recognises the extent to which its security depends upon a good fleet as fully as our ancestors did nearly seven centuries ago.  The narrative of our pre-Elizabethan campaigns is interesting merely as a story; and, when told—­as for instance D. Hannay has told it in the introductory chapters