and allowed no more than would serve for a day and a half’s service.  She kept a sharp hand on the victualling houses.  April went, and her four finest ships—­the Triumph, the Victory, the Elizabeth Jonas, and the Bear—­were still with sails unbent, ‘keeping Chatham church.’  She said they would not be wanted and it would be waste of money to refit them.  Again she was forced to yield at last, and the four ships were got to sea in time, the workmen in the yards making up for the delay; but she had few enough when her whole fleet was out upon the Channel, and but for the privateers there would have been an ill reckoning when the trial came.  The Armada was coming now.  There was no longer a doubt of it.  Lord Henry Seymour was left with five Queen’s ships and thirty London adventurers to watch Parma and the Narrow Seas.  Howard, carrying his own flag in the Ark Raleigh, joined Drake at Plymouth with seventeen others.

Still the numbing hand of his mistress pursued him.  Food supplies had been issued to the middle of June, and no more was to be allowed.  The weather was desperate—­wildest summer ever known.  The south-west gales brought the Atlantic rollers into the Sound.  Drake lay inside, perhaps behind the island which bears his name.  Howard rode out the gales under Mount Edgecumbe, the days going by and the provisions wasting.  The rations were cut down to make the stores last longer.  Owing to the many changes the crews had been hastily raised.  They were ill-clothed, ill-provided every way, but they complained of nothing, caught fish to mend their mess dinners, and prayed only for the speedy coming of the enemy.  Even Howard’s heart failed him now.  English sailors would do what could be done by man, but they could not fight with famine.  ’Awake, Madam,’ he wrote to the Queen, ’awake, for the love of Christ, and see the villainous treasons round about you.’  He goaded her into ordering supplies for one more month, but this was to be positively the last.  The victuallers inquired if they should make further preparations.  She answered peremptorily, ‘No’; and again the weeks ran on.  The contractors, it seemed, had caught her spirit, for the beer which had been furnished for the fleet turned sour, and those who drank it sickened.  The officers, on their own responsibility, ordered wine and arrowroot for the sick out of Plymouth, to be called to a sharp account when all was over.  Again the rations were reduced.  Four weeks’ allowance was stretched to serve for six, and still the Spaniards did not come.  So England’s forlorn hope was treated at the crisis of her destiny.  The preparations on land were scarcely better.  The militia had been called out.  A hundred thousand men had given their names, and the stations had been arranged where they were to assemble if the enemy attempted a landing.  But there were no reserves, no magazines of arms, no stores or tents, no requisites for an army save the men themselves and what local resources could furnish.