“Whom?  That Don?  We’ll find him for you, if he’s in the fleet.  We’ll squeeze it out of our prisoners somehow.  Eh, Hawkins?  I thought all the captains had promised to send you news if they heard of him.”

“Ay, but it’s ill looking for a needle in a haystack.  But I shall find him.  I am a coward to doubt it,” said Amyas, setting his teeth.

“There, vice-admiral, you’re beaten, and that’s the rubber.  Pay up three dollars, old high-flyer, and go and earn more, like an honest adventurer.”

“Well,” said Drake, as he pulled out his purse, “we’ll walk down now, and see about these young hot-heads.  As I live, they are setting to tow the ships out already!  Breaking the men’s backs over-night, to make them fight the lustier in the morning!  Well, well, they haven’t sailed round the world, Jack Hawkins.”

“Or had to run home from San Juan d’Ulloa with half a crew.

“Well, if we haven’t to run out with half crews.  I saw a sight of our lads drunk about this morning.”

“The more reason for waiting till they be sober.  Besides, if everybody’s caranting about to once each after his own men, nobody’ll find nothing in such a scrimmage as that.  Bye, bye, Uncle Martin.  We’m going to blow the Dons up now in earnest.”

CHAPTER XXXI

THE GREAT ARMADA

     “Britannia needs no bulwarks,
        No towers along the steep,
     Her march is o’er the mountain wave,
        Her home is on the deep.”

        Campbell, Ye Mariners of England.

And now began that great sea-fight which was to determine whether Popery and despotism, or Protestantism and freedom, were the law which God had appointed for the half of Europe, and the whole of future America.  It is a twelve days’ epic, worthy, as I said in the beginning of this book, not of dull prose, but of the thunder-roll of Homer’s verse:  but having to tell it, I must do my best, rather using, where I can, the words of contemporary authors than my own.

“The Lord High Admirall of England, sending a pinnace before, called the Defiance, denounced war by discharging her ordnance; and presently approaching with in musquet-shot, with much thundering out of his own ship, called the Arkroyall (alias the Triumph), first set upon the admirall’s, as he thought, of the Spaniards (but it was Alfonso de Leon’s ship).  Soon after, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher played stoutly with their ordnance on the hindmost squadron, which was commanded by Recalde.”  The Spaniards soon discover the superior “nimbleness of the English ships;” and Recalde’s squadron, finding that they are getting more than they give, in spite of his endeavors, hurry forward to join the rest of the fleet.  Medina the Admiral, finding his ships scattering fast, gathers them into a half-moon; and the Armada tries to keep solemn way forward, like a stately herd of buffaloes, who march on across the