Already in this first “small fight” the Spaniards had learned a lesson, and might even entertain a doubt of their invincibility.  But before the sun set there were more serious disasters.  Much powder and shot had been expended by the Spaniards to very little purpose, and so a master-gunner on board Admiral Oquendo’s flag-ship was reprimanded for careless ball-practice.  The gunner, who was a Fleming, enraged with his captain, laid a train to the powder-magazine, fired it, and threw himself into the sea.  Two decks blew up.  The into the clouds, carrying with it the paymaster-general of the fleet, a large portion of treasure, and nearly two hundred men.’  The ship was a wreck, but it was possible to save the rest of the crew.  So Medina Sidonia sent light vessels to remove them, and wore with his flag-ship, to defend Oquendo, who had already been fastened upon by his English pursuers.  But the Spaniards, not being so light in hand as their enemies, involved themselves in much embarrassment by this manoeuvre; and there was much falling foul of each other, entanglement of rigging, and carrying away of yards.  Oquendo’s men, however, were ultimately saved, and taken to other ships.

Meantime Don Pedro de Valdez, commander of the Andalusian squadron, having got his galleon into collision with two or three Spanish ships successively, had at last carried away his fore-mast close to the deck, and the wreck had fallen against his main-mast.  He lay crippled and helpless, the Armada was slowly deserting him, night was coming on, the sea was running high, and the English, ever hovering near, were ready to grapple with him.  In vain did Don Pedro fire signals of distress.  The captain-general, even as though the unlucky galleon had not been connected with the Catholic fleet—­calmly fired a gun to collect his scattered ships, and abandoned Valdez to his fate.  “He left me comfortless in sight of the whole fleet,” said poor Pedro, “and greater inhumanity and unthankfulness I think was never heard of among men.”

Yet the Spaniard comported himself most gallantly.  Frobisher, in the largest ship of the English fleet, the Triumph, of 1100 tons, and Hawkins in the Victory, of 800, cannonaded him at a distance, but, night coming on, he was able to resist; and it was not till the following morning that he surrendered to the Revenge.

Drake then received the gallant prisoner on board his flagship—­much to the disgust and indignation of Frobisher and Hawkins, thus disappointed of their prize and ransom-money—­treated him with much courtesy, and gave his word of honour that he and his men should be treated fairly like good prisoners of war.  This pledge was redeemed, for it was not the English, as it was the Spanish custom, to convert captives into slaves, but only to hold them for ransom.  Valdez responded to Drake’s politeness by kissing his hand, embracing him, and overpowering him with magnificent compliments.  He was then sent on